I am about to tackle my book again. Yesterday I was going through it and I just got all confused.
I removed stuff I had just put in. I took notes.
And I’m trying to sort through what I am doing.
And I’m still not clear.
But it’s my goal for the weekend. So I am going to try it again.
Or do I need some time away?
I guess I’ll know when I start.
Can I just enjoy the process and not be in a rush?
NO NO NO NO NO
I’m tired of working on this damn thing. I’m tired of reliving my painful past. I’m tired of blaming myself for every freaking thing. I’m tired of being responsible. I’m tired of trying to act like everything is fine. I’m tired of just taking the insults and taking the high road.
I think all I want to do is just cry. Take the low ride. Hide in my house. Feel sorry for myself (again – I just did that Friday night). So what’s the problem, I thought it was my book? Guess not.
Last night I went to my mom’s. I didn’t want to, but my aunt, uncle, cousin, sister and brother in law were going to be there. So I went. And I drank more wine than I needed to. And I pretended everything was normal.
And today, I’m home. I’m de-stressing. It is tough to watch people age. Their minds and their bodies are breaking down. My cousin screams everything because his father can’t hear. My aunt needs help going to the bathroom because she might fall and they won’t be able to get her out because she will be blocking the door. And, their daughter died 2 years ago and I miss her. And no one mentions her name. And that really breaks my heart. It’s as if she didn’t exist.
And then my mother starts acting all happy and funny when she feels like she is losing control – kind of manic. And it just makes me really sad. And I sit there like it’s normal. And it takes everything out of me.
And they want me to come back tonight. And I feel like I should because God forbid something happens I would feel terrible if I didn’t go. But I also feel that I need my own space.
What if I didn’t have to pretend when I’m there? What if I could just be myself? Would it be more relaxing?
Maybe. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to relax when it feels like life is falling apart. When the people I love aren’t the same anymore. And it’s not going to get any better, probably. It’s only going to get worse as they age and their bodies and minds continue to deteriorate.
I don’t know how to handle this. I guess I don’t think it should be this way. It should be easier. They shouldn’t be this way.
After all, they were the parents. And they took care of us. And I know if my father was still alive, he would know what to tell me.
“It’s life, Hilary. It’s just the way it is. You can’t cry about it. It’s not going to help. People get old. Their bodies stop working. Then they die. Like me. It was my time. Soon it will be theirs. It’s life.”
And that’s that.
I guess when my dad was still alive, even though he didn’t feel well, I felt like he was in charge. I didn’t have to worry. Since he died, there’s an imbalance. I guess he used to balance out the personalities somehow.
I guess I can just accept how I feel about it. It’s hard. And, it’s better for my mental health to stay away sometimes. And live my life. And let them live theirs. And trust the future.
And just allow myself to be upset when I’m upset. And accept myself however I am.
So that’s what I will do. I will breathe and trust that things are the way they are supposed to be. And I can relax. I don’t have to feel like I have to keep it all together. It’s exhausting. And stressful. And, I really can’t prevent life from unfolding. It’s not even my job. I think somewhere inside I made up that if I was a really good daughter I could love my mother enough to keep her from getting older and more confused. I’ve put alot of pressure on myself to be good and just take all the shit that comes my way.
And I have to stop that. It’s not healthy and it’s not working anyway.
And I don’t really know what I can do instead. But, as I said before, I am going to relax more. And try to have more fun. And try to give this job back to God. It’s really not mine.
Well, this was a surprising blog to write. I really thought I was just confused about my book. I feel better having a good cry and getting all this crap out. I really didn’t know how much it was affecting me.
All I knew was that I needed to get away. And I’m glad I did.
OK, thanks for listening. I’m going back to my book.