i've spent the weekend so mad at my mother.
i'm angry and barbed, tangled wire clenching. i keep wondering why i'm so tense, so upset. what is it that's upsetting me? it's loathing, disdain so much hate and so much left uncried, so much i can't stop now.
it's me. it's us. it's the mess we leave between us and the chips we pass from one burdened shoulder to another. the ugliest reflection, the ones we turn from with shame and guilt and hide from everyone else.
i've been trying to discern the meaning of love for hours.
do we? it's a strange question i ask myself often. do i love my mother? can i not? is this too passe? do we ever get over the baggage our parents passed to us? do we ever find our way home to put any of it away?
every blemish i so desperately mask is seen when i look at her. the faults, the ugly that weighs me to my hands and knees, so blatant in her that i almost forget - i only hate it because i bear it too. i don't think we're bad people, i know we found this terrible place on the wings of good intentions, there's just someting horribly insufficient about us.
it's not just us tho. it's my whole family. i feel like we're little more than strangers. i was filling out a questionare for my dad for the cancer society.
do u feel that u get enough emotional support from ur friends and family? do u wish that u had more of this?the questions felt irrelavent, out of context and uncomfortable. my brother and i averted our eyes from each other, awkward and lost. we almost skipped the question but somethin in me felt the need to ask. we came so close to shruggin it off but i didn't. my dad brushed it off and blew it far far away for us.
sure.it barely qualified as a statement. it was more like a reflex, like that's just what u say. it was his after thought, the plain wanting, the simplistic honesty that hit me hardest.
of course i wish u guys were around more often.it always seemed that we did what we did for each other out of obligation rather than love. are people that hate themselves this much capable of love?
i think about when i've thought i was
in love. i can't draw a connection between that and what we have but it must be different...right?
with everything that's been goin on with my dad, the slightness of the shifting between all of us has been jarring. i'm curled up in my own space and i feel like it's time for a flashback, like in the movies. impending loss - flash - reflection on what i'm losing. there should be warm colors and i brace for sentiment and the jerkin of tears.
i cried a good part of the night away at a loss for happy tears.
my parent's love is phantom, in thoughts that haunt them, apparitions that never appear before me in their true form. their guilt, hideously transformed into scorn that i am, seemingly, forever scarred by. i wonder what they see when i love them.
i'm desperate to remember some good advice, some comforting. i don't think we've ever made each other feel better or do better. scrapped knees were bandaged with dismisal, adolescent broken hearts were nursed with the sharing of prescription happiness customarily found in pill form, psychological discontent with our situation was locked in the dark and left to die. that couldn't be cured.
it seems that my question all along was where is the love?
