Lonely in a Crowded Room

I'm feeling desperately lonely and depressed lately.  I just can't seem to shake it.  I feel at any moment I could burst into tears.  So, I finally allowed myself a nice hot shower today, away from the kids, hoping to just wretch it all out.  But nothing came.  I feel blocked, or numb, or walled up.  I'm trying so hard to figure out what in the hell I'm feeling, but I can't even stumble on what to call it.

It's interfering with my life.  I've been an awful, irritable wife lately.  I'm crabby and bitchy.  One of my fleas, given to me by my mother, is that I can be critical.  For no reason at all.  Just spit out snarky comments, finding negative things to say about my DH.  Most of the time, I've reigned them in, managed to keep them in my head and not spit them out.  But a few have escaped.  And then I feel even more awful.  Because I don't mean any of them.

I'm short with my children.  They can feel my grouchiness and fatigue and stress.  It shows up most with my oldest son.  And he mirrors it back to me with his own grouchiness and short temper.  I wake up with desperate anxiety that they are growing too fast, that I'm missing out on creating memories, that I am being swallowed up by time.  And when I waste precious moments with sadness and temper, I hate myself.

I have told two of my close friends that I am struggling.  One ignored me.  The other sad, oh, that's too bad, hopefully we can get together after the holidays.   My husband tells me that lots of people care for me.  I think they enjoy having me in their corner, playing their cheerleader, being their in a pinch, supporting them, being an armchair therapist and sounding board.  But when I turn around, not one of them is in my corner.  I'm a bucket with a hole in the bottom.  And no fresh water to fill me up.

Another friend stopped by recently.  He talked to me and my husband about how two of our other friends are struggling.  How he hoped we could reach out.  Help push one friend into therapy.  I was a bit amazed.  How he could so easily see these other people's pain, yet as I sat in front of him, he saw nothing.

Few people do.  Maybe I'm just that good at hiding it.  Maybe they don't want to see it.  I think it's a little of both.  

We weren't invited to a friend's Christmas party the other day.  DH had been excited about it, and I think it upset him when I pointed out that we weren't invited.  He (and another friend) were sure that there was a mistake, but as it dawned on him that we were probably left out, I felt he was sad.  Although he's not blaming me, I'm sure that he can't help but wonder what it is that got us left of the guest list.  I can't help but think it's me.  The hostess doesn't care for me too much.  To be honest, I don't care for her much either.  She "offered" up her opinions of me and my MIL's relationship one time, based purely on second hand facts and offered me up an scolding in the end.  Without ever ONCE learning about my side of the story.  Not that I would've told her anyway.  It was none of her business.  Anyway,  I find her constant pushy opinions off putting.  Regardless, they like my DH (and we are all technically family), so I was saddened by it all.  I sometimes feel like an anchor weighing my husband down.

He's a social butterfly.  He loves people and going out and talking to others.  I'm a bit more reserved.  And I know that my recent concentration on expecting others to treat us well has pointed out some huge gaps in our friendships.   I know that sometimes he gets angry at the messenger, instead of the assholes that haven't been real friends this whole time.

I worry that I will fail my kids, not teaching them how to have good friendships.  I worry that they will be lonely too.  That my recent crusade is keeping them from other friends and family and isolating us.

I want so desperately to enjoy this time of year.  My kids are so excited.  I actually completed a lot of my holiday prep.  So, I'm just left to sit around and think.  And it's not been too good for me lately.

Horrible Days and Being a Good Parent

It has been a tough few days for me.  I am feeling so overwhelmed, anxious, lonely and sad.  I am angry and don't know how to direct my anger.  I know that my little hiatus from my in-laws and NM is shortly coming to an end.  I don't feel strong enough to deal with them.  I really just want to sleep, and stare at the sunset with a glass of wine, and hide away.
But I can't, because I'm a mom.  It's been a rough couple days with my kiddos too.  They've been sick, not slept well, and have been cranky.  My youngest is teething.  My oldest is testing all my limits at an attempt at independence.  All of these things would be difficult for the most healthy of parents.
But as an ACON, I struggle with parenting.  I struggle to find that balance.  I don't even really know what 'good parenting' looks like.  Where to draw the boundaries between myself and my kids.  I have good 'parenting strategies'.  I've read lots of books.  I've been a teacher.  But on the days that I'm just at my limit, I struggle.  I struggle with the choices I make (or don't make).  I struggle with the line between being an involved parent and protecting them too much.  I struggle with finding the time for myself and not feeling like I'm abandoning them and making it all about me.  My 3 year old is really struggling with respect.  He has been pushing every button: name calling, spitting, hitting, tantrums, defiance.  I struggle to teach him respect for me and for our home.  How do I do this without demanding it "because I'm his mom"?  Even explaining the concept of respect is hard.  I don't want him to do things because I tell him to...but sometimes (like not running in the parking lot) he does need to follow my instructions immediately.  He's really been pushing and doing things that are dangerous.  And in the moment, it's hard to not just yell "because I said so" when I'm terrified for him (or the cat, or his brother).  I want him to respect me as the parent in this home, but I don't want to crush his spirit and be some dictator.  But I do need to be in charge.  It's all just so confusing and gut wrenching and tear producing.  It's all so extremely difficult.

My Sister, Narcissist in training?

I think I've always been some what fearful of my sister.  When we were little she would fly into rages.  She would beat the hell out of me, gouging chunks of skin out of my arms, slapping me, hitting me, tackling me to the ground.  It generally was for the smallest offenses.  She didn't like they way I played with something.  I angered her in my choices.  I didn't do what she wanted me to.  It was miserable and my parents rarely protected me.  They treated it as "typical sibling" fighting and that we needed to work it out.   There was no typical about it.  I was at a distinct disadvantage.  I had not the heart to hit her back.  I never wanted to hurt her.  So, I would just protect myself.  I thought all siblings fought like that.  But as I got older, I realized it really was abuse.  Her rage was far beyond what a typical little girl would do.  Her anger and temper were intense and volatile and frequent and my parents should have stepped in.  They should have at least tried to work through it with us.  There should have been some accountability for her actions.  However, most often, I was told to hit her back. And then I would get punished.  I would get into trouble for fighting. As my husband recently said, I got in trouble for getting beat up.  The other outcome was that my mother would tell me to deal with it.  I was charged with watching my sister for two hours after school.  We were only two years apart in age and we were both pretty young.  I was expected to keep her in line, make her do her chores and homework, and generally be babysitter.  This was no short order.  She was rebellious.  She was often difficult for my own parents to control.  She did whatever the hell she wanted to do.  We were assigned chores that required that one person do a chore, so that the other could do their's.  She would have to sweep, so that I could mop.  She had to unload the dishwasher so that I could load it.  I was a hopelessly responsible kid.  I would always want to come home and get my chores done.  At the very least, I knew that if I didn't get the chores done, I would be in trouble.  Erica would wait until 4:45 to do her chores.  My parents got home at 5.  The obvious result would be that I didn't get my chores done and I would be punished.  No matter that she didn't do her's first.  It was my responsibility to get her to do her's.  No matter that there was no pushing her into doing her chores, that I had no leverage for that.  Often, in trying to get her to do her chores, she would fly into a rage at me.  Attacking me and beating me.  I would call my mom in terror.  She would get angry with me for bothering her at work.  Bothering her with my menial problems.  I spent so much time confining my sister until she calmed down, holding her so that she would not hurt herself or me.  These afternoons were horrible.

If you hear tales from my sister, I was horrible.  I "threw her down the stairs once".  No, I dragged her down the stairs in attempt to get the flailing, angry child out the door until she calmed down.  She throws this one  incident, that is not even true, in my face often to "prove" what a horrible sister I was.  She says I always got my own way.  That I bossed her around and she never got a choice.  She claims that I was the "perfect" one.  And in that one regard, she may be correct.  I wasn't allowed to be anything but "perfect".

She was spoiled.  My mother coddled her.  I was often told to go along with what she wanted so that she wouldn't get angry.  I was mom's accomplice in appeasing Erica so that she wouldn't rage.  I was expected to make my mother's life easier by sacrificing my own desires and wants.  Erica always sat beside my mom.  Restaurants, behind her in the car, walking down the street.  I was not allowed to sit by my mom or Erica would throw a fit.  I was recruited to help with Erica's school projects.  I was expected to assume responsiblity for her.

This responsibility continued into our teenage years and beyond.  While my mom was out having an affair, she left me in charge of my, now, very rebellious sister  (overnight and weekends).  We were "co-parents".  As she and my dad split, I assumed his role as parent for her.  Erica spiraled out of control.  Drugs, sex, running away.  It wore my mother down.  She called me daily at college to get my advice, plead for me to help her, to dump all of her worry, stress, and anxiety about my sister on me.  There was no detail spared.

Ironically, my sister and I had actually been pretty close as kids.  We played together a lot and I believed generally enjoyed each other.  As she became so difficult and stressful for my mom, I resented her and became so angry with her.   We hardly spoke.  I hated what she was doing to my mom and thought she was a miserable human being.  As I see it now, I realize that most of my sister's actions can be attributed to my mother's parenting (or lack there of.  See "The Divorce" post).  But I despised her at the time.  She was extremely violent, often attacking me and my mom.  Mom never tried to protect me in these instances, but rather expected me to help protect her.  We were a team, trying to get Erica under control.  My mother ranted about my father not helping and I was expected to relay her messages.  Mom played the role of poor victim and expected me to console her and her unfortunate position.  My sister stole from me, beat me, abused me and my mother only used it as validation of how awful my sister was to her.   See how horrible she is, see what I have to put up with?  Sob, cry, boo-hoo.

As we entered adult hood, my sister and I had a mutual disrespect and dislike for each other.  My mother dragged us on two "mother-daughter" weekends when we were in our early twenties.  These were two of the worse weekends of my life.  I was trapped.  Mom was (what I know know as ) triangulating us, pitting us against each other.  Whispering negative things about the other in our ears.  Playing the poor me role, blaming everything on the other sister.  The fighting was full on war and mom got to play the martyr in the middle.  I swore I NEVER would vacation alone with the two of them again.

After these incidents, the anger and hurt hung between us all.  Somewhere, somehow, my sister and I began to speak again.  We began to compare notes.  We began to see the lies and the manipulations behind our backs.  While I hated her, blamed her, felt so sorry for my mother, my mother was busy blaming me behind MY back, calling me neurotic, saying how difficult I was.   Our position of not talking to each other had created fertile ground for my mother's mythologies to grow.

This realization did not necessarily fix things between me and my sister, but at least it got us talking. She is still very selfish and intense.  She still flies into rages over the smallest things.  She takes things personally, when they have nothing to do with her.  She demands that all attention be on her.  Everyone is expected to follow her schedule, read her mind, do what she wants.  She rarely does anything if it's not something she enjoys.  Everything has to be tailored to her.  Everyone waits on her.  She struggles to get her act together and we are always waiting on her.   She has the biggest problems, the most stress, the most to deal with.  Everything in her life is of the utmost importance.  I often take a back seat in her life.  We are not life long best friends.  Up until a few years ago, the last part of the decade was spent worrying about her.  She's been in and out of the hospital, abusive relationships, and the courts.  She's spent a little time in jail.  Her life is always in turmoil.  She often would call sobbing, drunk, at three in the morning to detail her latest fights with her boyfriend, never caring that I had to work in the morning.  She has had more bad things happen to her than I can count and it all can't be because of bad luck.   She has a sense of entitlement that is unparalleled.  She is naive and idealistic.  If something doesn't happen as she believes it should, she rants about how unjust it all is.

She has rarely been there for me in my times of need.  She offers little support.  In fact, I often get the distinct impression that I'm not allowed to have problems or bad days because they are trivial to her in comparison to the drama that is her life.  She has missed the birth of both my kids and has little investment in them.  She doesn't ask about them.  When we saw her last, she complained of how exhausting it was to spend the day with them.  Mom claims they are "the light of her life and mean the world to her" but that is hard to see.   She often misses their birthdays and sends gifts late (not that I expect gifts, but it would be nice just for them to get some sort of acknowledgement from her).  And then when we do get gifts I spend HOURS literally listening to her on the phone as she shops, complaining she doesn't know what to get them.  The gifts arrive and they are lavish.  After they arrive she complains about how broke she is because she spent all her money on gifts.  I teased her one year when she said the gifts would be late.  "Shocking," I teased.  "What is that supposed to mean?" She snapped.  But they are always late.  She is annoyed by my husband and doesn't tolerate him well.  She doesn't appreciate that he has a place in my life that somewhat displaces her.  Not that she is here that often to displace.  She has railed against me so often for not being "there" for my family.  She calls me selfish, stuck-up, and cold.  She has left me voice mails telling me she is sick of listening to the crap between me and mom and that I need to work it out.  Usually because she is sick of listening to my MOM complain, not me.  But if my mom annoys her, I'm the first person she calls.  She rarely sees our mom and complains when she does.  She doesn't have time for her, she says.  But then she'll make broad statements about how much she loves mom, appreciates mom, and she is the best mom ever.  She forgets mother's day and mom's birthday but if she does remember, she is a hero.  Mom has the best time with her.  Erica is so much fun.  She plasters pictures of her and Erica on Facebook.  Mom has not one picture of me and her.  Mom's always so proud of every little accomplishment Erica has, no matter how menial.  Mom worries about Erica, stresses about her, and makes Erica's issues everyone's issues.  She and Erica are best friends forever.  Best friends who snipe and complain and hurt each other every chance they get.  They both lie to me, complain about me behind my back, and generally place little value in me unless there is something in it for them.

Frankenstein's monster

Sometimes I feel, well a lot of the time I feel, so alone in all this.  Wearing this mask that everyone wants me to have is exhausting. People just don't understand.  They can never fully understand as it's such a subversive, misty, blurry experience.  And even when I try to explain, I can see the person start to fold under the weight of it all.  I can see  them avert their eyes, or dismiss the truth.
They can never see how much these experiences colored everything in my life.  Sure, I wouldn't be the person I am without these experiences.  Odds are, I never would've met my husband or had my kids if mother hadn't made some of the choices she made.  Yes, there were positive outcomes.  But the loneliness, the isolation, the difficulty trusting anyone consume me at times.  I have no idea who I really am.  There is no internal compass to help direct me in my life.  I'm a ship lost at sea.  And even if I knew my way, I have no port to call home.
I often feel as an outcast.  A black sheep.  A trouble maker.  Hard, cold, overly sensitive.  People have used these words to describe me.  Am I really that person?  Sometimes I feel like Frankenstein's monster.  A patch worked together creation of others.  A freak in the eyes of most.  Just so, so isolated.

Divorce Part II : How NM blamed it all on me

My mother went on like nothing happened after the divorce.  Blissfully happy in her new family and new life.  I was hurt that she could cast my sister and me aside so easily, but I still loved her so much, wanted to support her, wanted to be a part of her life.  I desperately did all I could to be the good daughter.
When I went away to college, my relationship with my mom (Hilda) changed.  I thought at the time that it was for the better.  She called me all the time.  Not to check on me really.  Oh, she asked about me and "worried" and "stressed" about her poor, silly daughter, so far from home.  So far from her.  (And as a side note, I had somewhat intentionally chosen to go to college as far from her as possible.  My releasing had began even if I didn't fully realize it.)  But she never really seemed to listen or care about the things I was struggling with.  Mainly because it didn't compare to the things she was going through with my sister.  Those were REAL problems.  This would be, and still is a theme, in my relationship with my sister and mom.  Their self-induced drama and problems and chaos were always so much more important than what was going on in my life.  How can you complain, Jessie?  What do you have to be sad about, Jessie?  If you want to know about a real problem, Jessie let me tell you about....  And, yes, the things going on with my sister were bad.  She had always been a "spirited" child.  But after the divorce, she went crazy.  Drugs, running away, rapes, sex with boys, not coming home.  On and on.  And my mother would call, detailing every bit.  She would complain to me and cry.  I felt horrible.  I felt helpless.  There was nothing I could do, especially 400 miles away.  My sister and I didn't even talk at this time.  We would be estranged and loathe each other for a long time (mainly created by my mother, but that is another post).  Hilda would tell me I was like "her personal psychologist".  This made me feel important at the time.  My mother needed me!  After years of ignoring me, she needed me.  I can see now, that it was killing me.  I was so helpless and these problems were beyond my ability to fix.  Not that my mother did anything either to help.  She just enabled and enabled.  Lamented about why she was so unfortunate to have a daughter like my sister.  Years later I would suggest that maybe the divorce or her behavior had something to do with it.  My mother cried and became upset, yelled that she was a horrible mother.  But what did I want her to do about it.  "I can't take back the past!  I had to do what was best for me!"  She said she was sorry, but I never believed her.  I lived with knots in my stomach for years.  What should've been a wonderful period of growth and discovery for me, became about her and her problems and her stress.  Trips home were awful.  And on occasion, she would drop my sister off with me.  So she could get away and relax.  These occasions terrified me.  To be responsible for someone so out of control.  To have someone around me who was so volatile and could wreck havoc in the little support system I had created at school.  I was terrified my sister would reveal the craziness that was home to my friends.
I met my husband around my junior year.  The relationship with my mom started to dissolve. When I wasn't there for her solely, she became upset.  We became combative.  As I found myself, and with support from my husband (then boyfriend) I began to move out of her control.  I  was not at her beck and call.  I tried to create my own life.  She became desperate.  She would call and cry and overwhelm me with  her constant need for attention.  And when she would visit, things would get bad.  They always ended in arguments.  The fights always started with her being condescending, or rude, or putting me or Paul (hubby) down.  She would accuse me of not being there for her in her problems with  Erica.  I would tell her that it was killing me and she needed to learn on her husband or call my father.  My father sent her into rages because she no longer controlled him.  She wanted him to parent as she was parenting.  To obsess and enable my sister.  And then when he didn't, her anger turned to me and she would say "It's not fair that I'm the only one dealing with Erica.  I shouldn't have to do this alone.  If I have to deal with it, you all should deal with it too.  If I have to have this stress in my life, so should you."  Why should I? I wanted to scream.  I didn't create her messes.  I was helpless to fix them.  I had my own life.  She never tried to shelter me, or protect me.  She wanted to drag me down into her hole.  Anyway, these arguments would happen and when I would confront her, she would play her trump card.  "You're not over the divorce" she would smirk.  As if this was my fatal flaw.  And I never knew how to respond.  Because, yeah, I really wasn't over it.  I had never grieved, never mourned, never had any moment to express MY feelings.  I was always so busy taking care of everyone else.  But that was beside the point.  This wasn't about that anger.  This was about her being rude and spiteful and selfish.  She would spit "you need therapy".  Again, this was true.  But she acted as if I got "fixed" then all the problems would disappear.  We would no longer have conflict.  She refused to see that she had ownership in anything.  And as these fights layered on each other, my frustration grew.  And she would amp things up with each fight.  And then one time, she told me she had gotten the divorce for Erica and me.  My dad was poor and angry and depressed.  And she felt that Hank would be a better father.  She blamed ME for it all.  I couldn't even fathom how she concluded this.  How she spun things to make herself seem the hero, making the selfless sacrifice for her daughters.  Never mind that my Dad wasn't as horrible as she made out (he was hard and angry but definitely not some loser father) but I never could have "replaced" him.  I loved my Dad.  Never mind that SHE benefited the most from this event. Never mind that she repeatedly told me she had done this for her "freedom".  When cornered, she turned around and blamed me.  I began to harden towards her.  And finally, after one argument, where she berated me that I needed to get over things, I needed to let go,  I needed to fix myself, I lost it.  Hell yeah, I was angry.  Hell yeah, I was hurt.  "You abandoned me and Erica when we needed you so that you could go and  fuck Hank."  Silence.  I was small and sad and tired in the back of the car. I'd felt like a beaten, caged animal.  She had pushed me too far.  I instantly felt horrible, guilty.  But I also felt a little better.  And that made me feel guilty.  She had been pushing me to say this for so long.  I had resisted because I knew she'd only use it against me.  Hold a grudge until the day she died.  But there it was.  She burst into tears.  Demanded Paul take her to her hotel.  Paul suggested we go sit down, talk this out.  No, she screamed.  We took her to her hotel.    The next day she showed up at my door to drop off my blow dryer she had borrowed.  She stood expectantly on my doorstep, waiting for an apology.  I gave her none.  And she gave me none.  Just gave me a hug, stated that she loved me, and moved on.  And we've never talked about the divorce since.