I don't always find myself talking about good things that happen in my life. I'm not completely sure why, but maybe it comes from a fear that people will think I'm trying to make them jealous, or just the fact that I lack a positive outlook on life. But I need to focus more on the happy events that make life livable, know what I mean?
So, I feel bad that I haven't blogged about this before, but about 5 days ago my family adopted a new member of the family! He's a sweet little chihuahua-dachshund mix, rescued from the animal shelter as a stray. He's under a year old, but not quite a puppy. Very energetic at times, but much quieter than my Pomeranian! Hahahaha! He's a cutie. I'll post a pic next time I blog, since I don't have any on my computer right now. But he has an amazingly complicated expression sometimes, like he's imagining himself in another world or something. Just staring out the window or through the backyard gate seems like a porthole to a fantastical journey. Other times, he has the naivete of a baby. Just a bee flying through the air will puzzle him, and reflections in shiny objects surprise him and catch him off guard. He wakes up in the best mood, tail-wagging and bouncy. Maybe he dreamed of being back in the shelter or on the street, and awoke to the good news of having a real home. I wonder sometimes. He already learned his name, the clever boy: Quincy.
The house is a little lighter with him here, making my other dog less lonely, and giving me something positive to focus on and enjoy, most of the time. My medications are being adjusted, honestly. We'll find out where to go from here, in that regard. But it's a process, so in the meantime I'm moody and introverted. Hopefully that will change soon. I've been losing weight as well, but slowly. At least I'm losing. And I'm eating much healthier, fresher foods, and a mix of fruits and vegetables like I have never eaten. Lots of home cooking, for a change. And vegetarian meals, not really thinking about it. I feel good about the changes, and I'm not really missing anything since I've added so many new things to my menu. And I know I can have anything I want, as long as I control the rest of my meals that week, and as long as I don't do it as often as I was before. Only one cupcake as opposed to the four or more I would have eaten in a day before. Yep, I was out of control with food.
So, good things happening, even though my mood isn't there yet. At least I didn't wait for my depression to lift completely before making these changes, since I could have been waiting forever. I am trying not to let it determine my life. It takes effort on a daily basis. Extreme effort. But I am doing it, most of the time.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
You Can't Always Get What You Want
I like watching "House". It's a good show, well-written, well-acted, and always with a creative script and storytelling. I've noticed through the course of the show how often the song "You Can't Always Get What You Want" is featured during the show's closing, especially in the first season. I know it's meaningful when it's played, and ever since my recent trip home I've been thinking about it. Especially the line, "If you try sometimes you find/You get what you need." Maybe because I haven't noticed it to be true.
I'm sure it's because I'm depressed quite often that I don't see it. Maybe if I were to sit and think about it, it's true, that I'm really lucky with the things that really matter. But sitting here--maybe even moping--tonight, I feel like there's always something missing that I truly want, that I don't think I'll ever get. What hurts the most is that I'll keep waiting for it, knowingly in vain. And I'll put myself in a position to get hurt over and over and over again.
My mother has never been very demonstrative with emotions or encouragement or the like. She's funny, she's genuine, and practical. But not warm and fuzzy really, and there were times in my life when a bit of sensitivity from her would have gone a long way. I have come to realize that's just the truth about her, and a survival strategy she had to develop as a young child with alcoholic parents (adoptive parents, to make it worse) and abandonment issues. She tells me stories that bring tears to my eyes. But she survived, maybe by distancing herself emotionally, maybe by surrounding herself with people who would depend on her, so they wouldn't leave . . . My father was that sort, troubled and unreliable. And so am I. Maybe that's why she has such a hard time relating to me, and why she eventually left my father. Trying to get something emotional to grow out of seeds sown in the wrong soil.
I think I can deal with that, the fact that my mother loves me and doesn't show it. What I can't deal with is that she doesn't love my son. It breaks my heart into so many pieces that the shards hurt, too. I always thought that she would get to know him and love him. That they would spend time together and he'd be proud of where he came from, and I'd be proud of my family and my hometown. But the last time I visited, the part that is still stinging from the slap across the face of my dreams, is how she treated him, how distant she was, and the delusions she came up with to feel the way she did. She said she saw him "pushing her buttons" and trying to get a rise out of her, why I do not know. I mean, why would he push her buttons when she's already being so abrasive? And he doesn't even know her. I didn't see it at all. I saw a boy being polite and trying to bond over common interests. He saw that she liked video games and wanted to talk about them. My mother likes reality "competition" shows, and so does my son. He tried to watch them with her. But she just became annoyed with everything he said and did. And she really and truly believes those things she said. Which I don't get. It hurts that she would believe that, that my son is just a brat. No one else says that about him. He gets along with other adults so well, who knows? Maybe she's threatened by him? Not sure. She said she knew she was pulling away when he was a baby, and she watched him, and he cried. She said she only dealt with it when we were babies because she had to, but now she can't.
She had started the conversation with me by saying, "You know I don't deal well with people." Yeah, I know. What I can't forgive is that she won't even try. Won't get help. Anyone else, I can understand. No one likes to get help. But it's the reason she's always given for leaving my father, that he wouldn't get help for his problems. And now the tables are turned, and she doesn't see it. Time is passing, and it will be too late. He probably wouldn't even cry at her funeral, since he doesn't know who she is. I constantly have to remind him that he has two grandmothers, since she's never acted like one. And it hurts that it's my family acting like this. And what would happen to him if something happened to my husband and I? Where would he go? There are no family members I trust, on either side of the family. That hurts, hurts so so so much I can't bear it.
I'm starting to think I shouldn't even go home. I get hurt every time I do. Maybe I didn't realize it at the time, but maybe that's why I left in the first place, to save myself. I miss my home, but I miss the way it used to be. It's not the same place anymore, not when I see everything and every relationship falling apart. I feel more lost than I have in a long time. No home to go to, and no home where I am.
I'm sure it's because I'm depressed quite often that I don't see it. Maybe if I were to sit and think about it, it's true, that I'm really lucky with the things that really matter. But sitting here--maybe even moping--tonight, I feel like there's always something missing that I truly want, that I don't think I'll ever get. What hurts the most is that I'll keep waiting for it, knowingly in vain. And I'll put myself in a position to get hurt over and over and over again.
My mother has never been very demonstrative with emotions or encouragement or the like. She's funny, she's genuine, and practical. But not warm and fuzzy really, and there were times in my life when a bit of sensitivity from her would have gone a long way. I have come to realize that's just the truth about her, and a survival strategy she had to develop as a young child with alcoholic parents (adoptive parents, to make it worse) and abandonment issues. She tells me stories that bring tears to my eyes. But she survived, maybe by distancing herself emotionally, maybe by surrounding herself with people who would depend on her, so they wouldn't leave . . . My father was that sort, troubled and unreliable. And so am I. Maybe that's why she has such a hard time relating to me, and why she eventually left my father. Trying to get something emotional to grow out of seeds sown in the wrong soil.
I think I can deal with that, the fact that my mother loves me and doesn't show it. What I can't deal with is that she doesn't love my son. It breaks my heart into so many pieces that the shards hurt, too. I always thought that she would get to know him and love him. That they would spend time together and he'd be proud of where he came from, and I'd be proud of my family and my hometown. But the last time I visited, the part that is still stinging from the slap across the face of my dreams, is how she treated him, how distant she was, and the delusions she came up with to feel the way she did. She said she saw him "pushing her buttons" and trying to get a rise out of her, why I do not know. I mean, why would he push her buttons when she's already being so abrasive? And he doesn't even know her. I didn't see it at all. I saw a boy being polite and trying to bond over common interests. He saw that she liked video games and wanted to talk about them. My mother likes reality "competition" shows, and so does my son. He tried to watch them with her. But she just became annoyed with everything he said and did. And she really and truly believes those things she said. Which I don't get. It hurts that she would believe that, that my son is just a brat. No one else says that about him. He gets along with other adults so well, who knows? Maybe she's threatened by him? Not sure. She said she knew she was pulling away when he was a baby, and she watched him, and he cried. She said she only dealt with it when we were babies because she had to, but now she can't.
She had started the conversation with me by saying, "You know I don't deal well with people." Yeah, I know. What I can't forgive is that she won't even try. Won't get help. Anyone else, I can understand. No one likes to get help. But it's the reason she's always given for leaving my father, that he wouldn't get help for his problems. And now the tables are turned, and she doesn't see it. Time is passing, and it will be too late. He probably wouldn't even cry at her funeral, since he doesn't know who she is. I constantly have to remind him that he has two grandmothers, since she's never acted like one. And it hurts that it's my family acting like this. And what would happen to him if something happened to my husband and I? Where would he go? There are no family members I trust, on either side of the family. That hurts, hurts so so so much I can't bear it.
I'm starting to think I shouldn't even go home. I get hurt every time I do. Maybe I didn't realize it at the time, but maybe that's why I left in the first place, to save myself. I miss my home, but I miss the way it used to be. It's not the same place anymore, not when I see everything and every relationship falling apart. I feel more lost than I have in a long time. No home to go to, and no home where I am.
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