I write out so many posts in my head,

and then I never seem to have the time or inclination to actually put them into words.

I have so much on my mind lately that I’m having a hard time being social. I am not dealing with my emotions particularly well right now and am eating way too many Cheetos and candy bars. Struggling to get into my jeans doesn’t make me any happier, though.

That last implies that I am unhappy, but I’m not actively so-just worrying at a few things that I can’t seem to drop, although it would be healthier for me.

I had one meeting with my therapist, which went all right. I knew she was probably going to retire in June, but figured I’d get in a few months of therapy in the meantime. After our session she made me an appointment in May, because she will be on vacation till then! I don’t know why she even took me on, except for a fascination with my family on her part.

Sunday was my mother’s birthday. When I called to sing her Happy Birthday with my kids, she was at my sister’s house. It was more a get-together revolving around my poor vegetative nephew, but my other sister Hannah brought a cake and made sure they sang to my mom. I feel petty about it, but there was a spark of resentment when I realized she was there (a few blocks from me). I didn’t expect to be invited, and I’m not sure I would have gone. It’s been 10 months since we’ve moved into this house and my mom hasn’t been here once, despite frequent invitations. I let her know I had gifts for her if she wanted to drop by, but I knew she wouldn’t.

Lately my dad is the one I can talk to. He came over for the second time this week, because I locked my keys on the car. Both times he came were because of emergencies, but still he’s there when I need him. And he calls to talk to me. There are some problematic things about that too, but I’ll save that for another post. My old neighbor said today that I’m going to have to learn to accept that my mom just doesn’t have more to give. I am old enough to have made peace with that by now, but I’m still struggling with it.

12 March 59 Permalink

I really am addlepated.

I cracked my head so hard this morning getting back into bed after a bathroom trip that I woke up my husband. It’s like I never knew that wall was there. I will probably have a headache all day. But as I drifted off to sleep I thought to myself:

“What if I never wake up? Well, that would be okay. At least it wouldn’t be my fault, so people wouldn’t be so sad. But what if there really is a final judgement? I try to treat people kindly, but I’ve been pretty bad.”

At that point I just laughed at the ridiculousness that is my brain and went back to sleep.

26 January 51 Permalink

I’m watching Jerry Springer

Only in a waiting room, I tell you. I’m wondering how much they pay. My youngest sister could use the money. Her undocumented boyfriend got to stay in the U.S., because he’s been here since he was a baby and has three kids by three different women. She paid for the registration on the car she is afraid to drive, because her 46 year old ex (She’s 33) lives in it. But mostly they hang out at her current boyfriend’s mother’s house, drinking his beer and smoking his weed while he’s at work. He hates it, but isn’t bold enough to do a thing about it. The mother left town while he was in jail, so they will be evicted soon. And my brother opened a can of whoopass on the current boyfriend at a holiday dinner, because he had sent a half-naked photo of my sister to my brother-in-law who is like her older brother.

I’m barely scratching the surface. Poor girl is all kinds of fucked up, and I have no way to help.

14 January 35 Permalink

Family Discussions-Part One

Yesterday my dad called to encourage me to start writing again. Since writing is one of the subjects I am touchy about, I quickly changed the topic of conversation and our talk got unexpectedly more emotional.  He began asking me if I had any idea what was wrong with my brother, Seth.  I have complained many times here that my family is masterful at denial, but my father was actively searching for answers.  He told me he’d been examining old photos and realized that the childish light and innocence had died from my brother’s eyes somewhere between the ages of 10-12.  He compared how Seth looked in two photos, and I knew them well enough to be aware of exactly what he meant.  ”Something must have happened to him to extinguish that joy, Beka. He turned into an angry person after that.”

I told my father (not for the first time, but he finally heard me) that Seth’s chess teacher had gone to jail for molesting the boys under his care, and that at least he had probably abused Seth.  I also let him know that Seth had confessed to being molested on multiple occasions to me and two of my sisters, although now he is repressing it again.  My dad listened and looked for solutions with me.

I couldn’t not tell him what happened to me.  And so I did.

It’s time to get kids, so I can’t finish this now, but I CANNOT BELIEVE that even my dad was not shocked.  Horrified, yes. Shocked, no.  He even thinks he knows who it probably was. A “brother” from Nigeria whom I won’t name here.  We had a long conversation.  I am not okay, but I’ve been calling therapists today.  And it’s out there.  All my shit is out there. I’m not hiding it. That’s a good thing, right? 

19 December 57 Permalink

Okay, one serious post, and then I’m back to photo spam.

Lying in bed is no good. I’ve distracted myself with tumblr and television, but I had to be temperate because they both hurt my head a bit today. That means too much time to think. But my thoughts aren’t going anywhere productive, just spinning around the same theme.

I just told my sister, Sarah, about the childhood abuse a couple of days ago, so that is fresh in my mind. Of course I played it off very unemotionally so I could cram every detail into our conversation without making either of us weepy. She wasn’t the least bit surprised. I think that’s the thing that keeps stunning me. I feel as if I have had to prove so many things to my family, and they have resisted hearing me in the past. But maybe we are all older and more cynical than we were a few years ago. Our bubble of an imaginary perfect childhood has already been burst.

A few weeks ago I realized it was a black man who raped me. You’d think that might have been something that would have generated a race-based fear in me or at least stuck out as significant, but we had many different men of different shades and races live with us over the years, and during the three years we were in Los Angeles probably 6-7 of them were black. And my biggest male nurturer, Ransford, who was Ghanaian was black, so I have to assume that race just wasn’t what stuck with me about the assaults.

My sister said to me, “Who lets a bunch of men be alone with their young daughters with no supervision? I mean who does that?” When she said that, I have to admit to the first stirrings of anger toward my parents. I’ve got tears rolling down my cheeks now just recalling how that feels. When I told my mother-in-law and she was furious with my folks, but I still want to protect them. They have been through so much with my sister’s craziness and her son being vegetative, and my brother’s heroin addiction and my mother having mini strokes and now an actual stroke. I just don’t want to cause them more pain.

Damn. I didn’t do too well with that anger, did I? I’m a whole lot more familiar with sad and afraid. But the truth is that I keep my parents at a safe distance because I don’t trust them. Maybe dealing with all of this will eventually break down that barrier between us.

Stream of consciousness, as usual. It’s the only way I can get this shit out.

13 December 51 Permalink

Self Loathing is eating at me today.

It’s my oldest’s 16th birthday, though, and I’m going to bring her Panera for lunch. She’s never had it before.

Due to a phone screw up I made/miscommunication with my husband, we only have $5 in the bank right now. This can be fixed with rushing around and moving things, but it is a pain in the ass.  If I were my husband I would divorce me. Of course that would be expensive.

I have been having chest pains, palpitations and resting heart rates of 110-150 almost daily lately, and I am quite worried that my childhood heart condition is back. I thought that didn’t happen. DON’T look things up on the internet when you’re worried about them.  Just don’t.

I have an appointment with a cardiologist.  Of course it was only available on the day and time I was supposed to go to lunch with cajundre and some old friends. Boo.

Okay, enough whining.  I’m off.  I’ll post a baby picture of my oldest later.

7 December 58 Permalink