Sanity
I suspect having negative sanity since about two weeks ago. Two things actually happened that caused that, and only my big sense of humour and finding funny stuff in everything keeps me from massive depression and going berserk.
I hadn’t spoken with my mother for more than a week before yesterday. It was one of the most quiet weeks ever. She had phoned me last week only to create more panic, and to inform me that my cats will die in a plane.
Since I’m panicked enough already and the relocation stuff has been occupying 100% of my time and thoughts, with my sanity already hanging on a thread, you can see how this wasn’t the kind of information I needed to hear right then, so I ended the call and cried for half an hour. At least I found out I can cry again. Sort of.
Anyway, she felt offended. Big time. And haven’t called me for over a week. Instead my father came over and went on how I treat my mother badly and now she’s unhappy and also that I won’t be able to do anything without help (sanity faded slightly).
The second thing was another phonecall from a so-called friend, who needed some sympathy, empathy or whatever, because he had a big unsolvable problem: his girlfriend had to go away. For two days. For two fucking days.
I quietly reminded him how long I’ve been forced to live away from my love and since when I hadn’t seen him. I found no understanding, or at least no real understanding.
After this incident I decided not to invite this person to my farewell party. Neither I need to hear pointless rantings of selfish people, nor take care of them and be their “good aunt” to cry their problems to.
I’m going to Dublin in less than two weeks. I’m afraid, panicked, tired of packing stuff and throwing stuff out, tired of living alone, having to listen to what my mother has to say.
Fortunately my love is coming over this Friday and the party is on Saturday, so it’s peace and fun and positive sanity again before me. But until then I have to be strong and finish everything that I have started.
Quick update
I haven’t written anything for a while, I know. I wish I have. I’ve been very busy, very tired and quite lonely too.
My relations with my parents have improved a little bit since I moved out about two months ago. My flat is still in mess, but the whole renovating is over, I just have to clean the mess, sort the stuff and pack the boxes that I’ll need when I finally move to my love: clothes, books, blankets, pillows, all the stuff we have gathered during all those years.
I also have to throw out a lot, which is somewhat difficult, but makes me a little bit happier every time I actually make a decision to throw something out. As I had written before – cleaning the physical mess makes it easier to make my emotions less chaotic. Maybe when this is over I’ll finally be able to concentrate on real work, reading etc. If only I wasn’t so lazy, it’d be over already.
Yesterday a friend told me that he envied my husband; he says he never knew a love could be so strong in a person, and he wishes his wife would love him as much as I love my husband. I don’t know how he knew it, I don’t talk about these things at all, but it made me cry. And I haven’t cried in a very long time. Maybe my eyes will finally stop hurting from keeping the tears inside.
My Mother III
Apparently I don’t communicate, because I don’t say much. Everything needs a comment. Or two. Or ten. Or at least five minutes of a monologue.
I made a mistake of admitting to having drunk two beers tonight, and I immediately was informed of how beer is fattening and how many calories it contains. Ok, whatever, what’s your point of saying that? No point at all. So why did you say that? And then there was the monologue of how I treat her badly and she’s afraid to say anything because I might get upset, and how she is a victim (oh, she can play the victim very professionally) and how she cares and how I don’t care and how I don’t communicate at all, and how she communicates with the whole world, and everyone tolerates her except me (“because they’re not assertive enough, mom”), and how I only think of my own needs and I don’t at all think about my family’s needs.
Mom, I only said that I didn’t like what you said and how I don’t like such comments, and you go on about how I am selfish. Look where your monologue is heading.
Silence.
Offended expression.
Every time I would like to say something important to her, I feel that if I tried, only a long scream would come out. I feel like screaming, very loudly and for quite a while. So I don’t say anything important. When I sometimes force myself to, She Feels Offended.
I need a rest
I can’t concentrate to write anything useful… I need a lot of rest, I suppose. I wake up and I still feel tired.
The argument I’ve recently written about? My friend said that he may have had overreacted a little bit. Everything’s perfect between us and I’m glad.
My connection to my Good Wizard has been recently somehow fading, I’ve been worried a little bit and today I’ve learnt that he has been sick. I have no way of helping, besides trying to send good thoughts and little pieces of positive energy, which I don’t have much right now, in his general direction.
My mother and this whole situation is somehow taking all my spare and basic energy away. I vegetate before the computer. I’m going to Dublin for three weeks soon, and I’ll recharge.
My mother II
My mother talks.
But she doesn’t communicate.
My agression control and sanity are balancing on the edge of explosion.
My mother
My mother talks.
She doesn’t stop, unless she is asleep.
She simply won’t shut up.
She talks about irrelevant crap, and about stuff that is so obvious that it doesn’t need to be talked about, and about things that are painful for others to even think about.
She will comment every fat girl on the street she sees, she’ll go on about how our family was murdered during war, she’ll worry about my each meal (both its content and amount), she’ll lavishly express her feelings about every stupid movie she watches, and when she doesn’t have a person to talk to, she emits words to the air or to the poor dog. She’ll keep talking about how she sacrifices herself to help others. Whenever she doesn’t feel appreciated enough, which happens strangely often, she keeps ranting about it, until she thinks she’s created enough guilt in every person present. And she just won’t stop.
And then she’s so astonished when I get aggressive.
