I find it sad that when I was asked to think of things about my mother to be put into her service, I had absolutely nothing that I could add concerning the two of us. Nothing. And I really thought about it, as much as one can while in shock. Nothing.

If I had been asked about my grandmother I could have filled a book. But my mother and I never bonded and my memories save one, are all negative. The only good one I have is about a game she played with my feet when I was very little, before everything went downhill, but it doesn’t belong in her memorial service. Actually as I wrote that, I remembered my other good memory…her buying me a doll I had wanted for a long time. She bought it with her tax return and I definitely remember that. Wow, two good memories for a lifetime.

Otherwise, I had to think of the surface and of the person that others knew in public and draw from that, something positive. I did it but, the tragedy of the lack of stories or memories I can share is…pathetic.

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Oooh there’s the misdirected anger

Two posts in one day. It’s amazing what death does.

I’m not sure that my anger is actually misdirected or justified or being directed in one place that’s legitimate until I can direct elsewhere.

I like to tell myself that I live by a philosophy; I never expect good things because I’ll only be disappointed. I think I’ve written about this before; not being a pessimist but what I call a realist. Well once again, I seemingly have fooled myself into thinking that I believe something that actually isn’t true. I actually expected people to call me about my mom dying. I’m so stupid. Why would people who I have cooked for after their surgeries, sat with when they were recovering from illnesses, called when they were sad or hugged when someone hurt their feelings…why would any of these people call me when they found out my mother died? And yes, they know. I know it for a fact.

It’s my fault really for not making sure that I was realist down to my very cell structure. I somehow let some little particle of expectation find it’s way into my brain. I’ll own it. I was dumb. Lesson learned. Oh wait, it’s not. Because even as I write this, I am secretly thinking that someone might call this evening. So I’ll place a bet with myself; the me that believes in people and the me that thinks people suck and we’ll see who wins. I’ll update tomorrow and I’ll either be pleasantly surprised or smugly pissed off.

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I’d like to thank all of you for your comments. My mind is all over the place so it’s easier to thank everyone here and tell you that I’ve read every comment.

The relationship with my mother was complex, which makes the grief at her passing complex. I can honestly say that I thought I wouldn’t care if she died. I was wrong, but even now I’m not sure how I was wrong. I care. I’m shocked at the depth to which my being was shaken at the news that she no longer exists.

I wouldn’t even attempt to write a post at this moment except that I’m afraid if I don’t document my feelings, I’ll never understand them or the passing of time will make it harder to remember what it’s like now.

I thought I’d be happy but, happy is more than the opposite of what I feel.

Even when I used to wish her gone I would mentally add on that I didn’t actually mean it because she was married and I’d never wish that loss on someone. Hearing her husband’s voice breaking kills me even though we’re not close and he contributed very much to my dysfunctional family life by not stopping my mother’s abuse and by behaving as if he wished I wasn’t there. He was cold and rather mean and he abused his own child, leaving marks.

I still feel bad for him and strangely his situation makes me feel less entitled to my grief. My therapist says this isn’t true but…

But I’m not writing to talk about someone else’s feelings. I have to remind myself that I matter,because I’ve been trying to help him even at great emotional cost to myself. Guilt is a bitch.

My guilt lies in the fact that hadn’t spoken to her in, what, at least a month? After the apology she sent, I was furious. It literally took me this long to be able to formulate a response. I waited until I could write her from a place of relative calmness. I specifically didn’t want to be mean, so I waited until my response wouldn’t be mean. Do you know how long I waited? I wrote my response the day before she died, but I didn’t send it because I was going to wait to the weekend. I’m glad. Even though my reply was calm, logical and reasonable, it was also truthful. If she had read it and then died, no one would ever be able to convince that I didn’t kill her. As it is, I wondered if my lack of response was what did it.

This post is turning into a novel so I’ll leave it here and come back later to write more.

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This will be my shortest post ever I think.
My mother died yesterday.

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Depression Disconnect

I think I’ve been in bed for 4 days now.

It never ceases to amaze me…the disconnect and depth of the lack of interest brought on by depression. There have been so many things I briefly thought of doing, but just as quickly the very idea of moving to do any of those was discarded.

My bed is my new home…my TV is my new friend and my covers are my comfort.

I haven’t showered in days and I don’t care. I ate junk food for the first 48 hours which was both comforting and awful. Comforting because that’s what junk food does and awful because I’ve lost 16 lbs since I joined Weight Watchers in May and I absolutely loathe the idea of being heavier when I come out of this depression.

My husband talks to me and it’s like he’s not a real person.

I decided it was time to take some meds but even that decision took enormous effort because I don’t actually care.

Can’t even come up with something to close this post, so…

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I really should remember that every post doesn’t have to be really long. Many times I don’t write because the posts would be brief.

I feel like I’m going down…like depression is coming. Like if I stop moving I will really stop and I won’t be able to get up again for a while.

I baked a bunch of pies so I would keep moving but now I’m done. There was a death anniversary the other day and I cried but I’m still sad and it feels like there’s a lot to be sad about.

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Grieving Those Who Are Still Alive & Other Moods

I’ve been away a long time, I know. From time to time I have phases where, even though I’m going through something, I don’t have the words or sometimes just the energy to blog it. I had a therapy session today though and I thought I’d give writing a go.

My mother’s communication has brought up a lot of crap that I thought I had worked through. That’s the way of things, you think you’ve worked through an issue and felt all your feelings but then something happens to bring them back and they can be just as strong as they were before or stronger.

As I said in my last post I’ve been very angry and feeling a lot of hatred. That’s another reason I didn’t blog…I had already said all of this and I figured, ‘why repeat it all again’? The anger is still there, so is the hatred, but I was surprised a few days a go when I sadness. The context was watching a video about a young man who bought his mom a car she had wanted his whole life. The sadness came when I realized that I would never have those feelings for the woman who gave birth to me. Besides the anger and hate, I feel nothing for her besides annoyance when I have to interact with her, even though it’s all through email.

My therapist said today that I need to grieve that loss and I frowned because I thought I’d already done this years ago. Ugh.

She also said something that was perfectly worded although I won’t get the wording exactly right, but she mentioned how confusing this is for me because my mother is still alive and is a nuisance. So she’s alive but I still need to grieve because I never had a mother. Yeah, that is weird and it is confusing.

She and I have often said that my grandmother was really my mother because she raised me for the first 6 years of my life, not to mention all the times I was sent to live with her. She was my one constant in this world; the place I was most safe. But today during therapy we adjusted the wording on that because I said that although I now realize as an adult that my grandmother was my mother figure, when I was a child I did not know that nor did I see her that way.I saw her as my grandmother and therefore the only mother I had was the woman who gave birth to me and abused me until I moved out. So my therapist said ‘let’s say that you had an extra, extra special grandmother’, which is very true. Therefore, the loss is still there. It’s also complicated by the fact that my grandmother died way too young and that I found her body. That particular grief keeps cropping up over and over and it makes things more garbled and emotional.

In the background of all of this is the issue of the sexual abuse by my uncle. Whew, you know what? It’s really good to write that sentence because with all the mother crap, the sexual abuse has been pushed aside but my psyche keeps flashing images and my stomach keeps getting tight and flip flopping when he comes up. I still have dreams from time to time but I haven’t been talking about it. It’s good to talk about it. I was going to go to a support group that I found out about in my area but I think it moved to a church and I don’t do churches. As I write this I keep thinking that maybe I should go back to making collages…maybe that will help me get my focus back on what I really want to understand; the sexual abuse.

I’m glad that I sat down to write this because it was good to reconnect to my writing, my blog and my readers. And I reconnected a bit more to myself. Thanks for sharing this space with me. I’ll try to write more often instead of letting things simmer in my brain so much.

Posted in dissociation, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Trauma | Tagged , , | 3 Comments