A List of Complaints.
I can't figure out what I'm *really* upset about. It's almost funny how when one thing is so horribly frustrating, everything turns awful.
Can I just make a list of all the awful things in my life? Is that appropriate? Good.
- Jennifer power-tripping all over me (getting mad at me for making a big deal out of a big deal. Wow. Sure makes me feel good to be a part of this company.)
- Getting verbally abused by a doctor at work when I asked him to clarify a few requests on his 82 item list. ("Yes, having me tell you over the phone is easier for YOU! You are just trying to get out of doing your work! Read the document I sent! You don't know how much I have done for you and your company by buying this website and sending that list. Get to work!")
- Having three guests for the weekend. It's really not the three guests; it's that I thought my parents were coming to see me, and most of this trip has been about my sister and her new boyfriend. On the drive home today, Stacey was in the back seat explaining every detail about Sean to my mom, and my dad was in the front seat, on an important call. It was a pretty boring, irritating drive. I felt like screaming toward the end, and then I remembered I had headphones.
- My fat belly. I hate how it feels. I hate that I eat too much.
- My job. I hate that it feels like they "own" me sometimes.
- My childhood. We had a long talk at dinner and my parents talked about how they wished they parented with more "grace." I shared a few stories about significant hurts, and I cried in front of them, and it actually felt good. One of my stories:
When I was 14, the summer before I started high school, I was at a party with my best friend Kim. It was an adults' party, lots of grownups sitting around, having drinks and barbecuing.
I was worried that I would start high school without ever having been drunk. (I had been homeschooled until 7th grade and had a lot of catching up to do.) "Kim, do you think they will give us some alcohol? Ask Sharon!" So Kim handed Sharon a glass and asked her to hook us up. Sharon filled it with tequila and Kim and I ran to the bathroom. I don't remember how much tequila; maybe 12 ounces. Kim had a few sips and I downed most of it.
We left the party a little while later and Kim's step dad drove us back to her place. I was annoyed that nothing was happening. We packed our bags and went to her friend Heather's place. We told Heather about the tequila. Heather asked if I was drunk, and I told her how I was annoyed that nothing happened. I asked her if she had any alcohol. She had a half gallon above the fridge, so I climbed up and had a few big gulps. The we sat around talking. I was still annoyed nothing was happening, so I went back and had more gulps.
Then we went for a bike ride. I don't remember much from it except that I was biking over construction and falling over and Kim and Heather were laughing.
We went with Heather's mom to the gas station and I remember waiting in the car with Heather's mom because I didn't want to move, hearing her say in a high-pitched voice, "I smell alcohol!"
And we were back in Heather's room and my face kept hitting the carpet. I could hear Kim and Heather telling me that the tiny, curly-haired dog was an elephant, but I couldn't move my mouth to tell them I knew it wasn't. Then I was crawling to the bathroom and puking in the tub. Heather's mom was screeching, "I knew I smelled alcohol!"
At some point, my dad was there, picking me up and putting me in the car. He told me to get buckled but my arms wouldn't move. He later told me he wanted to see for himself how intoxicated I was.
Then I was sitting up in a hospital bed with two male practitioners and a male police officer sitting around my bed. I think my bra was sitting at the end of the bed, with my stuffing atop each cup. That was nice of them to put that on display for us all.
My parents were both there, and I think my mom was holding a puke tray and helped me go to the bathroom. I didn't tell anyone about the vodka at Heather's, and neither did Kim, but poor Sharon was ratted out and ended up paying a $500+ medical bill. (I'm so sorry, Sharon! I owe you $$ if I ever see you again.)
Then I ended up home, with a three-day hangover that was the worst feeling of my life.
And this is the part of the story that ties in with my conversation with my parents tonight. I was lying in bed with crusted vomit in my hair. I think I had been there for three days. Every time I tried to eat, I would puke. I thought, "Please, God, please let me live. Please let it get better. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me." And I realized that my parents knew it too; they knew how much I was suffering and how embarrassed I was; how I regretted it all. In the past, they had been so quick to add to my misery in the name of discipline, but this time, they were like the parents from the movies that say, "Well Johnny, obviously you've learned your lesson." I felt a little relieved, a little grown up, a little bit like my parents were finally getting me. I had the worst experience of my life, and they were there, holding my hand, feeling my pain but still believing in me. I finally felt safe.
My mom came in to check on me. I didn't know how to tell her thanks for being understanding, for being my friend and not my punisher, for treating me like an adult and not a stupid child. "How are you feeling, sweetie?" she asked. My head was still swimming but I tried with a small smile and a tear, "Better. And thank you for not grounding me."
She sat up straight. "We haven't grounded you?" she shrieked. "We'll see about that!" And promptly found my dad and came back announcing my month's sentence.
Luckily they forgot after a week, but the crushing part was realizing (and this takes us back to my list of complaints):
- my parents were an obstacle, blocking me from freedom, constantly expecting the worst from me and adding nasty punishments (mostly just taking away any smidgen of freedom I had left) to anything they didn't understand or couldn't control. They were so low on freedoms to take away that they settled for taking away public school and grounding me from work. Maybe I'm the most hurt that they didn't know me; they didn't want to be my friend when all I wanted was their friendship. Instead I had to live with a big obstacle (them); I had to work on my goals without stepping on their toes; I had to live two lives. One was my real life with tiny freedoms, the other was my perfect life to protect my tiny freedoms.
Maybe that's why I did drugs sometimes. Drugs were my tiny freedoms that took me away from reality every now and then. In my new reality of ecstasy or crank or shrooms, life was magical again. My parents couldn't know about the drugs or they would take them away and punish me. I eventually learned the disgusting truth about drugs, and stopped as quickly as I'd started. Luckily my parents had nothing to do with this part of my life.
I never had sex. I think the main reason was because I didn't want to face the consequences of my parents. They raised me in fear; I feared them.
- Work. I'm annoyed that I have to work five days a week, early in the morning. Sometimes I'm low on sleep and I need to rest. Can't. Gotta go to work.
- Family time. This isn't really a vacation time for me. It usually involves me getting annoyed at my siblings and feeling trapped in my parents' home, and then I usually re-live some piece of my childhood that I never got over. The really annoying thing about vacation is that I only have a handful of days per year, and while I would love to spend a vacation day sleeping in and laying in bed, I have to save all these days for the holidays: for traveling and spending time with my family.
- Daniel. He doesn't want to get married any time soon. It's not that I want to get married; it's that maybe deep down I need to. It's hard for me to date for three years with no plans for the future; but it's not because it's been three years. I knew this from the beginning, and each year that goes by is a further confirmation that these are not his plans. The most I hear from him is that (although he is close to finishing law school) he doesn't want to be a lawyer and he wants to move back to Idaho, near his parents, in the tiny town that I was glad to leave at the end of 2005. And the worst part is, I am so deeply in love with him that I don't want to break it off, and I continually entertain our wedding plans and our life someday. Maybe there are guys out there that would marry me in a heartbeat. Maybe there are tall, dark-haired handsome men with sweet personalities and a soul-warming smile, and a knack for money so I won't have to work anymore. And the frustrating thing: Daniel is the only one I see. How long will I date him? How many more years of confirmation do I need?
- Sleep. This is my final complaint. I can never get enough. Maybe I never will.
Can I just make a list of all the awful things in my life? Is that appropriate? Good.
- Jennifer power-tripping all over me (getting mad at me for making a big deal out of a big deal. Wow. Sure makes me feel good to be a part of this company.)
- Getting verbally abused by a doctor at work when I asked him to clarify a few requests on his 82 item list. ("Yes, having me tell you over the phone is easier for YOU! You are just trying to get out of doing your work! Read the document I sent! You don't know how much I have done for you and your company by buying this website and sending that list. Get to work!")
- Having three guests for the weekend. It's really not the three guests; it's that I thought my parents were coming to see me, and most of this trip has been about my sister and her new boyfriend. On the drive home today, Stacey was in the back seat explaining every detail about Sean to my mom, and my dad was in the front seat, on an important call. It was a pretty boring, irritating drive. I felt like screaming toward the end, and then I remembered I had headphones.
- My fat belly. I hate how it feels. I hate that I eat too much.
- My job. I hate that it feels like they "own" me sometimes.
- My childhood. We had a long talk at dinner and my parents talked about how they wished they parented with more "grace." I shared a few stories about significant hurts, and I cried in front of them, and it actually felt good. One of my stories:
When I was 14, the summer before I started high school, I was at a party with my best friend Kim. It was an adults' party, lots of grownups sitting around, having drinks and barbecuing.
I was worried that I would start high school without ever having been drunk. (I had been homeschooled until 7th grade and had a lot of catching up to do.) "Kim, do you think they will give us some alcohol? Ask Sharon!" So Kim handed Sharon a glass and asked her to hook us up. Sharon filled it with tequila and Kim and I ran to the bathroom. I don't remember how much tequila; maybe 12 ounces. Kim had a few sips and I downed most of it.
We left the party a little while later and Kim's step dad drove us back to her place. I was annoyed that nothing was happening. We packed our bags and went to her friend Heather's place. We told Heather about the tequila. Heather asked if I was drunk, and I told her how I was annoyed that nothing happened. I asked her if she had any alcohol. She had a half gallon above the fridge, so I climbed up and had a few big gulps. The we sat around talking. I was still annoyed nothing was happening, so I went back and had more gulps.
Then we went for a bike ride. I don't remember much from it except that I was biking over construction and falling over and Kim and Heather were laughing.
We went with Heather's mom to the gas station and I remember waiting in the car with Heather's mom because I didn't want to move, hearing her say in a high-pitched voice, "I smell alcohol!"
And we were back in Heather's room and my face kept hitting the carpet. I could hear Kim and Heather telling me that the tiny, curly-haired dog was an elephant, but I couldn't move my mouth to tell them I knew it wasn't. Then I was crawling to the bathroom and puking in the tub. Heather's mom was screeching, "I knew I smelled alcohol!"
At some point, my dad was there, picking me up and putting me in the car. He told me to get buckled but my arms wouldn't move. He later told me he wanted to see for himself how intoxicated I was.
Then I was sitting up in a hospital bed with two male practitioners and a male police officer sitting around my bed. I think my bra was sitting at the end of the bed, with my stuffing atop each cup. That was nice of them to put that on display for us all.
My parents were both there, and I think my mom was holding a puke tray and helped me go to the bathroom. I didn't tell anyone about the vodka at Heather's, and neither did Kim, but poor Sharon was ratted out and ended up paying a $500+ medical bill. (I'm so sorry, Sharon! I owe you $$ if I ever see you again.)
Then I ended up home, with a three-day hangover that was the worst feeling of my life.
And this is the part of the story that ties in with my conversation with my parents tonight. I was lying in bed with crusted vomit in my hair. I think I had been there for three days. Every time I tried to eat, I would puke. I thought, "Please, God, please let me live. Please let it get better. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me." And I realized that my parents knew it too; they knew how much I was suffering and how embarrassed I was; how I regretted it all. In the past, they had been so quick to add to my misery in the name of discipline, but this time, they were like the parents from the movies that say, "Well Johnny, obviously you've learned your lesson." I felt a little relieved, a little grown up, a little bit like my parents were finally getting me. I had the worst experience of my life, and they were there, holding my hand, feeling my pain but still believing in me. I finally felt safe.
My mom came in to check on me. I didn't know how to tell her thanks for being understanding, for being my friend and not my punisher, for treating me like an adult and not a stupid child. "How are you feeling, sweetie?" she asked. My head was still swimming but I tried with a small smile and a tear, "Better. And thank you for not grounding me."
She sat up straight. "We haven't grounded you?" she shrieked. "We'll see about that!" And promptly found my dad and came back announcing my month's sentence.
Luckily they forgot after a week, but the crushing part was realizing (and this takes us back to my list of complaints):
- my parents were an obstacle, blocking me from freedom, constantly expecting the worst from me and adding nasty punishments (mostly just taking away any smidgen of freedom I had left) to anything they didn't understand or couldn't control. They were so low on freedoms to take away that they settled for taking away public school and grounding me from work. Maybe I'm the most hurt that they didn't know me; they didn't want to be my friend when all I wanted was their friendship. Instead I had to live with a big obstacle (them); I had to work on my goals without stepping on their toes; I had to live two lives. One was my real life with tiny freedoms, the other was my perfect life to protect my tiny freedoms.
Maybe that's why I did drugs sometimes. Drugs were my tiny freedoms that took me away from reality every now and then. In my new reality of ecstasy or crank or shrooms, life was magical again. My parents couldn't know about the drugs or they would take them away and punish me. I eventually learned the disgusting truth about drugs, and stopped as quickly as I'd started. Luckily my parents had nothing to do with this part of my life.
I never had sex. I think the main reason was because I didn't want to face the consequences of my parents. They raised me in fear; I feared them.
- Work. I'm annoyed that I have to work five days a week, early in the morning. Sometimes I'm low on sleep and I need to rest. Can't. Gotta go to work.
- Family time. This isn't really a vacation time for me. It usually involves me getting annoyed at my siblings and feeling trapped in my parents' home, and then I usually re-live some piece of my childhood that I never got over. The really annoying thing about vacation is that I only have a handful of days per year, and while I would love to spend a vacation day sleeping in and laying in bed, I have to save all these days for the holidays: for traveling and spending time with my family.
- Daniel. He doesn't want to get married any time soon. It's not that I want to get married; it's that maybe deep down I need to. It's hard for me to date for three years with no plans for the future; but it's not because it's been three years. I knew this from the beginning, and each year that goes by is a further confirmation that these are not his plans. The most I hear from him is that (although he is close to finishing law school) he doesn't want to be a lawyer and he wants to move back to Idaho, near his parents, in the tiny town that I was glad to leave at the end of 2005. And the worst part is, I am so deeply in love with him that I don't want to break it off, and I continually entertain our wedding plans and our life someday. Maybe there are guys out there that would marry me in a heartbeat. Maybe there are tall, dark-haired handsome men with sweet personalities and a soul-warming smile, and a knack for money so I won't have to work anymore. And the frustrating thing: Daniel is the only one I see. How long will I date him? How many more years of confirmation do I need?
- Sleep. This is my final complaint. I can never get enough. Maybe I never will.