2008-03-19
may I direct your attention to the center ring ...
At this time I would like everyone to form two lines, one to the left, and the other to the right. The management is not responsible for any injuries, so it’s suggested you warm up or stretch before your turn. Acceptable actions include but are not limited to: slapping, thumping, pinching, and kicks in the backside. Gates will open shortly, please be patient. Everyone will get a chance and if time or need exists, you may rejoin either line.
You know how in the horror movies someone either toes the dead body or turns away from the bad guy/monster and you are screaming “look out you jack ass! He’s not dead yet!!!” and you can’t help but think they deserve to have their brains eaten because they weren’t using them any how? Remember my triumphant announcement yesterday involving that lifted weight off my shoulders? Yeah, I toed the monster. She’s not dead yet.
Truthfully I think it was guilt on my part. She’s still my mother and I love her, but I can’t stand her either and that’s hard to live with some times. I still feel like I shoulder blame for not having that mother daughter connection I’ve heard about and seen with others.
It really hit home watching the biggest loser last night. They had makeovers and one contestant’s mother showed up to surprise her. Her mother actually cried tears of happiness and said how she thought she was always beautiful, but now it was just amazing. Oh yes, and she was proud of her daughter. She actually meant it too.
Let’s play this scenario with my mother, shall we? First off she wouldn’t show up most likely or she’d be complaining about having to do this. Then she would tell everyone who was in ear shot that she’s been telling me for years how I need to lose weight because no one loves a fat woman. She might also throw in that she doubts I’ve changed all that much, but if I have, it’s because she said I needed to.
When she saw me she’d play up for the audience, but if the cameras weren’t rolling she’d tell me how far I still have to go, how if I want to wear my hair like that, it’s my hair, and that my clothes make me look about 20 pounds heavier and I should wear something like her (polyester pants with sewn seams down the front, circa 1970, worn with a girdle.)
They’d have to edit the scene of me eating everything I could get my hands on, and then purging it violently in the nearest bathroom.
Last night was not good for me. I binged. I purged. I repeated the cycle. It wasn’t until just a few minutes ago I realized why.
Because it saves me from letting myself really feel the pain of rejection. If I do that, I don’t have to feel the pain. I get side tracked in the motions and for a little while longer the pain goes away.
I need to let myself be honest. It hurts. It hurts so bad I can’t really express it. It doesn’t help that there is no explanation for it being caused and no excuse for its creation. There is no answer to the question “why” and I need to learn to accept that.
Something my therapist said long ago just clicked with me. She asked me once what little Karen, the little girl inside me wanted. I always said I didn’t know. Today I know.
She wants to be loved.
She wants to feel wanted.
She wants someone to be proud of her.
She wants to live without the heart break.
She wants nothing more than to just be good enough.
I have all that in my life. Just not from my mother. I’m working on letting go of her involvement with how I see myself. It’s not fair to let her warped opinions win over others.
What I need to remember is how frantic my nieces were after the shooting on campus, trying to get a hold of me. I need to remember the complete and utter raw emotion when they finally heard my voice.
I need to remember how GN1, even now at 7, loves to snuggle up with me on the couch, insisting that I put my arm around him.
I need to remember how GN2, at 3, screams and jumps for joy when Aunt Karen shows up.
I need to remember how Gniece wraps herself around me to hold me down and keep me from leaving.
I need to remember how GN3, at 3 months, smiles at me with his gummy little baby grin.
I need to remember how T was able to lean on me when her mom died a few weeks ago. Getting a note that said she appreciates my friendship and love even more now than ever (after almost 17 years!) says so much.
I need to remember how M’s kids feel like they can talk to me about anything, even things they haven’t discussed with their parents.
I need to remember how M’s mom told him if we break up, I’m still going to be her friend and in her life.
I need to remember the friends who say “I can talk to you about this.”
I need to remember those who tell me I’m loved, that they are thankful for me, that they like or even love me.
Most of all I need to remember how far I’ve come and how I’ve overcome other obstacles in my life. I’m suppose to be the wheelchair bound, fully dependent handicapped girl, but I wouldn’t listen.
I’m working on channeling that stubbornness in the right ways.