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Still Stuck

Friday, March 01, 2013

I just ready my post from Feb 4th, and I could have written it today. Not much has changed at all. I am feeling the same feelings of ugliness today, feeling like my foundation isn't right, feeling fat and lethargic and bloated and exhausted. All the same things as usual.

I am so tired! I have been sleeping well, so I don't know why I am so exhausted. I think that after I write this entry, I will take a walk. I had McDonald's for breakfast, of course, which I know is terrible. And I keep saying, "tomorrow I'll stop eating fast food." And does it ever happen? Not until I truly decide for it to happen, and lately my motivation has been GONE.

Ugh. Our maintenance man just walked by and is drenched in cologne. He's so nice, but the cologne is horrible. Gives me a headache.

I'm going for a walk.

Ok. Back from my walk. I walked for a half an hour, at a relatively quick pace. I found a nice route that would be perfect for running, and just as perfect for walking, of course, if in fact I never get the motivation up to run. But I think that I will, eventually.

It felt great to walk. My left foot is blistered, I can tell, from wearing my office shoes. But whatever. It feels well worth it. It's beautiful out, if a bit hazy, but warmer than it's been since November. It's glorious, and I'm so glad that it's the weekend, almost.

I read so much about the emotional aspects of why people eat when stressed, and why people can't get weight off, and why they regain after losing. Even on The Biggest Loser, they go on and on about how there is always "something underneath" or "something inside" that makes people gain weight. I don't often relate it to myself, though. For myself, I just think that I'm lazy, and like to eat. Not much emotion to that, really.

But, as I was walking today, I was thinking a little about my mother. My mother and I send emails back and forth every week or so, but have spoken maybe twice since December of 2010. And those times were when I called her. The only two times she has called me in the last couple of years have been when she was out of state visiting her mother (my grandmother), and was calling so my grandmother and aunts could talk to me--almost like a show, as if she were saying "Oh look, she and I are so close." At least that's how it felt, since she never calls me on her own.

My father is another story altogether. He will go years without speaking to me (such as right now). He sent me a very strange email two days before my birthday, after not speaking to me, answering emails, etc. The email said, "Happy xxth birthday on January 10, 2013. Love, Dad." I replied back to say thank you, ask him how he was doing, and gave a few-sentence update that same day of how things were here, how his grandchildren are. Any response? Nope, none. Nothing. And I am actually now thinking that he has some sort of program in his email that sends auto emails out to people whose birthdays are on his email calendar. That would explain the strange wording of the email, and the reason it was sent in the first place.

Essentially, I've gotten over all issues with my dad. I've dealt with things from him for decades (like the day before my 21st birthday, when I was visiting home for a weekend, he said, completely out of the blue as we were all sitting around visiting, "I hate you more than you'll ever hate me." (This literally came out of nowhere, for nothing, and he looked right at me with all the hatred he had in him. I didn't know what to say, and all I could come up with was, "I don't hate you." He got up and left the room. I left and went back to my home (in a different state) first thing the next morning.) , and I understand that it's over, and it will never improve, and so it truly doesn't bother me much any more. I just feel sorry and sad for him sometimes, because he had a very difficult life. Not that a difficult life is any excuse, but it does explain many things.

But my mother, that one still bothers me. Partly because she still emails, as if nothing is amiss, and partly because she still signs letters from both her and my dad, and mostly because I haven't had any sort of real, genuine, substantial conversation or correspondence with her in over two years. We email back and forth--hi, how are you, i am fine, aunt so-and-so had cataract surgery, one of the kids was in a play, i had a sore throat but am better, it has been snowy off-and-on--and really what's the point. What. Is. The. Point.

My parents truly, truly always did like my sister better than me. Yes, I know it sounds cliche' and immature, but it's absolutely true, and my father actually said it. Word for word. Literally. When I was in the second grade, no less. Not to mention all the later times when he told me I was ruining his life, I had ruined his life by being born, I was ruining his marriage, I was making my mother miserable, this-that-and-the-other was all my fault. Literally. His words.

And the times my mother never stuck up for me. Not at all. Except for the time when I was 17 and my father was beating me, and she stepped in, so that I could run.

And run I did. But after a year and a half of living with another family, of having my dad find out where I was, and park down the hill from my foster family's house, sitting in his car watching the house (I never knew this, but my foster parents did), I tried again. We all tried. But again, pointless.

I'm getting a bit angry sitting here, writing this.

If any man beat a child of mine, I would leave him. I would take my children and leave. It would not be a forgivable crime. Not. Ever.

But yet she stayed, and she said that it was because my father had told her he'd take my sister and leave, and she'd never see my sister again.

My gosh, this all sounds so insanely screwed up, writing it all down like this. And there are so many other stories. It's surreal writing it down. I almost feel dizzy. And sick to my stomach.

So yes, maybe there is a reason I'm screwed up. Maybe there is a reason I'm always depressed and exhausted and afraid. And yes, it's not good to blame other people for your faults or your weaknesses or your flaws. But dammit, it all came from somewhere. Kids aren't depressed and angry and breaking things at 10 without a reason.


So. About this "something underneath" that keeps me from keeping weight off, that makes me perpetually disgusted and unsatisfied with myself, that makes me afraid of everything... I need to unload it. Honestly, what I'd like to do is never email my mother again. Just never communicate with her again. That's not a problem with my father. That one is already over. But thinking about not emailing my mother makes me feel guilty, because I truly don't want to hurt her feelings. I've tried to talk with her about things, and the answer is, "Oh, your dad has a funny way of seeing things." She just doesn't address anything. So, we don't talk about anything that matters. And I'm just no good at small talk.

I have friends who are so close with their mothers. And so many songs and stories talk about how everyone "calls mom" when things get hard, when they have something exciting to share, or when there is something major going on in their lives. Or they "go home" when they need a rest. I don't have that kind of family, or that kind of mom. And that makes me sad.

I don't have a mother I can talk to about things. So I journal. But the journal doesn't fill that void. So I stuff my face with chips. And that helps, actually, as pathetic as it sounds.

I need to figure this out. To figure out what to do, in order to just drop these feelings, this sense of loss and emptiness, and this sense of fear that I will lose everyone who means anything to me. My biggest fear is losing a loved one, and for something completely out of my control, or because I'm just "me." Because after all, that's how I lost my parents.

Well, that is a realization I hadn't thought of before. At least it's a start. My fear comes from feeling like I'm going to lose my husband or one of my kids, and that fear stems from the lost relationships with my parents.

Interesting. Well, here we go.
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