I need a rock-hammer
My mom can put on a passable "I'm being supportive despite thinking you're a liar" act when she wants to, but it would be far more convincing if she at least made an effort to hide the "you're a liar" part. I overheard a piece of a phone conversation she had with my grandma, and one of her statements was as follows:
"[my dad] is taking Tim that weekend because I'll be in Vegas. [asshat] and Tim can't be alone in the house...there needs to be a witness there, to protect [asshat]."
To protect asshat, she says.
Meanwhile, she has also failed to notice that every time she leaves the computer, she leaves her Microsoft Outlook window open, with the most recent email she received showing on screen. One of these, I noticed, was from my dad. And it was about my visit with the therapist. So, since it was about my personal issues, and since my privacy had already been violated, it seemed like fair game (not to mention my right) to find out what was being said about me. Essentially, my mom is making all sorts of interesting, nasty, and mostly false assumptions about me, and she is collaborating with my dad behind my back. My dad has said nothing questionable, so props to him so far. For the record, one of the comments my mom made to my dad was "Tim's running obsession has gone too far."
It hurts when your own mother is against you. It's a lonely feeling, even when you expect it. And it's worse that she is trying (and failing) to hide it. I think reading my journal hurt her. Part of me feels bad for it, but really it wasn't hers to read anyway. Whether she thinks she gets it or not, she really doesn't understand what she read there. There is much more to it than what meets the eye of the biased viewer. I'm hoping to get the opportunity to explain some of those things at some point, but she makes herself so difficult to talk to. Correction: she's easy to talk to, as long as it's about safe topics or small-talk. But if I have something serious to say, I can only expect the most emotionally damaging response from her, whether she realizes she does it or not.
Jesse is back from France, and I timed his workout today. It's incredibly fun to watch him run. I'm going to run with him tomorrow afternoon. Also, my recent track performances got a little local press, which is always nice to see. Next meet is Tuesday against the weakest team in our league, and on Monday I will find out what event I'm running.
I watched The Shawshank Redemption today. It's a fantastic movie and I'm planning to search for the short story it was based on. I also have to watch The Green Mile and read The DaVinci Code. Maybe I can get my mind off some of this stuff for a while, although that effort will be interrupted by a Monday evening therapist appointment.
I'm really becoming a morning person. My mornings are less stressful, and they give a little hope that maybe something good will happen that day. I can get through the afternoons, because that's generally when I go running. At night, however, I'm alone and depressed, and the stressors of the day are free to take their shots at defenseless Tim.
I have juice again. Literally, not figuratively.
I wish I had the luxury to turn against myself in order to rid myself of guilt and blame, like everyone else.
A rock-hammer and a harmonica, because hope is the only thing I'm allowed to have for now.
"[my dad] is taking Tim that weekend because I'll be in Vegas. [asshat] and Tim can't be alone in the house...there needs to be a witness there, to protect [asshat]."
To protect asshat, she says.
Meanwhile, she has also failed to notice that every time she leaves the computer, she leaves her Microsoft Outlook window open, with the most recent email she received showing on screen. One of these, I noticed, was from my dad. And it was about my visit with the therapist. So, since it was about my personal issues, and since my privacy had already been violated, it seemed like fair game (not to mention my right) to find out what was being said about me. Essentially, my mom is making all sorts of interesting, nasty, and mostly false assumptions about me, and she is collaborating with my dad behind my back. My dad has said nothing questionable, so props to him so far. For the record, one of the comments my mom made to my dad was "Tim's running obsession has gone too far."
It hurts when your own mother is against you. It's a lonely feeling, even when you expect it. And it's worse that she is trying (and failing) to hide it. I think reading my journal hurt her. Part of me feels bad for it, but really it wasn't hers to read anyway. Whether she thinks she gets it or not, she really doesn't understand what she read there. There is much more to it than what meets the eye of the biased viewer. I'm hoping to get the opportunity to explain some of those things at some point, but she makes herself so difficult to talk to. Correction: she's easy to talk to, as long as it's about safe topics or small-talk. But if I have something serious to say, I can only expect the most emotionally damaging response from her, whether she realizes she does it or not.
Jesse is back from France, and I timed his workout today. It's incredibly fun to watch him run. I'm going to run with him tomorrow afternoon. Also, my recent track performances got a little local press, which is always nice to see. Next meet is Tuesday against the weakest team in our league, and on Monday I will find out what event I'm running.
I watched The Shawshank Redemption today. It's a fantastic movie and I'm planning to search for the short story it was based on. I also have to watch The Green Mile and read The DaVinci Code. Maybe I can get my mind off some of this stuff for a while, although that effort will be interrupted by a Monday evening therapist appointment.
I'm really becoming a morning person. My mornings are less stressful, and they give a little hope that maybe something good will happen that day. I can get through the afternoons, because that's generally when I go running. At night, however, I'm alone and depressed, and the stressors of the day are free to take their shots at defenseless Tim.
I have juice again. Literally, not figuratively.
I wish I had the luxury to turn against myself in order to rid myself of guilt and blame, like everyone else.
A rock-hammer and a harmonica, because hope is the only thing I'm allowed to have for now.