wearing my heart on my sleeve

My heart feels heavy.
My mom just broke up with me. I’m fine with only me knowing what that really means.

I feel bad for the things that I do to her, but I can’t help the fact that she makes me so angry. Every little thing about her makes me want to scream in agony; makes me feel like I’m pushing and shoving boulder. I get tired.  This is something I think about, but always refrain from voicing out loud. It makes less real and more likely that I’ll find peace. But as much as much as I push it aside, it still looms in my subconscious.

I’m so sensitive to tones of voices, to mannerism, and my mom makes me feel like someone is suffocating me. I drown in her way of being. It kills me. 

I don’t know what to do because I’m not just a daughter, I’m also a human.

Why is it that the only time she can open up to me is when Clara is around? Why can’t she talk to me the way she talks when she is around? At home, loud voices over power whatever point she is trying to get aross. And man, how I wish we could just find some mutual ground.

I’ve never thought of my mom as a role model. Never.  Never once crossed my mind, and if it did I was probably too young to remember and it doesn’t matter now. It’s sad because I don’t think I ever will.

My mom has had a very troubled life. I understand. My dad has done some horrible things to her. All her kids have disrespected her in one way or another. But we all have our own sides..our own sufferings that we can’t just put aside for one person.

I know that outside of her hard rock exterior lies a woman that just wants to be loved. A woman who has once smiled from ear to ear and longs to feel that way again.  

There is this picture of my mom and dad that kills me. It absolutely kills me. It’s a picture of my mom, dad, and some flamingo chick. My dad had taken my mom on a cruise. Sounds awesome right? But it doesn’t ever really matter where you are, just who you are with. In the photo, my dad is all smiles, but he doesn’t have his arms around my mom, he has it around that flamingo chick. My mom looks like she wants something, but is too insecure to say it. She just kind of leans toward my dad, isn’t thinking fast enough to put on a false smile, and my dad..well, he’s leaning toward the other girl. It kills me. It absolutely kills me. But I don’t think it kills me as much as my mom.

I’d say my mom deserves better than my dad, but that’s not right. I guess what I mean is that I wish she found someone she was more compatible with. I don’t want to undermine my dad’s own wants, struggles, and his awesome personality. But there is no point in wishing. It gets you nowhere.

I wonder if my mom realizes that I think about this as much as I do. I bet she doesn’t. I bet she thinks that I’m just tossing hula-hoops around and smoking dope and never once carrying this heavy feeling around. She never read the paper I wrote that got me into the writing program at Bard. It was about her and everyone else. I told her to read it. She never did.  I understand, but I wish she did.

I wonder what it’s like refraining from talking because you’re afraid you’ll sound stupid.

I remember once my brother told me about why him and Casey were arguing. She had made a comment about how my mom talks. Why does it hurt more when someone says something about someone you love than when they say something about you? I wish I could just take things like that away, but I can't.They're always there, even when they're gone. They leave an imprint. 

I hate going to the grocery store with my mom.  Mostly because I hate how she looks at things. It makes me so uncomfortable.  I remember once she told me that one day she’d buy the maple syrup that was twice as much as the maple syrup that we bought. It was from that fancy brand and the look of it played the part. I hate when she brings things home. Stupid things. She bought these two fancy salt & pepper shakers for the house. She longs for these material things. I think they give her comfort. I think that’s okay. It’s okay to want things. It just kills me because I wish my dad could give them to her or I wish I could or I just wish she didn’t feel so unfulfilled, you know?

And you would think I would think about this before I opened my mouth to yell at her, but I don’t. All I hear is her voice. It consumes my soul, eats it alive.
By the time I realized what I've done, it's already too late. 

Whatever energy you give to this universe, you will get in return. And that’s exactly what happens.

What am I supposed to do guys? I’ll never reach that picnic…

Here’s to being optimistic and not giving up.

Thanks for listening.

after thought: I'm thinking about all the things Yerika had to say about how I treat my dad and how I should treat him better. You painted me out to be abusive. You told me things I already know. The thing is there was so much that you didn't.

"why are you judging people so damn hard..you're taking your point of a view a bit too far..."

Anyway, deep breath.
Here I go, life.