So, Lucy's mom just got out of the hospital, once the doctors got their act together and actually figured out what the hell was going on with her. Now Reesa's mom's in the hospital with a kidney stone that was supposed to pass on its own. They gave her pain meds and sent her on her merry way, and now she's got a temperature of 100 degrees and she can't stand up without getting dizzy.
I don't get it. First Anne's mom, then Lucy's, now Reesa's. It makes me wonder when it'll be my mom's turn. I used to worry a lot my junior year when my mom wasn't on anti-depressants. I think, maybe, that's what made my junior year so shitty. That and my huge fight with Lucy that took us forever to overcome. But I used to wonder everyday if I'd come home and find out that my mom had committed suicide 'cause she thought she was a bad mother and had nothing to live for. She scared me when she talked like that. She scared Rissy, too. But what were we supposed to do? Dad wasn't home and Mom was...depressed. Suicidal. I didn't want to go to school and I didn't want to come home afterwards 'cause I didn't want to know what had happened while I was gone.
I wasn't just worried because she's my mom. I love her. She's not always the best mother in the world, but, c'mon, she's my mom. No, the reason I was worried was because Anne had just lost her mom. I mean, it was a little different considering the fact that Mrs. J was sick for over a decade before she died, but my mom had a serious mental illness. She dug up some repressed memories and I think they pushed her over the edge. She wasn't always so crazy. She used to have fits of rage when she was still in college and I was in kindergarten. I remember one time, she flipped the coffee table over, slipped on her way into the kitchen, and broke her pinky. She was crying in the middle of the floor and I was crying because I was scared out of my mind. For God's sake, I was five. What was I supposed to do?
I don't think she remembers what was going on before she broke her finger. Every once in a while, she brings up her crooked finger, and all I can think of is, "You flipped the coffee table that day because you were mad at the world. And me."
When things like that happened, I would always go to the balcony. That was back when we lived in a two-story house. There was a balcony outside my dad's office (later it became my room once Rissy was born) and I would sit on it, talking to myself until I felt better. I didn't need someone to talk to. I was content with exploring my emotions on my own. I still do that. I still pull away when people ask me what I'm thinking or feeling. I can figure it out on my own, given the time. Sometimes, I write it down. That's why I ended my fight with Lucy with a letter. I can express myself in written words much easier than in spoken words, mainly because after a while I realized that my parents could just stick their head out the kitchen door and hear whatever I was saying to myself. I started reading avidly then. I would immerse myself in fantasy fiction. Somehow, that helped, too. I could relate to characters and get out all my feelings through them.
Wow. Walk down memory lane.
I don't think I've had so much inner reflection in a long time. It's hard for me to look at myself sometimes. I don't think I like me very much. There are parts of me that I love. And there are parts of me that I wish didn't exist. My parents used to ask me why I wasn't more like so-and-so whenever I disappointed them. It kind of made me wonder why I wasn't good enough that I couldn't just be myself.
Fuck. I'm crying.
No comments:
Post a Comment