Monday, August 13, 2012

Writing vs. Talking Cure

After SCREAMING at my 71-year-old mother on my birthday because she wasn't hitting the turn lanes quickly/accurately enough while driving me to my birthday-dinner restaurant, I came home after the subsequently subdued dinner (and pie at her house)--driven by my brother!--and drank and drank and drank and went off on a tangent right here about "SHE NEVER LISTENS TO ME! SHE'S NEVER LISTENED TO ME! I feel like a real shit for yelling at my mother, but..." The written tirade went on and on, and I ended up staying up 'til 6am spilling out the gist of every hateful thing I'd ever felt about her since childhood.

Did I feel better afterwards? Nooooooo, I certainly did not. What happened instead is that I felt horribly hung over after 11 (!) beers, and even worse emotionally/psychologically, and stayed in bed all day Sunday (despite having some freelance work to do), staring at the TV/sleeping and crying because I felt so all-the-way-around shitty.

Are my mother and I emotionally close? No, we are not. And we haven't been since I was maybe 9 or so. Does she get on my nerves? Yes. And she has since I was 12 or so. Do I know that she's a terrible driver? Yes, I've been aware of this for the past 30 or so years.

So what was the big "surprise" on my birthday that we weren't "connecting" and/or she wasn't driving well?? Why SCREAM at the woman like that? Am I to be one of those cowardly adults who felt somehow abused as a child but couldn't say anything, and then only let every nasty thing out as an adult on a parent weakened by age? I have my grievances with my mother, sure, but I decidedly do NOT want to be that type of bullying adult child. I completely LOST IT with her Saturday. I apologized at the time, but that doesn't feel like enough...

Oh, re the "writing vs. talking cure": When I went in to work today, a co-worker asked how my birthday had gone... All the gory details came inadvertently bursting out (to the woman's dismay, I'm sure!). She was so kind when she listened, asking appropriate questions, expressing sympathy, agreeing with me that I was way too mean... The difference between writing out my angst and talking about it with a real human: the former fueled my anger and hatred/self-hatred, while the latter drained most of the bad feelings and made me feel somewhat normal and functional again. (As did the routine of work today.)

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