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This item is in your Recycling Bin |
Stripped bare. |
| This needs to be it, the reason I write. Just for the sake of baring my soul. Period. |
| I need to write. I haven't done it in so long, maybe I forget how to do it. But no matter what, I need to write. What has happened to me in the year I've neglected the written word to this extent? My youngest daughter lives an hour and a half away from me, but it might as well be forever away. She never comes to visit, never feels the need to "catch me up" on her life. This hurts. It hurts a lot. It defines what my relationship will be with her for what remains of my life, and I don't like it, but I have no idea how to change it. I know I can't change it. She has to. And so far she's not in the least motivated to do that. Shit. My oldest daughter lives with me. I love my daughter, I love my granddaughter. Do I WANT them living with me? Not especially. My oldest daughter is so mentally "challenged" I don't see a change in this anytime, soon. Even if there WAS a change I couldn't see that I'd feel confident of my daughter's ability to care for her daughter, alone. Make that "not even." So there's that. My middle daughter-the "easy" one-has graduated from college but lives at home. She has a LOT of anxiety but mostly, I think she feels responsible for the niece, the baby who is innocent in all this, in my daughter's inability to "step up" and do what she needs to. I have the worst knees God ever created so I just cannot physically "be there" for my granddaughter. I can't do for her the things I did for my own kids. Even if I could, I'm not sure I would want to. Therein lies the rub. I do not want to be a mother, again. I was, back in the day, back when I was young and energetic and capable. And back then I always looked to the day I wouldn't do it anymore, to the day I'd be "done" and able to move on from motherhood...fate has seen a different story for me. I'm not sure I like it or want to embrace it. I sure haven't, yet. Mainly I've felt resentful. Thus guilty. Always guilty. My mother died. She died a month ago. I'm really freaked out by that. She wasn't EVER supposed to die. My father died in 2008. I didn't even know until a few months ago and I haven't told my brother, not sure he could handle the information. I know he knows and he just doesn't want to ask. Like everything else, I respect his need to NOT know. I will carry this burden alone. Haven't I always? Now there's the "martyr syndrome" I'm not sure how to break away from, not sure I can, right now. So many secrets I need to keep because, like my mother always knew, I'm the "strong one," the one who never needed a shoulder for cry on, right? RIGHT. My brother and aunt have no income so I will have to support them until we can get something going, there. Back breaking? Don't be silly. I haven't even mentioned that I'm still paying for my mother's funeral. And that the person I'm paying gives me a stomach ache. And that I don't make very much. At all. At a job I hate. Sigh. And now after the purge, I will write. Stay tuned. |
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