It's like stalking but less fun and more invisible...

So.... a year ago I was planning a wedding and my escape plan from my mother. I still can't figure out which one was more stressful... Lately, she's everywhere. Not physically. I don't think she will ever be that ballsy. I dream about her. I think about her. I question my decision to stay away from her. I hate her. I love her. I whine that it's not fair that I got the shitty mom while my brothers got the nice, sweet, sacrificing mom who thought the sun shined out their collective ass.

I've had a lot of people remind me these past 10 months that this woman I've walked away from, is my mother. I've never forgotten that. I've been told I need to forgive her. I need to get over it. I need to hear her half of the story. I don't want any of that. I've spent my life hearing her half of the story - she's the victim. My father was a drunk and a pot head, my first step father was physically violent (which I have no memory of - when he left in the back of a police car, with me standing in my Garfield jammies, I thought I had done something wrong. Especially because once he got inside that car, I was alone with one of my brothers and no grown ups were there. Safe.) and the following one was "The biggest mistake of [her] life". Her parents made her become a nurse when all she wanted was to be a music teacher. Everything was done to her so that no one would see what she was doing to the small girl behind her.

I continue to tell people, "yes. she is my mother and she should have known better than to treat a small child like she wasn't worthy of being loved." No one wants to hear that. I've even flipped it and asked them, what if this weren't my mother, but an abusive spouse? Would you want me to leave? Would you want me to take my son and run and find a safe place where this person couldn't find us? How the hell is this so different?

She's everywhere right now. I think the thing that bothers me the most is wondering what my life could have been had I been encouraged and loved and nurtured and cherished in the way that my brothers were. I think I would cut that bitch if I met her. Or I would be eaten up with jealousy to the point of insanity. I hate how filled with envy I am. I hate it because I would never, could never wish my childhood upon another child. And then I realize that my reasoning is that another child might not have been strong enough to handle it.

I am strong. If there were an emotional Iron Man competition, I would beat the living hell out of almost everyone I know. I would win. Granted, I don't even feel like I'm a strong person. I deal with the aftermath and fallout of my childhood on a daily basis. My go-to response when something happens is to apologize, blame myself for it, and privately tell myself that if I weren't alive, nothing like this would have happened. My anxiety levels are off the charts to the point where even discussing going out and finding a job throws me into panic attacks and crying spells. I can't sit with my back to an open room without having to focus on my breathing. I've walked out of a coffee house because my usual seat, in the corner armchair, was occupied. If I'm so strong, why the hell am I so scared???

I hear her voice in my head at night. Never saying anything, but always implying a dare. "I dare you, Sunshine. I dare you. Do it. " I stand each day on this precipice and always look down wondering if someday, I will finally do it. Just to shut that bitch up.

Anger leads to hate, Hate leads to suffering

I feel like I am simmering with anger almost 24 hours a day. Anger at myself for being crippled by my social anxieties. Anger at Liam when he shows any hint of being like me because no one needs to be anything like me. Anger at Sara for being crazy enough to think I'm fine the way I am. Anger at my brothers for being only the most recent men to bail on my son. Anger at my now former therapist for saying that it is my fault for how I feel. Nevermind that I'm trying to deal with shit I've never dealt with before and emotions are bound to show up, but it is entirely my fault for those emotions for being there. I guess when you have been abused as a child, an adolescent and an adult, the smart thing to do is to just shrug it off and walk away. Guess I'm not smart.

It doesn't help matters that I decided to just stop my meds about 3 weeks ago. I was way overmedicated anyways, but that fact is only adding fuel to the fire of anger I'm trying to deal with. I am so angry and so upset and I don't want to talk to anyone about it. Professional or otherwise. I'm angry that people have pulled away from me like I'm a fucking leper. So instead, I'm isolating myself. Hiding from anyone that might be slightly interested in helping because no one in this world wants to be helping anyone. At least not without getting something in return. Even if all they receive is that wonderful feeling of self congratulations. And once again, someone profits from my misery.

The thing that has been bothering me the most though is how often suicide is coming up in conversation and the worst part of it is that I'm not the one bringing it up. It's usually part of a conversation that goes "did you know so and so died?" and then I find out that yet another of my friends has committed suicide. What's worst is that there is a part of me, albeit small, that is jealous. Jealous that they had the nerve to end it all and yet I'm stuck here waffling on the subject and trying to make sure no one knows about it because once anyone does find out, it immediately turns into a "I'm going to help you so that I feel better" situation and I'm not in the mood to make everyone else feel better. I'd rather figure out how to make myself feel better. *sigh*