Depression is not a chemical imbalance…

but, the culmination of a LOT of things that are just poking at me with a big sharp stick:

…like not being prepared to start teaching on Monday–at all.

…like finding out that your son has a girlfriend that he hasn’t told YOU about, but has told the fucking sperm donor, who invited her to join he, my son, and SD’s nephews on a trip to an amusement park.

…like feeling deceived and as if your heart shattered into a million pieces.

…wanting to cry, but unsure what to direct all of the penned-up emotion towards.

 

I have started this post about 3 times today.  At first, I was going to get on this tyrade about why Microsoft can kiss my tired ass with its frequent screen freezes and inappropriately-planned crashes.  Bill, I know that you have recently announced some form of retirement/resignation.  Before you go, I want to say one thing:  Thank you for donating computers to poor school districts (on the West coast), for donating to charities (we’ve never heard of), building a giant empire based on technological advances (of which, your children will inherit nothing) so that you can retire uber-wealthy while my $100 upgrade of Word stuffs a rod so far up my ass that I’m popping Pepcid like gumdrops.

 

Lately, I’ve been suspicious of my #1 son.  I get PARANOID (ok, there I said it) that he’s lying to me because SD lies to me constantly.  It’s not unfounded, this suspicious paranoia I’m having this week.  I have a bullshit meter that’s pretty dead-on perfect.  The past week or two, intermittently, #1 washes dishes without being asked, wakes up NICE to me, washes MY clothes without being asked. 

Ok, normal people would be happy, thinking that FINALLY a teenager did something nice, WITHOUT being asked.  However, I get suspicious, especially since MY kids do not do ANYTHING without being nagged.  A LOT.

 

SO… there I was, last night, staring at his phone.  This is how I rationalized it:  we pay the bill.  I countered that “sounds like my mother” with another rationalization: What if something BAD is going on?

I opened the phone and opened his messages and this is what happened.

I got angry.  I started to cry.  I stared at his text messages for a little longer before I climbed into bed.  After that, I laid awake with my eyes open for AN HOUR because I was sad… so sad, in fact, that it felt like my heart was broken.

No, he isn’t doing any drugs, nor has he committed any crimes (that I know of). 

He has a girlfriend.

The sperm donor knows about it.

And no one told me ANYTHING about it.

 

So, here I have been, for the past however many YEARS, trying to create this “open communication” thing with my kids and last night it occurred to me that I do not HAVE open communication that goes both ways.  For all of the times I sat them down, to talk to them about sex, drugs, alcohol, and friends… pouring my heart out to them, giving them an inkling about my screwed up childhood, and as a result… they shut me out.

And, that really hurt, probably moreso when it occurred to me that I acted like like my mother… opening his phone like she’d take my letters, reading them and inviting myself into his private life, a life that I thought I was a part of but have sadly found out that I am not.

This morning, I sat down on his bed and asked him ONE question, “What are your plans with the amusement park? You haven’t said.”

(He and SD are supposed to go to an amusement park with SD’s two nephews on Saturday.  Apparently, the new girlfriend was invited to go as well.  SD and #1 son were trying to decide whether or not SD would pick them up at HER house or not.  I was under the belief that my son was driving to HIS house Friday after work and the next morning, they would leave to go to the park.  There was never a 2nd plan.  In fact, apparently no one felt it important to discuss with me prior to making plans.  Or, at least, giving me a courtesy-heads up… AS usual.)

“Dunno yet,” he said. 

“Who’s going?”  I always ask him, regardless of what he’s doing, who is going.

“SD, me, and the two nephews.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.”

I got up and left his room.  He looked me DEAD square in the eye, lied and didn’t even flinch.  I didn’t realize how much that would sting.

So, I went up to my laptop and started to work on my “never going to get started PowerPoint presentations,” when he sat at the table and started fumbling through his phone.

After 20 minutes (of which I tried REALLY hard to NOT cry), he said, “Uh,” click click goes the buttons on his phone, “it seems like [the girlfriend] is going with us to the amusement park.”

“That’s nice,” I said, not looking up from my laptop, feigning the urge to go into my room and just ball my eyes out.

“Yeah, I mentioned it to her last night and she told me this morning she wants to go.”

“Good, I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah.”

He sat there and stared at me.  Then, he got up to make his breakfast.  Ten minutes later, he said, “But, I’m not staying with SD overnight on Saturday.  After the amusement park, I’ll come home.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if I should drive to his house or not.”

“Keep your car at home, so you don’t waste gas.”

“Ok.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Dead silence. 

“Not yet,” he said, looking down.

“SD is meeting her first?”

“You can, if you want.”

“Nope.”

“She’s really nice.  You’d like her.”

“I’m sure she is.”
When he left the room, I just started to cry.  My glasses fogged up and my face was all stained with tears.  It was ridiculous.  I was upset because a) he lied to me, b) he lied to me, and c) he wouldn’t have told me the truth if I didn’t ask him first, which means, he lied to me.

I so much do not want to be like my parents: an intrusive and controlling mother and a father who ONLY gives a shit if you piss him off.  I hear them in my voice, FEEL them in my expressions, and it’s killing me.  I don’t WANT to pry… I don’t WANT to yell or scream… I don’t WANT to do this “I’m offended because of what YOU did to me” bullshit like my mother ALWAYS does.

As a matter of fact, I received an email from her a couple of days ago that explains how offended she/they are that I am shutting them out of their lives.

I didn’t move 3,000 miles away.
I didn’t lay emotional baggage and guilt on THEM.
I don’t call them (ever) and say shit like, “How are you? That’s nice, listen to MY life…”

But, it does kill me that I do that with my friends.  I’ve only noticed it fully recently… with the receipt of her email.

Since I was 14 years old, my mother has written me these “letters” that explain how *I* am hurting HER  feelings and how *I* offend her and how *I* do this or that wrong.  She would mail them to me (literally) and expect a response offering an apology as to why I behaved this way or that way and what I could do to NOT make her feel like that again.  I’d stash them in my dresser or under my mattress and not address them.  A short while later, I’d find them missing.  She probably took them back and kept them as a monument to her wounded soul.  Whatever…

When I was 19 or 20, she wrote me the MOST offensive letter… accusing me of being a whore.  Wait ONE second, I yelled at the letter, I’m working DOUBLES, going to school FULL TIME, so that I don’t have to be HOME.  I’m a VIRGIN.  I only kissed 2 boys (neither were related to me, thank you).

I couldn’t be a whore–I was every guy’s little sister or best friend.  I was the hetero-non-gay-but-was-safe-like-a-gay friend-to-a-hetero friend.  (If that makes sense.)  Girls didn’t feel threatened when I hung out with their boyfriends because I was ALWAYS one of the guys…AND the girlfriends were MY friends, too.  That is who I am and have always been.  I have had more guy friends in non-sexual friendships than I have had boyfriends.  It has been my destiny… of sorts.

She wrote on divine authority that I was a whore, who was having sex in the backseat of cars with strange boys she didn’t know.  God was watching and he knew that I was a whore.  She begged me to get right with God, because only HE could forgive me.

Ever see the movie Carrie?  When her mother goes nuts with the crucifix?  That’s what went through my mind, which was RAGING with anger, WISHING that she would just… turn to dust or explode or disappear or something.

And, she knew what I was doing after work… because GOD enlightened her as to my behavior, my UNGODLY behavior.

OMG!  Seriously?  ONE night, after work, I walked out into the parking lot and was talking to TWO of the guys that I worked with AND their girlfriends.  A bunch of us then went to the diner for coffee, which we did often so we could decompress from 12 hours of work.  I ran into my brother and his friends from Church.  He told my mother I was whoring around with a bunch of men–smoking, drinking, and probably having random sex.  My brother was a dirty liar most of the time and would get the giggles when my parents would ground me for nothing–which happened quite often. 

I was grounded for a month.  I was told that I had to goto church three days a week to keep myself out of trouble.  She called my BOSS and told him that she wasn’t allowing me to work on Sundays anymore because I’ve turned into a sinner.

I told my boss to not change my schedule and he didn’t.  I tried to avoid going to church, but wound up there 1 time a week.  And, I was an adult who paid her rent to her parents to just sleep in a house she hated living in.  She could TRY to ground me, but I only lived there because she SWORE that while I went to college, she would not impose rules on me as long as I let her know where I was.

I WAS AT COLLEGE ALL DAY AND WORK EVERY NIGHT.  EEEEEVERY GODDAMN NIGHT.  I worked 6 days a week for months.  I was a walking zombie.  I functioned like a robot–up, shower, dress, books, learn, change, work, home, sleep.  Every day for weeks and months because *I* had to pay for my OWN tuition, my OWN books, and my OWN car.  No one paid for anything for me.  I was an independent adult stuck in a house that smothered me.

I think about that letter when she sents me stupid emails that say things like, “I/We feel offended and hurt when you…” followed by “You need to get right with God” statements that just make me want to take a rock and through it into her GLASS HOUSE.

So, imagine that… sitting through 8 hours of HR (Puffinstuff) bullshit for the university job, of which 90% did not pertain to me.  Then, getting the email from my mother… because I haven’t talked to her lately… because I’m TRYING like hell to get ready for the semester… hours upon hours of writing and reading and researching like I have been ALL SUMMER LONG.  I’m tired, having not slept well for weeks.  I haven’t had time to exercise the past 10 or 11 days, so I’m feeling physically run-down.    Now I have my son and his girlfriend hiding whatever budding relationship they’re having (but sharing it exclusively with SHITHEAD).  Shithead, on the other hand, hasn’t paid me child support in WEEKS.  Nor has he paid me the ex-amount of dollars (into the low thousands) for my son’s car, something he PROMISED he’d pay me back MONTHS ago but hasn’t (and instead has given me a few checks that have BOUNCED).  My hair is frizzy.  My pork shoulder isn’t slow-cooking well in the gas oven (I’m not in the mood to deal w/ the grill today).  I feel guilty for not spending more time with my kids, but opt, instead to work so I have less work to do later.  I get VERBAL guilt from #1 son because I won’t take the boys outside to play (like I need to take teenagers OUTSIDE to play… they are fully capable of playing with a 5 year old so I can work inside) because I spend “too many hours on the computer.”

 

This is where I insert the following:

I’m fucking sick and tired.  I’m so fucking sick and tired that I plan on saying the word “fuck” at least fourteen times.  Why fourteen?  Who the fuck cares.  I’m tired of dealing with fucking idiots who do not have the slightest SHRED of fucking decency for me.  I’m tired of fucking folding clothes… cooking fucking meals that no one thanks me for… washing their fucking dirty dishes… and not getting ANY fucking sleep because *I* have to carry everyones’ fucking baggage ALL of the FUCKING time.  I am NOT a fucking maid, matron, or bell boy… I have feelings…and no one seems to care that they are stepping on what’s left of my fragile self so that they can make their lives one big happy ball of fuck-mom-she-sucks-ness.

If George Carlin were alive, he’d agree… it sucks being me sometimes.

 

Anyway… that’s it.  I need a shower and some quiet time.