I haven't spoken to my mother since the first week in December. My youngest sister lives with her and I haven't spoken to her either. It's painful. I had to stop speaking to them because the choices they make and their actions are only pointing toward destruction. All my speeches to them were how they must change direction. They refused to listen, no matter how I pleaded, how much evidence I presented, how much of my own heart's blood I spilled over them -- they refused. So I had to get out of it.
Last night, I found out from my Aunt that my mother spent last weekend in jail. In jail. Neither my mother nor my sister who lives with her called me for help. That's a relief because I can't give it -- it's too late for the kind of help that I can give. Bailing my mother out of jail so she can continue what she's doing is not help.
When I was in high school, before I could admit to myself that I hated my father, I played a game with myself. I would ask, "What if he died tonight?" I tried to imagine if I would be sad at all or if I would just be relieved. I could only very secretly admit to myself that I would be relieved and that I would have to pretend that I was sad just so the rest of the world wouldn't know that I was a monster. Today, I can say that I would be relieved and I won't even have to pretend that I'm sad about it -- I know which one of us is the monster.
I played the game with myself about my mother today. The answer that I got is not the easy one. If I lost my mother today, I would weep for her. No pretending. I weep for her now anyway.
There's just this sadness and pain that won't go away. I have learned to put it aside for periods of time -- sometimes I can ignore it, sometimes I can forget about it, sometimes I can work around it. But there are days like today when all I can do is cry. I don't want to share it with anyone personally -- it gets so old and so heavy and it's such a black hole. I get so self-conscious about asking anyone to listen to it or to comfort me -- it doesn't leave any room for anyone else's pain or joy.
I know that I used to find distractions that would avoid these things that I can't change. Too much booze and drugs, terrible relationships -- those things kept me from doing the things that I needed to do to be stable. When I was sad then, I knew that there were things I needed to change to fix it -- I knew that if I changed my actions, I could make my situation better. I've gotten rid of those distractions but the pain isn't gone.
Do I get to ever escape this? Am I going to do this for the rest of my life? If I can't feel better by being good, then why am I wearing out myself to try? On days like this, I fight the seduction of self-destruction. I could go on a bender, wreck my job, spend too much money... create situations that I would have to fix, but that are fixable. Why not?
I only have one reason that I maintain self-control -- it's for that man who's in the other room playing a love song on his guitar. Because of him, I can imagine what my life can be like without this darkness. For how long can one person soothe another? Does the image of my life without this pain make the pain more terrible?
I need some relief.
