February 15, 2005

Will she ever understand?

I don't intend for this to be a rant about my mother, but she drives me crazy sometimes, and I don't always know how to deal with her. I've been seeing the same therapist for 5 1/2 years now, and I actually feel like I can trust her. I finally feel like I am able to be totally honest with her and open up to her... It has taken me quite some time to get to this place, but I'm here. No matter what I've gone through, or what I say in session-- Judy has never given up on me or walked away.

Sometimes I think in the past I purposely kept myself at a distance, and closed off. It was my way of 'testing' her I guess, of pushing her-- just to see how far she'd go. To see if she'd really stick around, or give up on me like so many other people have. But she's never walked away, and that means the world to me.

The problem though, is my mother. At least once a month, I get the "aren't you done seeing Judy yet?" comments. She brings up how many years I've been seeing her, as though I need a reminder of just how messed up I am. She reminds me of how much money I've spent on therapy, and actually had the nerve to ask on Sunday if Judy is really helping at all, or if I'm "just paying for a friend to talk to." She made it sound as though I'm this sorry, desperate little elementary school kid willing to do whatever it takes just to have a friend-- even if it means paying that person.

I could have quit going to therapy years ago. And yeah-- there were times I questioned it, because in my eyes, I didn't see any progress. (Though, I think all along I've always known I'm not the same person now as the day I first walked in there. Even 2 years ago, I wasn't the same.)But I kept going back-- because I wanted to. Nobody made me. Nobody forced me to go, or told me I HAD to. It was my decision. I guess I've always found just enough hope in my sessions (even in the "not so good" session)to want to hang on to that.

My mother doesn't know (or doesn't care, I'm not sure which) that I cut. She doesn't know the depth of my thoughts-- nor would she understand. She doesn't know that each day is a struggle to get through, and I constantly am questioning myself and my decisions and arguing with myself as to whether or not it's really ok to eat something. She doesn't know I spend a minimum of two hours at the gym nearly every day, running mile after mile-- yet never getting anywhere except that "good enough" point in my head. She doesn't know how much self-hatred lies within, and how much I wish I could disappear sometimes. She doesn't know what it's like to look in the mirror some days, and not even recognize your own face. Like you keep staring harder and harder, blinking, trying to focus your eyes... but the image is blurry and out of focus and whoever is in the mirror is NOT you. She doesn't know this. Doesn't see this.
As long as she ignores it-- everything is fine. I should be used to it by now, because that's the way it's always been. Maybe even more-so now than before.

I hate it when she talks like that. I feel like a failure-- like I'm letting her down somehow, for still being the fucked up daughter. She makes it sound as though I'm playing some juvenile game, and "aren't you PAST that already?" If this were just some game, just some childish phase-- I would have stopped playing LOOOOOONNNNGGGG ago.

I don't know why I really care in the first place. It's not like we've ever had that "heart-to-heart" relationship with one another. My therapist knows more about me and my siblings than my own mother does!

We live in this fabricated world of lies and denial and so long as no one comes along to shake that delicate balance, everyone is ok. But it's like looking through a kalieodoscope with my family. Things seem perfect, they have their place and their shape and everything fits together *just right*. But the moment it all changes, shifts, everyone constantly scrambles to get things back to normal. They keep trying on different fascades and different places, as though time and distance will erase the past. But it doesn't. Time is never enough, and distance is never far enough. You can't run away from yourself. I've tried for too long. But no one else seems to have figured that out yet--- though I'm not so sure it's up to me to try and make them understand it. I think it's something they have to figure out on their own-- just like I had to. So we keep dancing around, everyone desperate to get things back they way they were. But no matter how hard or how long we work at it, the picture will never be the same again.

I'm tired of playing the games, and I know I shouldn't-- but I do. I get around my family, and I return to the quiet, peace-keeping, never-cause-a-problem, perfect daughter. I play my part, just like everyone else does. Even though I know I do it-- NOT doing it is so much harder.

And I guess, in all reality, it only keeps the cycle going.

Posted by Wendy on February 15, 2005 8:51 PM

Comments

Posted by: Lisa at February 18, 2005 5:46 PM