March 16, 2014

I was just thinking about today being Sunday and how I always get a little agitated about the weeks end coming to a close. It's almost like losing a protective covering, leaving me completely exposed to whatever comes in the days during the week and once again I wait for the protection of the weeks end to come.


There was a time, not so very long ago when I felt the exact opposite of what I feel today. It was during the time my parents were alive. Home was never a safe haven, not even as an adult. It was just a place to store my stuff and to lay my head when I had nowhere else to go. I relished the weekdays because I could escape into work which was and has been my safe place. Work is where I first received positive validation...positive anything for that matter. At work I was valued. I didn't have to worry about being perfect even though I'd strive to be. There was never any screaming or beatings at work. I was free to be who I am or who I thought I was...for the most part.


Weekends and holidays were a great source of stress. The stress became even greater when I moved away from home. The expectation was to visit with my parents every weekend. Saturdays were fine, but Sundays were preferred. Dad worked on Saturdays. On Sundays I would be tortured by both instead of just the one. I guess I've always been a source of entertainment for my parents, in the most manipulative, horrid kind of way. My mom, who is the main catalyst for weekend visits, would never sit still. No matter what, we could never have a decent conversation or simply sit in the same room. She was always on the move. Always working like a slave cleaning a house that was never dirty. I guess it didn't matter she never had the time or inclination to have a real visit with me. My purpose...to show her continued absolute control. I was still her obedient pet. When she called, I came.


Holidays were the worst. Again my mother would blow her proverbial whistle and there I'd sit by her side like a wasted appendage. I was a source of shame for them, unattractive, useless but still obedient. Her request for my presence simply rolls of her tongue. Never a consideration that I might want to do something else for the holiday. It didn't matter that I spent the entire day vomiting and crying before pulling the pieces together. Once again preparing for hell.


We'd always have dinner together, dad controlled the mealtimes. Even on the rare occasion family members were invited. Every time, like clock work, dad would wait unit mom was ready to serve dinner, then he'd announce that he had to go to his barber shop for something. He'd make all of us wait for hours before returning home. Not one morsel was to be consume until he returned, less there be hell to pay behind closed doors.


We ate the same meal holiday after holiday. Usually there would be silence at the table unless dad wanted to engage in negative gossip about someone. Mom sat in silence waiting for endless accolades about her meal.


After my divorce, mom always insisted that my son and I pack up and spend Christmas Eve night with them. Dear God, why?! If I were to say no...then most assuredly I need be prepared for the emotional gouging of the century. I gave up and gave in.


If thou hath dwelt in the belly of hell then let thy hell be brief.


Here we go again. I packed a bag, put my son in the car and headed out for my parent's house. It was late. Mom was overjoyed. Christmas carols playing, lights twinkling, cakes and pies baking.


Hell doth hath a sweet stench.


I prepared the pull out sofa in the family room and got my son ready for bed. He enjoyed running around from room to room and watching the lights on the tree. Dad would be in his room as usual, far away from anything resembling a family moment. I'd offer to help, but there was no need. I could never do anything right anyway, so I sat and offered idol chit chat.


Later that evening mom decided to sit in the family room with me and my sleeping child. My son and I are both heat sensitive and needed the room to be cool. Mom didn't mind much...I guess, she wrapped a blanket around herself and started a conversation. Soon dad walks in, asks mom is she's cold and proceeds to turn the heat up. I kindly asked that he not do that because my son and I could get sick. Dad in a fit of rage, begins the scream our being in HIS house and HIS wife being cold. He storms out of the family room leaving the heat on high. Mom turns to me and says, "You'll need to apologize to your dad." I'm not surprised. I apologized, for what I'm not sure, I just did. All was well, order and control once again regained. I'm done. This will never happen to me again.


The next day I announced to mom that I will never spend another Christmas Eve with them. From then on only on Christmas day and only because she insisted. Stunned, mom looks at me. I can see the wonder in her eyes. Did she already forget about last night? Oh, that's right. My feelings don't matter. I'm only to follow protocol. Needless to say, I found the courage never to put myself or my son in that position again. If only I could have always been so brave.


Today I ate breakfast at 8:57am. It was the usual. Lunch was around 3pm. I had 3 scrambled eggs, 2 pieces of cheese toast and water. For Dinner we had baked chicken breast, spinach casserole and baked corn pudding.


Last night I eat my cake with a scoop of frozen greek yogurt, vanilla. It was not as good as I imagined. I didn't enjoyed it, but I ate it anyway. There were no urges to continue feeding. Next time, I think I'll do without the cake all together...hopefully.