things you shouldn’t do to children…

So, there are two stories my mother tells about my childhood that have been running through my head lately.  I have an incredible memory for details about my childhood, but I only really remember one of these stories. The thing to note here is that my mother tells them with laughter – she thinks they’re hilarious snippets of my childhood. I don’t agree.

Really strange day of ups and downs…

The last few days have been really up and down for me. One thing happens, then another, and I really don’t know what to expect next. Last night, we had one of the 5-hour marathons we haven’t had in years now. Loveliness. Plus, brownies in bed in the wee hours. Then, brownies for breakfast with snow outside. Beautiful, right?

a letter i actually sent

Dear Mom,

This is really hard for me to write. Before you go any further, I need you to know I love you.

I need a break from you. I realized as I was leaving for Ira’s house and you asked me to buy a bag of pot for you that you came here because you needed to – not because you thought I needed you. That made me realize that my entire life has been about you. There are a lot of things that I’m angry with you for right now. Mostly, I’m angry because you are always more concerned with yourself than with anyone else. I know this sounds selfish of me, but I need some space from you in order to reclaim my life for myself. Every time I talk to you, I’m reminded that you’re still friends with the one person who hurt me most in this world. When someone molests your daughter, they can’t be your best friend anymore. I know you’ve been obsessed with him since you were young, but at some point, you have to look past that obsession and see him for who he really is. He’s not a nice person. He doesn’t even mean well. I hate him. I’m angry with you for still loving him.

I need you to respect that I have to have boundaries in my life. I can’t come running every time you have a fight with Cliff. It’s always the same fight. You have to be strong enough to work on things for yourself. A circle doesn’t have an end, Mom, and you keep going around in the same direction. Every time I drop things and run to you, I’m giving up a piece of myself to enable you to remain in the same situation. Perhaps if I stop dropping my life to work on yours, we can both get somewhere.

I know that you need love in your life. I also know that in order to find it, you need to love yourself first. I know you don’t right now. I can’t fix that for you. There’s work you have to do. And you have to do it on your own. I can’t keep making it easy for you to not do that work.

I’m not saying I’ll never speak to you again. I’m also not saying that I don’t love you. I’m saying that because I love you, I need a break. I sincerely hope that you find love in your life. I hope that you learn to love yourself. When that happens, I’ll still be here. But, without this break, neither of us will make any changes in our lives. And we both need them.

Love,

Porscha

dealing with shrapnel

There’s a lot of shit in my head right now. That’s not even doing justice to what’s going on. But I’m learning a lot this week:

1. Some people still call it an “urn” when they want something to put coffee in. This is confusing when the person on the other end of the phone is the mother of your newly cremated friend.

2. Falling backwards out of my chair really did hurt, Ira. Thanks for the push. And the laugh.There are gnarly bruises on my spine and the back of my arm. Plus, a concussion and whiplash. You were right, okay?

a letter I’ll never send

I really wish I could forgive you. But there are things for which forgiveness just won’t form inside my chest. You had no business having a child. But I’m here. I have a brain and a heart and a soul that crave a mother’s love and generosity. I’ll never forgive you for never giving me those. I’ll never forgive you for lying to me about just about everything from the moment I was born. I’ll never forgive you for being the most selfish person I’ve ever met. Even when you try to make something about me, it’s always actually about you. Not just that, it’s dramatized for television. I hate the way you always want to be so close to me that I can feel your self-loathing radiating off of your skin. I hate the way I hate myself for hating you. I hate that I can’t love you. I’m supposed to. I know that. But I can’t. Somehow, we never bonded. That’s supposed to happen when a child is young – too young to walk, even – but back then you were too interested in parties and men and drugs and booze and things that weren’t going to improve your life. You’re still focused on those things. Now you’re suicidal every other day and I know you just do it for attention.

when thoughts don’t stop

Reconnecting with my godmother has given me a lot to think about in the past few weeks. The information she has about my early childhood explains a lot. We spent time drinking beer around a bonfire last night with some really cool folks and those snippets of information that leaked out were incredibly revealing.

do you ever get that feeling…

…that you have spinach in your teeth and everyone knows it but no one’s telling you? I’ve been getting that feeling all my life, but the spinach is just a metaphor. I often get the feeling that people know something about me I don’t know about myself. It’s in the way they smile when I say something like “I don’t think I’m smart enough for that” or “I don’t think I’m qualified for that.” It’s in the way I make them laugh without knowing I said something funny.

Friendship

I’ve been thinking a lot about friendship lately. Never mind that it’s been a VERY long time since I’ve posted anything here. But, that’s not important. I’ve had shit to do. Don’t we all?

Graduating

So, it’s been a really long time since I’ve written here, and it’s mostly because I’ve been finishing up my thesis. But, we’ve also had some awesome developments on the home front. My friend Alicia and her 8-year-old son moved in with us, and that’s been incredible. It includes a glittery easter bunny footprint on our kitchen floor which we have yet to clean up. Plus, kid energy in the house. That’s the best part.

For any parents who read this, the easter bunny now has an e-mail address. It’s glitteryhop@gmail.com if you ever need it. I check it and send out little notes to the 8-year-old in our house, and I’d be happy to pretend for any other kids. You just can’t let the magic burn out, you know.

On another note, I finished the thesis, and I’m working on turning it into something publishable.

Now, though, i’m going shopping for professional, professorial type clothing. I even got new hair. It’s all natural-like. Til later…

TPQ

it’s been a while…

It’s been a while since I’ve written here, mostly because I’ve been thesising. Data coding is fun stuff – for real, y’all. Or am I joking? I don’t even know anymore.

The kitten is in a tear-up-mommy’s-work phase, which has made everything really fun. Luckily, there are only teeth marks and claw marks in data I have already coded.

Mom has had the flu for a  week now. Type A according to her doc. She’s almost over it, though. I think he scared the shit out of her when he told her it killed a shitload of people in the early 1900s. Yeah… that’s what you tell an anxiety-riddled woman. Go doc!

My little brother came up with a new boy the other weekend. There’s a really funny story attached. He was texting me to ask if he could come up and he said  “I’ve been seeing this new guy but he’s not out so we want to get away from Hickory for a while.”

We proceeded to figure out where I would leave a housekey for him and all that jazz so he could come up while we weren’t going to be home. We wouldn’t be home until a few hours after he got here. I go to bed.

10 minutes after I get in the bed (Lin is still swishing in the bathroom), I get a text that says “He’s 13.”

I text back: “what?”

He says: “on my myspace buddy profile if you want to check him out.”

I say: “You mean 18?”

He says: “No, no 13″

I launch into a two-text-length tirade about child molestation and how he can’t bring a 13 year old kid here because that’s seriously wrong. My bro is 24… you see why I’m upset, right?

He texts back: “No, he’s 19. He’s #13 on my buddy list.”

Laughter ensues…