I saw my family on Saturday. It went well, as good as it could possibly have been. I had fun – real fun – and came home feeling ashamed, anxious, foolish, stupid. Ugh. Conversations and scenarios played out in my mind that did and didn’t happen. I felt like crying.
I had my worst true-to-life nightmare to date. There was no illogical dream-state skipping around to make it more dismissable. It was all of my issues maximized and constant. 9 hours of heartache, rejection, screaming, and anger. I was a fly on the wall watching George W. Bush flailing about in the Oval Office, opinionated but uninformed. An idiot and a danger. Horrified, I recognized myself. I was embarrassed. I wanted to run. I went home.
There, I found worksheets from a seminar mother attended, “Not a Good Fit: Loving Your Child Anyway?” In the margin, she wondered what to do when my brother and sis are away… proof positive of what I already knew: She absolutely and always hated me.
I started bawling almost immediately upon awakening. I couldn’t calm myself. “Christie, it went well. You’re on the path again to healing.” But the feeling of “F*** them!” prevailed. I couldn’t stop myself from crying out, “It’s just not worth it!” Whether they do or don’t, they always hurt me. My brain is so sick with them, I can’t even hope for peace in my sleep. Do you know that I can’t recall a single family dream that wasn’t unpleasant? I am tied up in knots and my subconscious won’t let me stop, accept, forgive and move on.
What the hell do I do?
I biked to the park and spent the afternoon in the shade crocheting, listening to the people and the gulls. I hooped at the drum circle. I felt better afterwards, but today I still feel icky. I feel rather hopeless a project sometimes, married to being right and wrathful.