Panic! of 2013
I'm noticing a definite correlation between times that I deal with my mother and my anxiety. The less I speak to her, the better I feel. My mood is more even-keeled, I sleep better, and I feel closer to happy than I have been in months. When I set up a time to see her, I get more and more panicked leading up to the moment when I finally see her. I can barely contain myself when she's around, and she knows what little buttons to push even if she doesn't realize she's pushing them. The worst is the aftermath; after I have seen her, I feel so beaten down and worthless that I turn into a giant blubbering mess. My stomach tenses up and I feel like I've drank a gallon of rotten milk. My heart races, my hands shake, my shoulders tense up and the tears flow. I berate myself in my head, believing that the panic attacks should have disappeared when I threw out my birth control pills and wondering why I'm so weak-willed. The rational side kicks in when I tell myself that I'm not in danger. I don't depend on her, I've been through so much and will get through this, and I am surrounded by people who love me.
It kills me sometimes when I see Alex's family interact. I know it's not my fault I was born into dysfunction and I am aware that his family doesn't mean to awaken my jealousy. The rational side of me knows they adore me and treat me as one of their own. Hell, Alex's dad went to lunch the other day and when he found out I was friends with his waitress, he told her that if Alex and I ever break up, they're keeping me and kicking Alex out. :)
But then the scared and sad child inside of me lashes out. She remembers being kicked out of her mother's house twice; once as a fourteen-year-old when she said that her mother's boyfriend stared at her when she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel after a shower, and again at the age of twenty-one when she confessed to signing a lease with her boyfriend of four years. She remembers the countless nights of being screamed at for entering the house after coming home from work and being "too noisy" even when she tried to shut the door quietly and tiptoe up the creaky wooden stairs in stockinged feet. She remembers the birthday where her mother wouldn't acknowledge the occasion with well wishes; instead, her mother gave her a $20 bill with instructions to give that to Alex for gas money and to "get lost" because she was having a bad day. These draw sharp contrasts to the times she witnessed Alex's parents dote on their children on birthdays and holidays and talk through arguments until a rational agreement was reached. Hell, the fact that they paid for a moving van for us to haul our stuff to our first place together spoke volumes about the way they encouraged us to grow up, and they made it clear that their door was always open if we wanted to drop in for dinner, laundry, or even just to say hi. Rational Adult Mary was thankful that this kind family took her under their wings. Neglected Child Mary wondered how long it would last, especially when plans were made for everyone to move in under one roof so that we could further our education without trying to juggle housekeeping, bills, and working fulltime.
It was suggested to me in counseling this summer that I may have blocked a lot of troubling aspects about my mother from the forefront of my mind, and once I had finally established myself on my own, I experienced a horrible cliche: my past was back to haunt me. We talked in one session about the time after Rhiannon died when Mom told me to "get over it." It had been two weeks. TWO FUCKING WEEKS since a friend of mine took herself out of this world, and instead of the support I needed, I got an emotional backhand from the woman who birthed me. There a variety of appropriate responses you can give to your child when she's going through a rough time, but "get over it" is far from being one of them. It's been five years and I still struggle to make sense of what happened. The thing about that one incident is that it's far from being abnormal as far as my mother's behavior is concerned. There are other events that I forgot about that I recall from time to time, and my muscles tense up in response. That particular one is one of the few that sends me into a sputtering cryfest to this day.
Anyway, right before classes started this August, I went to counseling and decided that I was ready for the end of my sessions. I was sleeping and eating regularly, my moods were stable, I was excited to be back on the education train, and nothing seemed like it could block my path. My counselor even commented that he noticed a definite change from the first visit to the last at how much more relaxed I appeared, but he also let me know that I was welcome to return if I felt the need. The open door has given me comfort although I have yet to use it. He also gave me a list of reputable family counselors in the area in the event that I wanted to go that route.
So, I asked my sister what she thought about the family counseling idea. She was on board and even asked Dad if he was willing, and to my surprise, he was in support of the idea. The catch-22 is that neither she nor Dad wanted to approach Mom and ask her if she would come with us; they wanted me to shoulder that burden. I stewed on that for five days before I finally broke down in the middle of one of my classes and had to come home. I texted Anne and told her I couldn't do it alone since Mom is the number one source of my anxiety. She was understanding and asked me if I remembered the time Mom kicked us out. Of course I do; my life turned upside down when she kicked me out and flipped again when she manipulated me into moving back to hurt my dad. He has since forgiven me, but I still feel guilty about that and it's permanently changed my relationship with him.
That brings me to today. I adopted a kitten on Friday, and I invited both Mom and Anne over to my house to meet him. Mom stopped by in the afternoon and Anne came by in the evening. I don't think they meant to, but they both dumped all over me and I feel so worthless today. Mom's best friend has bone cancer (after recovering from lung and breast cancer, btw) and she wouldn't stop talking about it so by the time she left I felt like I was stuck under the emotional equivalent of Wile E. Coyote's anvil. I've known Mom's best friend as long as I can remember and she's like the family I never got to get close to since they all live eight hours away in another state. While I recognize that this is not going to be nearly as hard on me as it will be when Mom loses her, it's still not going to be a fun ride by any means. On top of that, Anne stopped by with a friend of hers whom I never met before and Anne was going on and on about how even though I'm the younger sister, I'm still taller than her, got my braces off before she did, and had blonde hair and blue eyes growing up. The implication was that I was dealt better cards but didn't necessarily deserve them more than she did, and she made sure that I was aware that she felt that way. This is a behavior she's adopted from our mother who can show you her gaggle of green jealousy monsters that she's formed about each of her siblings. One sister was the parents' favorite in Mom's eyes and allegedly stole boyfriends from my mother when they were teenagers because of her beauty. The other sister married a man that Mom claims to have been in love with when she was a preteen and insists she should have married him instead. Her brother went through a rough time in young adulthood involving drugs and crime, and Mom insists that the attention their mother paid to him during that time was what led to her having a paralyzing stroke at the age of fifty-seven, beginning a nine year struggle where the four children had to take care of her until she passed away.
The objective side of me understands that everyone in my family has their demons and in an effort to deal with them, they struggle to find inner peace in such a way that makes sense of everything that has happened to us. The child side is so angry at everyone for not dealing with it in a healthy way by getting professional help before now. I often wonder what I would be like now if I had been to any sort of therapy in middle or high school when I became more aware of the situation I lived in. A lot of times, it feels like my mother and sister are envious that Alex's family is so warm and welcoming toward me that they want me to feel like I don't deserve it if they can't find that equivalent somewhere. This isn't anything new, by the way; my mother told me I was at fault when Jacob dumped me, claiming that his parents put him up to it because I was a threat that would take their only child away from them. I understand now that this wasn't the case; his parents to my knowledge had nothing against me, and Jacob lacked the maturity to have the kind of relationship with me that I wanted. Mom was also increasingly critical of my friends as I aged. She frequently made catty remarks about Taber and Olivia, two of my best friends from late middle school and early high school. It was a direct result of this that I stopped inviting people to my house because I was tired of Mom meeting them and trying to instill animosity between them and me, as if she was trying to prevent me from having connections with anyone outside of her domain. Of course, the other factor was the fact that my mom was not only smoking marijuana in our house but also growing it, and it's hard to have a sleepover when there are gargantuan cannabis plants just chilling in your bedroom. (Yes, at one time, she was growing her plants in my room knowing that I was fully opposed to her doing it and continuing to do so anyway as if to show me my opinions didn't matter to her.)
It is with shaky hands, swollen sinuses from tears and a turning stomach that I get all of this out. I want to get to family counseling and let my mom and sister know that I deserve every good thing that ever happens to me as well as the unconditional love of my family, Alex's family, and the supportive friends who have helped me through this shitshow of a summer. I want to be happy, to feel confidence again and to believe that I am bigger than the monster that is my paralyzing anxiety. There is a light at the end of this tunnel of despair and I know that I have the ability to get to it, to charge across the finish line and wear a medal around my neck that shows everyone I came out ahead. It only goes up from here.
It kills me sometimes when I see Alex's family interact. I know it's not my fault I was born into dysfunction and I am aware that his family doesn't mean to awaken my jealousy. The rational side of me knows they adore me and treat me as one of their own. Hell, Alex's dad went to lunch the other day and when he found out I was friends with his waitress, he told her that if Alex and I ever break up, they're keeping me and kicking Alex out. :)
But then the scared and sad child inside of me lashes out. She remembers being kicked out of her mother's house twice; once as a fourteen-year-old when she said that her mother's boyfriend stared at her when she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel after a shower, and again at the age of twenty-one when she confessed to signing a lease with her boyfriend of four years. She remembers the countless nights of being screamed at for entering the house after coming home from work and being "too noisy" even when she tried to shut the door quietly and tiptoe up the creaky wooden stairs in stockinged feet. She remembers the birthday where her mother wouldn't acknowledge the occasion with well wishes; instead, her mother gave her a $20 bill with instructions to give that to Alex for gas money and to "get lost" because she was having a bad day. These draw sharp contrasts to the times she witnessed Alex's parents dote on their children on birthdays and holidays and talk through arguments until a rational agreement was reached. Hell, the fact that they paid for a moving van for us to haul our stuff to our first place together spoke volumes about the way they encouraged us to grow up, and they made it clear that their door was always open if we wanted to drop in for dinner, laundry, or even just to say hi. Rational Adult Mary was thankful that this kind family took her under their wings. Neglected Child Mary wondered how long it would last, especially when plans were made for everyone to move in under one roof so that we could further our education without trying to juggle housekeeping, bills, and working fulltime.
It was suggested to me in counseling this summer that I may have blocked a lot of troubling aspects about my mother from the forefront of my mind, and once I had finally established myself on my own, I experienced a horrible cliche: my past was back to haunt me. We talked in one session about the time after Rhiannon died when Mom told me to "get over it." It had been two weeks. TWO FUCKING WEEKS since a friend of mine took herself out of this world, and instead of the support I needed, I got an emotional backhand from the woman who birthed me. There a variety of appropriate responses you can give to your child when she's going through a rough time, but "get over it" is far from being one of them. It's been five years and I still struggle to make sense of what happened. The thing about that one incident is that it's far from being abnormal as far as my mother's behavior is concerned. There are other events that I forgot about that I recall from time to time, and my muscles tense up in response. That particular one is one of the few that sends me into a sputtering cryfest to this day.
Anyway, right before classes started this August, I went to counseling and decided that I was ready for the end of my sessions. I was sleeping and eating regularly, my moods were stable, I was excited to be back on the education train, and nothing seemed like it could block my path. My counselor even commented that he noticed a definite change from the first visit to the last at how much more relaxed I appeared, but he also let me know that I was welcome to return if I felt the need. The open door has given me comfort although I have yet to use it. He also gave me a list of reputable family counselors in the area in the event that I wanted to go that route.
So, I asked my sister what she thought about the family counseling idea. She was on board and even asked Dad if he was willing, and to my surprise, he was in support of the idea. The catch-22 is that neither she nor Dad wanted to approach Mom and ask her if she would come with us; they wanted me to shoulder that burden. I stewed on that for five days before I finally broke down in the middle of one of my classes and had to come home. I texted Anne and told her I couldn't do it alone since Mom is the number one source of my anxiety. She was understanding and asked me if I remembered the time Mom kicked us out. Of course I do; my life turned upside down when she kicked me out and flipped again when she manipulated me into moving back to hurt my dad. He has since forgiven me, but I still feel guilty about that and it's permanently changed my relationship with him.
That brings me to today. I adopted a kitten on Friday, and I invited both Mom and Anne over to my house to meet him. Mom stopped by in the afternoon and Anne came by in the evening. I don't think they meant to, but they both dumped all over me and I feel so worthless today. Mom's best friend has bone cancer (after recovering from lung and breast cancer, btw) and she wouldn't stop talking about it so by the time she left I felt like I was stuck under the emotional equivalent of Wile E. Coyote's anvil. I've known Mom's best friend as long as I can remember and she's like the family I never got to get close to since they all live eight hours away in another state. While I recognize that this is not going to be nearly as hard on me as it will be when Mom loses her, it's still not going to be a fun ride by any means. On top of that, Anne stopped by with a friend of hers whom I never met before and Anne was going on and on about how even though I'm the younger sister, I'm still taller than her, got my braces off before she did, and had blonde hair and blue eyes growing up. The implication was that I was dealt better cards but didn't necessarily deserve them more than she did, and she made sure that I was aware that she felt that way. This is a behavior she's adopted from our mother who can show you her gaggle of green jealousy monsters that she's formed about each of her siblings. One sister was the parents' favorite in Mom's eyes and allegedly stole boyfriends from my mother when they were teenagers because of her beauty. The other sister married a man that Mom claims to have been in love with when she was a preteen and insists she should have married him instead. Her brother went through a rough time in young adulthood involving drugs and crime, and Mom insists that the attention their mother paid to him during that time was what led to her having a paralyzing stroke at the age of fifty-seven, beginning a nine year struggle where the four children had to take care of her until she passed away.
The objective side of me understands that everyone in my family has their demons and in an effort to deal with them, they struggle to find inner peace in such a way that makes sense of everything that has happened to us. The child side is so angry at everyone for not dealing with it in a healthy way by getting professional help before now. I often wonder what I would be like now if I had been to any sort of therapy in middle or high school when I became more aware of the situation I lived in. A lot of times, it feels like my mother and sister are envious that Alex's family is so warm and welcoming toward me that they want me to feel like I don't deserve it if they can't find that equivalent somewhere. This isn't anything new, by the way; my mother told me I was at fault when Jacob dumped me, claiming that his parents put him up to it because I was a threat that would take their only child away from them. I understand now that this wasn't the case; his parents to my knowledge had nothing against me, and Jacob lacked the maturity to have the kind of relationship with me that I wanted. Mom was also increasingly critical of my friends as I aged. She frequently made catty remarks about Taber and Olivia, two of my best friends from late middle school and early high school. It was a direct result of this that I stopped inviting people to my house because I was tired of Mom meeting them and trying to instill animosity between them and me, as if she was trying to prevent me from having connections with anyone outside of her domain. Of course, the other factor was the fact that my mom was not only smoking marijuana in our house but also growing it, and it's hard to have a sleepover when there are gargantuan cannabis plants just chilling in your bedroom. (Yes, at one time, she was growing her plants in my room knowing that I was fully opposed to her doing it and continuing to do so anyway as if to show me my opinions didn't matter to her.)
It is with shaky hands, swollen sinuses from tears and a turning stomach that I get all of this out. I want to get to family counseling and let my mom and sister know that I deserve every good thing that ever happens to me as well as the unconditional love of my family, Alex's family, and the supportive friends who have helped me through this shitshow of a summer. I want to be happy, to feel confidence again and to believe that I am bigger than the monster that is my paralyzing anxiety. There is a light at the end of this tunnel of despair and I know that I have the ability to get to it, to charge across the finish line and wear a medal around my neck that shows everyone I came out ahead. It only goes up from here.