My mom likes to make promises she can’t keep.  Oh she always intends to do it when she says it.  She just isn’t very good at taking stock of what things are realistic and possible in life.  And she rarely has the willpower to deny herself something in favor of a later pay off.  It’s all stupid shit, right?  She promised she would take me to Magic Mountain every year from when I was eight on.  My siblings grew up with season passes and I heard the stories and I felt envious.  I went by myself when I was twenty-one.

One of the talents my mom has is sewing.  She’s a fairly talented seamstress.  I still have things she made from me and I wear them when I get the chance.  I have a Snow White costume and an Ariel (from The Little Mermaid) dress–you know the one when she comes down to dinner and brushes her hair with a fork?  That one.  My dress is awesome.  And my mommy made it for me which makes it extra special.  She made my Dickens costume.  I wish she hadn’t told me to buy the pattern and material for three separate Dickens costumes because then in the long run I feel bitter that (as usual) she doesn’t follow through completely on what she says.  I should just be grateful she did one.  Usually she doesn’t get through one.

I focus on the fact that in everything she said to me there was always a lie.  I always had to be careful not to get my hopes up when she said anything.  I would say I had less than a 50/50 chance of her following through.  That wears on you decade after decade.  I wish she had promised less.

“I’ll pick you up from school” was one of those ones I wish she had promised less of.  I would not be able to add up all the hours I sat around waiting to be picked up.  I understand.  She always had a reason.  It’s not her fault.  Ever.  It is always someone or something else’s fault.  Always.  Always.  Always.

I hold the people in my life to a higher standard of truth telling because of this.  Approximations are not good things.  Over-promising is the worst thing you can possibly do.  I try very hard to keep my expectations and hopes very low.  Too many people are fucking liars who are too self absorbed to even admit to themselves that what they are doing is lying.

There are sins I forgive easily and barely notice; there are sins that cause me to feel like I have to smite someone from the earth because they are hurting me.  The real solution isn’t to smite anyone.  I’m terrified that the solution is simply to never trust a word that people say unless they prove over years that they aren’t a liar.  Unfortunately I tend to trust more than I should.  I get lied to a lot.  Oh of course it is never a lie it’s just that people don’t think they need to have a lot of integrity in what they say.  They feel no need to be impeccable with their words.  Close enough is good enough.  And I die of a thousand paper cuts.

I don’t want my children to have this hostility and rigidness around promises.  I know it isn’t healthy.  It is isolating.  I certainly can’t hang out with people much.  I’m trying to figure out how much I can handle really having steadily in my life.  I want there to be a predictable pattern.  I want to have a pattern, damnit.  I’m really struggling because nothing else in the world wants me to.  Stupid life just keeps happening.  I really do want to see people and so far that has to be a flexible thing.

It is hard to be this lonely and angry at the same time.  I know that I have to be careful not to get too angry when other people are around.  I manage this with the kids by not talking at all.  It’s hard to do that with adult visitors.  Then they become discomfited and I have to try to knock it off.  I can see the visible discomfort spread over people and I feel a wash of shame.  Yup.  That’s me.  The angry one.  Then I feel so much self loathing that I am always the angry one that I just feel more anger.  I’ve been told a lot of times that feeling that angry around people is basically abusive.  I’m a monster no matter what.  I just am.  It doesn’t matter what I do.

Ok, I kicked the cabinet door off the wall.  I suppose that is something terrible and horrible.  Because more shame really makes everything better.

I have had trouble running since the grief ritual.  I feel so overwhelmed with anger that I can barely see straight and it makes me stumble so I am running more slowly and carefully.  I don’t want to injure myself; I truly don’t.  I don’t want running to become my latest method of self-injury.  I want to find joy in my body.  It’s hard to do in the dark and cold.  I miss the afternoons.

I feel stuck in this anger.  I am so frustrated and anxious.  I need to go proofread six more chapters back from my editor and that’s scaring the crap out of me.  I am so tired of reading this story.  I want to avoid it and I want to get this done and over with.

When I say I follow the scorched earth path I mean that I will forever say anything I want about someone and shun that person from my life.  I will be as harsh as I feel the need to be.  I can be a very harsh person.  It is obvious when I am truly done.

I am struggling with some things in my close personal relationships.  I don’t want to regret the things I write, ever.  I want to always know that I am writing a truth I feel comfortable standing behind.   Right now I am having a lot of very strong irrational emotions.  I don’t know how to deal with them.  I am already saying things that are impossible to take back.  Dear sweet Jesus at least I will keep them off of my blog.  I’m struggling.

How can I talk about what I am experiencing without giving any information or judgment.  hm.

I feel unappreciated and used.  I feel like I am getting the realistic version of an impossible situation.  I feel tightness in my throat.  My neck aches.  My shoulders ache.  My lower back aches and I can feel how bad my posture is right now.  All right, I made a few chair adjustments and that is slightly better.  I feel empty and drained.  I feel abandoned and untrusting.  I feel exhausted in a way that isn’t going away with more sleep.

Recently I heard someone describe it as being “pregnant” with her book and I kind of feel like that.  I’m getting a lot of harsh physical symptoms and emotionally I feel like I am living on the memory of fumes because I ran out of gas long ago.  I am at a time and place in my life where I feel like I need an endless stream of support but I am too ashamed to ask for it.  I don’t have a family and people like me have to just figure it the fuck out because we are too unpleasant to be around.  I feel so pathetic and needy.  I feel so very lonely.  But I don’t feel like I get to talk about that because it is my own damn fault that I am so fucking unpleasant to be around and that’s why I am alone.

Sometimes I wonder what it is like to be part of an extended family.  Thinking about it makes me cry.  What would it be like to have people who know me and want to spend time with me?  I have friends, yes.  But my friends go see their families on holidays.  I notice.  I tend to feel like it isn’t possible for me to stop being angry so I should stop attempting to spend time with people at all because no one should have to deal with my fucking mouth.

It’s probably a good thing I see my therapist tonight.