Resentment. That's the word that continues to dominate my thoughts. And I try, I try so hard not to feel it, think it, live it. But it gets harder and harder not to. Because it's there. It's always there. I can't ignore it anymore.
I'm trying to establish a life for myself. I keep trying and I keep failing. Part of it is my own fault for being unable to secure a job after 11 years out of the workplace. I waited too long. I have no one to blame for that but me. I tell myself that it will happen, that I need to be patient. Not only with finding a job but with my heart's desire too. And then it feels like it will never happen. Circumstances get in my way constantly.
Just today I was taking a shower and a very strong desire to run away from home overtook me. And I actually started to contemplate it. To plan for it. I started to tie up a few loose ends so that I can go, just go and not have them hanging over my head... an oil change, a haircut, a candy order that I needed to fill. Get them done and then go... go somewhere, anywhere but here. It'll hurt him, the man, but thinking of that stopping me adds to the resentment. Do I always have to do what is best for everyone else, but me? When do I take care of me? What do I do for myself that gives me joy or happiness? The answer to that is that I occasionally get a new tattoo. That brings me joy, happiness and it's all for me. Other than that, my existence seems to be to fulfill other people's needs. And that leads to more resentment.
So I dreamed of getting away, running away. Not forever, but long enough to clear my head and decide what I really want and where I want to be. Enough time to stop feeling so much resentment towards so many.
The man... always trying not to harm him, not hurt or upset him. So much like my mother in that regard it pisses me off. Repeating history all the while telling her to stop doing that but not listening to my own words. Existing to make his dinner because I feel like I have no other purpose.
My mother... whenever I make plans, plans of any kind whether they be to go away for a weekend or spend a day to myself either job hunting, writing, reading or just taking care of me, she needs something and I go. And I resent it. I resent that there are so many things she can't seem to do for herself. I resent that I am the only one she can call who will always go and help. I resent that I have little to no help when it comes to her or my father.
My father... probably the neediest of a all. He is not well and continues to go downhill. He refuses to do anything for himself. Just flat out refuses. He no longer wants to walk (he has a prosthetic leg and can walk with the aid of a walker) so insists on using the wheelchair. But he also refuses to push himself once he's in it. He wants whoever is there to push him while he sits back and does nothing. This week he was admitted to the hospital, again, for congestive heart failure. This has been going on since before Thanksgiving, but he never would say what was bothering him. He had a stomach ache, that's all he would say. He'd been to the doctor a few times, and that was all he would tell them too so they prescribe antacids and things like that. No one caught that he had a ton of water sitting in his lungs for months. Yesterday the doctor took a needle and drained his lung of a liter and a half of liquid. And today they sent him home. He's not well. He's unable to walk and he seems kind of spacey. Maybe he's had another stroke, I don't know. But my 4 ft 11 mother cannot take care of a 6 ft 2 father who cannot walk or do anything for himself anymore.
My siblings... I can hear in my siblings voices that I should go there and stay with them to help out, even though they don't come out and say it. Because if they do, they will be on the business end of a big fat "fuck you, you do it!" One lives in FL, one lives in AL and one lives here. I resent that two moved a way and the third is planning his move with his family within two years, which will leave me here holding the bag completely with our parents. Not that I get much help from him now, but I get some and some is better than none.
I resent that everyone can live their lives but me. I resent myself for feeling this way. I resent myself for seemingly doing the right things for everyone but myself. I resent myself for feeling selfish because of these feelings. I resent myself for letting my life take a back seat to everyone and watching life pass me by. I resent that there is no end in sight to any of this.
Showing posts with label mom and dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom and dad. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Anxious
I have a confession to make. It might not be a big revelation because I think I've either eluded to it or mentioned it before. I suffer from anxiety. It's not crippling. It's not severe. But it is enough that I need medication (as needed) for it.
I did not make my First Communion with my class because I was so riddled with fear about it. As if making it by myself was any better. No one could figure out what was wrong with me. They just didn't have a name for it back then. But I knew when one of these attacks was going to hit. I could feel it. It's a tingly sensation in my head, then I'd get really hot and sweaty even if it was freezing. And then I couldn't think of anything but having to leave. The words, "I want to go home" were all that would go through my mind. And once home, I was fine. Like nothing ever happened.
It started when I was about 7 or 8 years old and back then there wasn't a name for it. I was just a high strung kid, afraid of her own shadow. I so clearly remember my fears really coming to light. I didn't know what the fears were specifically but I felt fear. I would get nervous with my stomach in knots. My mom had to pick me up from school so many times that eventually she refused and told them that she would not come and to send me back to my classroom. I guess I can't blame her for that. It had to be frustrating as hell. Here I was, absolutely fine whenever I was at home. But when I had to go to school I suddenly became a mass of nerves so tight that sometimes I even threw up from the stress of it.
Eventually I grew out of it. And it didn't come back again until I was an adult. My first adult panic attack happened in 1993 when I was planning my wedding. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, I was driving to work when all of a sudden it hit. Well I take that back, kind of. Nothing happened at that moment but my mom was giving me a lot of grief during the planning. She hated my dress, she hated the things I wanted (not a mass, a ceremony), she was mad I didn't ask my sister to be my maid of honor. Was it really such a problem that I wanted a rip away dress and mosh pit at my wedding? I promised to not get that going until all the old Italians left. It went on and on, everything was a problem and I didn't realize how much it was all getting to me until that one day, driving to work. It had been so long since I had a panic attack that I didn't even know I was having one. I thought I was having a heart attack or a stroke. I detoured myself from driving to work and instead went to my parents house and they rushed me to the ER, where we found out what was really going on. Then it all clicked into place. This is what was happening to me as a kid. Panic attacks!
Knowing what it is was kind of a relief. After that one in '93, they stopped again. It would be years before I would have another. And that happened in 2006. I had been thinking a lot about how my parents were aging. How things were going to change. How my grandma was not going to be around forever. How a lot of their care would fall on me. And it hit. It hit like a ton of bricks. Fear, panic. What would I do? How would I handle it? What's going to happen? Why was I in this alone even though I have two brothers and a sister? But I would be, pretty much. One brother lives in Florida, my sister lives in Alabama. My other brother is local but he and his wife both work and they have two kids, so my reliance on them for help was going to be minimal. I will say however, that when it's really really counted, he's been there.
It was only a year later that the shit really hit the fan and I was put to the test. My father became ill. And through it all not once did I have a panic attack. I fell right into control mode. I took over and did what had to be done. I took care of my mother while my father was laid up in a hospital in a strange city in a far away state for weeks and weeks. I questioned the doctors about everything while my mom remained in kind of semi-shock. I took notes on every single thing every doctor said. I was at that hospital day and night. I put cold compresses on his brow when he was feeling anxious himself. And when his anxiety really kicked about all that was happening to him, I got the doctor to give him the same medication I use (Ativan, the wonder drug). And when they moved him to a horrible facility for his rehab, I got him out and had him placed somewhere better. And it felt natural to me to be in this role because I am such a control freak.
Generally speaking there is no rhyme or reason anymore, at least for me, as to when one will hit. It's these two strange aspects to my make up that I don't understand and maybe never will. How can the thought, whether conscious or unconscious about something terrible happening send me into physical panic but the actual event taking place does not. It's times like that the weakness I feel for having panic attacks morphs into a strength I never new I had.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Pulling an Grandma is Now Pulling a Mom
Once upon a time, a daughter went to her parents house weekly to help them out with household chores and errands. On such occasions, the mother would occasionally buy said daughter (me), as well as herself and the father an instant lottery ticket.
Enough of that, this is no fairy tale. My mom has picked up right where Grandma left off on the instant lottery bandwagon. Grandma loved gambling of any kind. Generally speaking, I think it's a waste of money but if someone wants to buy me a ticket then sure, I'll do the scratchy scratchy. On one of these occasions, mom decided to splurge and bought three $5 instant tickets... one for her, one for dad and one for me. As is usually the case, I forgot about the ticket right after I threw it in my purse.
Several days later my mom calls me and asks me if I scratched my ticket. She sounds weird, mysterious and kind of shifty. I told her I forgot about it and then I said, "you sound weird, what...are you pulling a Grandma and thinking you won $150,000?" She says, "yes." Oh boy, here we go again. My Grandma was notorious for thinking she won the lottery. I cannot tell you how many times she's called me, convinced she was the next instant millionaire. But in her defense, she wasn't so great with the reading and writing, having only completed school to the third grade. So she often misinterpreted how to play or what the gist of the ticket was. Mom has no such excuse.
She asks me to get my ticket and then proceeds to tell me that on the back is an extra game and it is there that she believes she hit the jackpot. It's set up like a slot machine and you match oranges or cherries, etc. Or if you have a dollar sign, one of these $, you win the amount shown. She says she has a dollar sign and the prize amount shown is $150,000. "Are you sure?" I say several times. She assures me that is what she has. I had a dollar sign on my ticket, with a prize of $3 so I told her I would go cash it in and ask some questions then get back to her. So she waits on pins and needles and I go to the grocery store and chat up the lottery counter lady. She assures me that if mom does indeed have the dollar sign and the $150,000 prize listed, then she is a winner and she tells me how we go about redeeming the ticket.
Leaving the store, I call mom and tell her the good news. It looks like she's a winner! I am working that day so I told her I would finish up my job and then come over and we'll get the redemption process underway. She's excited. I'm excited and start planning my trip to Italy! I go home on Cloud 9 thinking about all my exciting plans that can finally come to fruition. And as I'm just finishing up my job, she calls and says, "I don't think I won." So I say, "What changed? You either have the dollar sign or you don't." Mom informs me that she's looked at it again and again and now it's looking more like an icon of an actual dollar than a dollar sign. Big diff there mom. The plane that was taking off for Sicily in my head just turned back around and landed in Akron and threw me off. So I tell her, hold onto the ticket and when I come for my regular weekly visit, I'll look at it. So that is where we leave it for the next couple days.
Wednesday rolls around, Wednesday traditionally being Mom day, and I head over. When I get there I ask right away to see the ticket. What I saw was not a dollar sign, nor was it a dollar icon. It was an unscratched area. Mom hates to wear her glasses. I don't know why this is, but she does. It's a constant battle every week with me yelling at her to put on her damn glasses so she can actually see what she's buying. It's pretty much a given to me at this point that she did not have her glasses on when she attempted to scratch off this ticket and basically missed the whole area except for one tiny little corner. You could not tell what was under there, it was hardly scratched off at all. So how she thought it was a dollar sign, a dollar icon or anything else for that matter is beyond me. I am trying to keep my cool but my fury is starting to take over. She had me running to stores to find out how to cash this non ticket in, a ticket that wasn't mistaken for a winner, she never scratched the fucking thing! So I scratch it, and it's not a dollar sign. It's not a dollar symbol. It's a fucking orange!!! Not even close to either thing she thought it was.
Do you think this convinced her that she should wear her glasses when she's trying to read something? It hasn't! It's still an on going weekly battle. Oy give me strength.
Enough of that, this is no fairy tale. My mom has picked up right where Grandma left off on the instant lottery bandwagon. Grandma loved gambling of any kind. Generally speaking, I think it's a waste of money but if someone wants to buy me a ticket then sure, I'll do the scratchy scratchy. On one of these occasions, mom decided to splurge and bought three $5 instant tickets... one for her, one for dad and one for me. As is usually the case, I forgot about the ticket right after I threw it in my purse.
Several days later my mom calls me and asks me if I scratched my ticket. She sounds weird, mysterious and kind of shifty. I told her I forgot about it and then I said, "you sound weird, what...are you pulling a Grandma and thinking you won $150,000?" She says, "yes." Oh boy, here we go again. My Grandma was notorious for thinking she won the lottery. I cannot tell you how many times she's called me, convinced she was the next instant millionaire. But in her defense, she wasn't so great with the reading and writing, having only completed school to the third grade. So she often misinterpreted how to play or what the gist of the ticket was. Mom has no such excuse.
She asks me to get my ticket and then proceeds to tell me that on the back is an extra game and it is there that she believes she hit the jackpot. It's set up like a slot machine and you match oranges or cherries, etc. Or if you have a dollar sign, one of these $, you win the amount shown. She says she has a dollar sign and the prize amount shown is $150,000. "Are you sure?" I say several times. She assures me that is what she has. I had a dollar sign on my ticket, with a prize of $3 so I told her I would go cash it in and ask some questions then get back to her. So she waits on pins and needles and I go to the grocery store and chat up the lottery counter lady. She assures me that if mom does indeed have the dollar sign and the $150,000 prize listed, then she is a winner and she tells me how we go about redeeming the ticket.
Leaving the store, I call mom and tell her the good news. It looks like she's a winner! I am working that day so I told her I would finish up my job and then come over and we'll get the redemption process underway. She's excited. I'm excited and start planning my trip to Italy! I go home on Cloud 9 thinking about all my exciting plans that can finally come to fruition. And as I'm just finishing up my job, she calls and says, "I don't think I won." So I say, "What changed? You either have the dollar sign or you don't." Mom informs me that she's looked at it again and again and now it's looking more like an icon of an actual dollar than a dollar sign. Big diff there mom. The plane that was taking off for Sicily in my head just turned back around and landed in Akron and threw me off. So I tell her, hold onto the ticket and when I come for my regular weekly visit, I'll look at it. So that is where we leave it for the next couple days.
Wednesday rolls around, Wednesday traditionally being Mom day, and I head over. When I get there I ask right away to see the ticket. What I saw was not a dollar sign, nor was it a dollar icon. It was an unscratched area. Mom hates to wear her glasses. I don't know why this is, but she does. It's a constant battle every week with me yelling at her to put on her damn glasses so she can actually see what she's buying. It's pretty much a given to me at this point that she did not have her glasses on when she attempted to scratch off this ticket and basically missed the whole area except for one tiny little corner. You could not tell what was under there, it was hardly scratched off at all. So how she thought it was a dollar sign, a dollar icon or anything else for that matter is beyond me. I am trying to keep my cool but my fury is starting to take over. She had me running to stores to find out how to cash this non ticket in, a ticket that wasn't mistaken for a winner, she never scratched the fucking thing! So I scratch it, and it's not a dollar sign. It's not a dollar symbol. It's a fucking orange!!! Not even close to either thing she thought it was.
Do you think this convinced her that she should wear her glasses when she's trying to read something? It hasn't! It's still an on going weekly battle. Oy give me strength.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
You and Me, We Disagree
My brother B and I are less than a year and a half apart in age and world's apart in every other way. When we were at dear old St. W grade school, he played the part of the big brother and he stood up for me when I was picked on. And in high school, when he started driving, I got rides to school with him. His friends were nicer to me than he was by then. In fact, I dated one of his friends for awhile. It didn't work out. D was as possessive as they come and even at the tender age of 16, I knew damn well no guy was going to control me.
So we fast forward to our adult lives. You've already read some about my path. His was completely different. Out of all four of us siblings, he was the only one to finish college. He majored in Theology and became a religion teacher in Catholic high schools and has since worked his way up to Assistant Principal at the high school he works for in Florida. Yes, a much much different path than me. He's also on his third wife.
When he was married to his second wife, T, we shared a duplex. They lived on the bottom, N and I on top. I can't remember how long we lived there, two years maybe, and not once did we go out to dinner or have movie night together or do anything at all socially. Not once. When T was away, B would make a beeline up to our place to hang out and talk. So yeah, I guess T didn't like us... well me. There is no reason to dislike N. I can come up with lots of reasons to hate me, and apparently she did. It matters not, chick turned out to be a total psycho anyway. She may get her own blog post someday. Ahh the stories!
B and I though, we have nothing in common, other than the fact that we come from the same family. We argue about politics, about abortion, about religion. He is self righteous and a pompous asshole. He is always right. He is the golden boy who can do no wrong in the eyes of our parents. When he speaks, they listen. That shit really frosts my ass because it's me who's here, doing everything for them. When we had to have a ramp built onto our existing deck to accommodate dad's wheel chair, we couldn't afford the $1800 price tag. We had already bought them a bed, a TV, had the driveway paved and the bathroom modified. So I went to my brothers and sister for help. At the time, my sister was struggling financially but she said she would do what she could. J, as always, was more than willing to help. B flat out said no. He said this was my parents responsibility and he would not contribute. I was pretty stunned, but not as stunned as I soon would be. This is when B gave me "the speech." It went something like this... "Mom and dad are now your responsibility. If they need something, you have to take care of it. It's not my problem. Don't come to me." That's mom's golden boy. Mom ended up getting the money from Grandma for the ramp.
I spared my mom the knowledge of this conversation for a long time. I figured she wouldn't have believed me anyway. Case in point... many years ago, I was out of work. It was getting to be Christmastime and I didn't have any money so I bowed out of gift giving that year. In previous years, and in years since, other members of my family have done this. When one of us bows out, we all bow out. That is, unless it's me bowing out. Then they just skip me and buy for everyone else. If my sister bows out? No one buys for anyone. If either of my brothers bow out? No one buys for anyone. But yeah, when I bow out, oh well... too bad so sad. I guess it has something to do with being youngest? I don't know. So it was one of those years where I bowed out. Admittedly I was sad, not because I wasn't receiving. I don't care about that ever. But I love buying something unexpected and seeing the look of surprise and joy on someones face. Fuck your lists, if I can't figure out what to buy my own damn sister, then I'm pretty lame. So I was sad. I had to sit there and watch everyone give and receive (I had a few things from parents, parents always buy no matter what). I wasn't crying, I wasn't making any kind of fuss. I was just a little sad. B grabbed my arm and pulled me aside and said words I will never ever forget, "why don't you just fucking leave. Nobody wants you here." I looked at him like he was nuts and said, "what?" He said, "you heard me, get the fuck out." You don't have to tell me a third time, I turned around and started for the door, tears rolling down my face. My mom asked where I was going and I said, "leaving." She freaked out and tried to stop me. I told her, "your son told me to get the fuck out, so I'm going." She didn't believe me. Her angel would never say such a thing! He did. And I left. I went to N's house. We were dating at the time, and had the breakdown of all breakdowns.
A month later it was my birthday and that was the first time I saw the whole family again after that hellish Christmas. B was there. He came over to me, looked at me and then punched me in the arm playfully and walked away. That was apparently my apology since I never got a verbal one. Seriously, is it so hard to say you're wrong? To say "I'm sorry I hurt you"? To say, "geez I was such an ass and I'm sorry"? To say anything that would make it better? Resentment can last a long long time so why not make the effort to make things right? I know I've had to eat the proverbial piece of humble pie now and then. And while I don't enjoy it, it's infinitely better than damaging a relationship irreparably. If I'm aware of a hurt I've caused, I do try to make it right if that person matters to me at all. And if I don't know, or seem oblivious, I hope the hurt party will tell me so I can make it right.
B and I will probably never get along, but we do talk to each other now and again. He likes to call me if he has a question about food or if he's made something he found particularly good. He likes to call me if one of his friends did something really really stupid and we get a good laugh. We talk maybe four or five times a year. I'm fine with it. In the end the fact is, he doesn't know me at all and would rather make his assumptions about me and my life. Maybe I'm doing the same thing, but after being on the receiving end of the two incidents I just told you about, I don't think I am.
So we fast forward to our adult lives. You've already read some about my path. His was completely different. Out of all four of us siblings, he was the only one to finish college. He majored in Theology and became a religion teacher in Catholic high schools and has since worked his way up to Assistant Principal at the high school he works for in Florida. Yes, a much much different path than me. He's also on his third wife.
When he was married to his second wife, T, we shared a duplex. They lived on the bottom, N and I on top. I can't remember how long we lived there, two years maybe, and not once did we go out to dinner or have movie night together or do anything at all socially. Not once. When T was away, B would make a beeline up to our place to hang out and talk. So yeah, I guess T didn't like us... well me. There is no reason to dislike N. I can come up with lots of reasons to hate me, and apparently she did. It matters not, chick turned out to be a total psycho anyway. She may get her own blog post someday. Ahh the stories!
B and I though, we have nothing in common, other than the fact that we come from the same family. We argue about politics, about abortion, about religion. He is self righteous and a pompous asshole. He is always right. He is the golden boy who can do no wrong in the eyes of our parents. When he speaks, they listen. That shit really frosts my ass because it's me who's here, doing everything for them. When we had to have a ramp built onto our existing deck to accommodate dad's wheel chair, we couldn't afford the $1800 price tag. We had already bought them a bed, a TV, had the driveway paved and the bathroom modified. So I went to my brothers and sister for help. At the time, my sister was struggling financially but she said she would do what she could. J, as always, was more than willing to help. B flat out said no. He said this was my parents responsibility and he would not contribute. I was pretty stunned, but not as stunned as I soon would be. This is when B gave me "the speech." It went something like this... "Mom and dad are now your responsibility. If they need something, you have to take care of it. It's not my problem. Don't come to me." That's mom's golden boy. Mom ended up getting the money from Grandma for the ramp.
I spared my mom the knowledge of this conversation for a long time. I figured she wouldn't have believed me anyway. Case in point... many years ago, I was out of work. It was getting to be Christmastime and I didn't have any money so I bowed out of gift giving that year. In previous years, and in years since, other members of my family have done this. When one of us bows out, we all bow out. That is, unless it's me bowing out. Then they just skip me and buy for everyone else. If my sister bows out? No one buys for anyone. If either of my brothers bow out? No one buys for anyone. But yeah, when I bow out, oh well... too bad so sad. I guess it has something to do with being youngest? I don't know. So it was one of those years where I bowed out. Admittedly I was sad, not because I wasn't receiving. I don't care about that ever. But I love buying something unexpected and seeing the look of surprise and joy on someones face. Fuck your lists, if I can't figure out what to buy my own damn sister, then I'm pretty lame. So I was sad. I had to sit there and watch everyone give and receive (I had a few things from parents, parents always buy no matter what). I wasn't crying, I wasn't making any kind of fuss. I was just a little sad. B grabbed my arm and pulled me aside and said words I will never ever forget, "why don't you just fucking leave. Nobody wants you here." I looked at him like he was nuts and said, "what?" He said, "you heard me, get the fuck out." You don't have to tell me a third time, I turned around and started for the door, tears rolling down my face. My mom asked where I was going and I said, "leaving." She freaked out and tried to stop me. I told her, "your son told me to get the fuck out, so I'm going." She didn't believe me. Her angel would never say such a thing! He did. And I left. I went to N's house. We were dating at the time, and had the breakdown of all breakdowns.
A month later it was my birthday and that was the first time I saw the whole family again after that hellish Christmas. B was there. He came over to me, looked at me and then punched me in the arm playfully and walked away. That was apparently my apology since I never got a verbal one. Seriously, is it so hard to say you're wrong? To say "I'm sorry I hurt you"? To say, "geez I was such an ass and I'm sorry"? To say anything that would make it better? Resentment can last a long long time so why not make the effort to make things right? I know I've had to eat the proverbial piece of humble pie now and then. And while I don't enjoy it, it's infinitely better than damaging a relationship irreparably. If I'm aware of a hurt I've caused, I do try to make it right if that person matters to me at all. And if I don't know, or seem oblivious, I hope the hurt party will tell me so I can make it right.
B and I will probably never get along, but we do talk to each other now and again. He likes to call me if he has a question about food or if he's made something he found particularly good. He likes to call me if one of his friends did something really really stupid and we get a good laugh. We talk maybe four or five times a year. I'm fine with it. In the end the fact is, he doesn't know me at all and would rather make his assumptions about me and my life. Maybe I'm doing the same thing, but after being on the receiving end of the two incidents I just told you about, I don't think I am.
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