Doll Me Up In My Bad Luck
Still feeling really emotionally overwhelmed (though to those of you who left comments on my last post, thank you. I haven't replied to them because I actually have a horrible headache at the moment and can hardly think straight--but feel like I need to write all this down, so here I am), and spent a lot of the night sobbing uncontrollably.
To make a long story short, I'm increasingly feeling like all I am to my mother a lot of the time is just a problem she can throw money at until it's fixed. She sees me as just a child playing dress-up in the closet, and she tries to change it by getting me all these nice things.
When I express that I'm not sure about some of it, she snaps at me, and tells me to stop acting like such a child, to grow up.
I had to get my hair cut today when I really didn't want to (I have an admittedly irrational attachment to my long hair, always have, always will), and it got cut way too short not only because my mother decided to humiliate me until I agreed to what she wanted, but also because she lied to me regarding how long it was going to be just to get her way.
At least she admitted that it is short. For reference, the longest part hits right above my bustline--when you compare that to the shortest haircut I have ever had in my life being to the middle of my back, and less than twelve hours ago I was sitting on my ends--yes, it is a huge, harrowing, and difficult change for me.
Frankly, I feel exposed, even uglier than before if that's possible, vulnerable, and whatever confidence I had left is completely gone. I'm considering getting drapes for all the mirrors in my bathroom and bedroom just so that I don't have to see myself for a while, because I start crying or get choked up every time I do.
Of course, all of this was just made worse by the yelling that came later, the trip to the store where mom doted over every little bit of my appearance (even getting angry because she forgot to ask my stylist to wax my eyebrows--if you've ever seen my eyebrows, I am very fortunate in that all that ever happens is that they get a little thick in places--I'm not channeling anyone with a unibrow, or that guy from While You Were Sleeping with the giant wooly caterpillars perched on his face). Everything needed to be fixed, it seemed. I needed to have certain kinds of makeup. Why don't I wear mascara? This'll clean you up. It's too bad you can't wear these shoes. You don't like wearing pantyhose at all, but we'll get you some just in case (laden with the you better do this because it would be a shame if I spent all this money and you lost the interview because you weren't wearing pantyhose/didn't have your hair the way I wanted you to get it/didn't bend over enough tone).
I've kind of always known that I'm a train wreck, but it still hurts to hear it from other people.
Now, I'm mostly upset about that I gave in so easily, but my mother is a very scary person when she wants to be, with very little patience. When she gets angry, she gets angry, screaming and picking you up by your shirt collar angry.
Granted, give her six hours or so to think about it, and she's usually apologetic, despite how she may really feel.
I should make clear that these bad memories of my mother aren't the only ones I have; which is why it hurts so much to think that she just is doing all this so that she can have me out of sight, out of mind all the more quickly. In the end, I'm still the person who hopes that she will actually make good on her promise to spend some time with me doing something other than running around for all this interview stuff....but then a part of me knows that she'll probably spend it doing all the things she feels like she has to do, and then just gloss over me as if she never told me anything at all.
But, she wasn't always like this, she really wasn't--and sometimes she'll have moments where she's fun, moments where she's actually affectionate toward me...and she won't stand for my father trying to make her the heavy, she says, because his problems with my brother and I are not her problems, and so she wants nothing to do with them.
I love my mom, I really do, and I hate that she just sees me as some spoiled brat who doesn't know how good she has it--I mean, to my mother, compared to when she was my age with a house payment, a job she had been at for five years, and a marriage--I'm just a spoiled little nobody who has nothing to show for herself at all.
Maybe she's right--I could have to do all of this myself, in which case I would be completely screwed.
At least I haven't seen my dad yet since all of this happened; I'm sure I can look forward to getting shit from him the next time I do, but hopefully it will be after I've licked my wounds a bit.
I will say that if anyone has access to Haagen-Dazs's limited edition ice creams in their city, I support the trying of the Toasted Coconut with Sesame flavor. The sesame wafers are in this delicious ginger syrup, and totally worth the five bucks for the pint. I'm hoping to try the Pomegranate Chip flavor next. Oh, delicious ice cream, delicious, delicious ice cream.
I also now own a black, lacy, totally girly push-up bra.
And it was only five dollars.
It's a blast from Kiku's past, Everlong by the Foo Fighters.
I will not say, as others have, that it is the greatest song in the history of time, but I will say that it is pretty good.
I will try not to be bitchy and full of fail next time.
To make a long story short, I'm increasingly feeling like all I am to my mother a lot of the time is just a problem she can throw money at until it's fixed. She sees me as just a child playing dress-up in the closet, and she tries to change it by getting me all these nice things.
When I express that I'm not sure about some of it, she snaps at me, and tells me to stop acting like such a child, to grow up.
I had to get my hair cut today when I really didn't want to (I have an admittedly irrational attachment to my long hair, always have, always will), and it got cut way too short not only because my mother decided to humiliate me until I agreed to what she wanted, but also because she lied to me regarding how long it was going to be just to get her way.
At least she admitted that it is short. For reference, the longest part hits right above my bustline--when you compare that to the shortest haircut I have ever had in my life being to the middle of my back, and less than twelve hours ago I was sitting on my ends--yes, it is a huge, harrowing, and difficult change for me.
Frankly, I feel exposed, even uglier than before if that's possible, vulnerable, and whatever confidence I had left is completely gone. I'm considering getting drapes for all the mirrors in my bathroom and bedroom just so that I don't have to see myself for a while, because I start crying or get choked up every time I do.
Of course, all of this was just made worse by the yelling that came later, the trip to the store where mom doted over every little bit of my appearance (even getting angry because she forgot to ask my stylist to wax my eyebrows--if you've ever seen my eyebrows, I am very fortunate in that all that ever happens is that they get a little thick in places--I'm not channeling anyone with a unibrow, or that guy from While You Were Sleeping with the giant wooly caterpillars perched on his face). Everything needed to be fixed, it seemed. I needed to have certain kinds of makeup. Why don't I wear mascara? This'll clean you up. It's too bad you can't wear these shoes. You don't like wearing pantyhose at all, but we'll get you some just in case (laden with the you better do this because it would be a shame if I spent all this money and you lost the interview because you weren't wearing pantyhose/didn't have your hair the way I wanted you to get it/didn't bend over enough tone).
I've kind of always known that I'm a train wreck, but it still hurts to hear it from other people.
Now, I'm mostly upset about that I gave in so easily, but my mother is a very scary person when she wants to be, with very little patience. When she gets angry, she gets angry, screaming and picking you up by your shirt collar angry.
Granted, give her six hours or so to think about it, and she's usually apologetic, despite how she may really feel.
I should make clear that these bad memories of my mother aren't the only ones I have; which is why it hurts so much to think that she just is doing all this so that she can have me out of sight, out of mind all the more quickly. In the end, I'm still the person who hopes that she will actually make good on her promise to spend some time with me doing something other than running around for all this interview stuff....but then a part of me knows that she'll probably spend it doing all the things she feels like she has to do, and then just gloss over me as if she never told me anything at all.
But, she wasn't always like this, she really wasn't--and sometimes she'll have moments where she's fun, moments where she's actually affectionate toward me...and she won't stand for my father trying to make her the heavy, she says, because his problems with my brother and I are not her problems, and so she wants nothing to do with them.
I love my mom, I really do, and I hate that she just sees me as some spoiled brat who doesn't know how good she has it--I mean, to my mother, compared to when she was my age with a house payment, a job she had been at for five years, and a marriage--I'm just a spoiled little nobody who has nothing to show for herself at all.
Maybe she's right--I could have to do all of this myself, in which case I would be completely screwed.
At least I haven't seen my dad yet since all of this happened; I'm sure I can look forward to getting shit from him the next time I do, but hopefully it will be after I've licked my wounds a bit.
I will say that if anyone has access to Haagen-Dazs's limited edition ice creams in their city, I support the trying of the Toasted Coconut with Sesame flavor. The sesame wafers are in this delicious ginger syrup, and totally worth the five bucks for the pint. I'm hoping to try the Pomegranate Chip flavor next. Oh, delicious ice cream, delicious, delicious ice cream.
I also now own a black, lacy, totally girly push-up bra.
And it was only five dollars.
It's a blast from Kiku's past, Everlong by the Foo Fighters.
I will not say, as others have, that it is the greatest song in the history of time, but I will say that it is pretty good.
Click to viewI will try not to be bitchy and full of fail next time.