Is it the TV or is it me? No one else is crying.

scan001720130512_173032 I almost always cry when I watch television and movies.  Could it possibly be the swelling music at just the precise moment?  And I fall for it?  These shows have a climax for a reason to which I over react.  But I AM FEELING.  That’s what matters.  I have come to realize that my family, although rich in number, but poor in substance, fall extremely short of my new family,  who may not be as large in number, but make up for it in substance.  They are close not only geographically, but in heart. They come together both in celebration and in tragedy. I am in awe for I know this is rare, like a sparkling diamond in dull dirt.

I have realized that my uncontrollable emotion comes from a place of emptiness and loss that became a void, unknown to me, which needed a remedy. I feel uncomfortable much of the time because I have grown so accustom to my family’s deceit and detachment. It is, however, soothing to have this support which just appeared before me like a red carpet being rolled out much to my surprise.  This acceptance is simply there.  I need not ask for it.  I didn’t do anything to earn it.  It’s hard for someone like me to accept it without doubt.  I rarely think I am worthy of much.   This amazingly warm family needed only to see one thing.  Her and I genuinely happy. We feel as though we were made for each other, something we say all the time.  I am sure it helps that I am not a sneaky sociopath, rude, or indifferent.  Aside from my obvious issues, I am a nice person.  It’s the presumed normal girlfriends we need to look out for, right?  So, when I see families on TV, fictitious or not,  I am so filled with longing for that togetherness that my tears flow like a broken water main.

I am an only child raised by one parent.  Maybe that is the key component of my psychological thread.

Why are the Mothers on TV so great?  It kills me. Okay, I see the histrionic, difficult mothers as well.  The networks need to ”reach out’ to us all, of course.  It’s easy with me.  I fall into most categories in their targeted demographics.  From time to time I hear my girlfriend on the phone with her mother and I could swear it’s her best friend.  I came out of the grocery store to the car, her on the phone with her mom, and I needed to check the phone screen twice as my jaw dropped and my throat choked up because the way she talked sounded more like how you talk to the bakery manager when you really need that birthday cake tomorrow and not the next day, when you originally ordered it.   I have never heard a mother and daughter speak in this considerate manner.  And it’s not just those two, it’s the rest of the family as well.  All of them.  It amazes me.  My heart can barely contain the emotion.  It’s like a platter of joy and happiness with a little self pity on the side.

If only my mom could touch me without me jerking away.  If I could only lean into hug her and not wish I was somewhere else.  Something is missing.  I’ve seen the pictures in the photo albums. I remember stories she has told.  I have pictures in my mind I carry with me still.  I know we were close.  Too close. Enmeshed.  Without boundaries.  Like two different sauces on one plate oozing into each other that aren’t supposed to mix or it’ll ruin the whole dish.  I wish I could crawl into bed with her or snuggle up with her on the couch when my heart is hurting or when I am scared from a thunder storm…. Ya, I would like that, but I cant even imagine it ever becoming a reality.  We just don’t work that way any longer.  It will never be that way again.  I miss her.  Not the present her; I can barely stand to hear her inebriated voice on the phone.  But the old her?  I miss that strong woman. The woman who raised me all by herself, who fended off men while she muscled her way through the shipyards, who bought a home in 1979 and got us off of welfare when I was 4 years old.  That strong woman. Where is she?  I can’t stand how distanced we have become.  Reverting to enmeshed again might be better than estranged.  Especially when that’s my only option with her.

She told me the story of when I was so sick I was throwing up on her in bed. I was probably my daughter’s age. I couldn’t lean over the bed in time to hit the bowl beside the bed.  It sounds gross.  But I know that when it is someone you love, you are happy to let them puke all over you. Her comfort came first. My wellness meant more than her soiled pajamas and sheets.  She ran her fingers through my sweaty hair, pulling it off my forehead until my fever broke.

That was over 20 years ago.  Before we became like a life threatening disease to each other.  Estranged is what keeps me healthy.  If this is healthy, I am confused.  Our relationship has been deemed toxic.  But feel toxic.  Maybe I do need my mom.   No, those are just words I am not going to delete.  I can’t go running back into my mom’s tangled web.  It’s a really dark and crazy place.  I am trying to get healthy again.  I have been trying a long time.  In time, my new life will nullify my old life.  Right?


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