A Significant End To A Significant Year

Well Christmas is over, and 2010 is nearly gone.  I’ve found myself almost without words as the accumulated pressures of a challenging year have come to a head in this strange season.  It’s  supposed to be about love and celebration of family and community.  For some people it is, but for many it really isn’t.

So many people seem to be having fun, but so many others have either committed suicide, or longed to have the courage to do it, or have just buried their head in the sand and hoped with all their might that tomorrow, next week, next year will be better.

I didn’t contemplate suicide, nor did I bury my head in the sand, but I did something this year I’ve never done before: I said to myself it’s enough now.  Enough of the pressure, enough of pretending I’m doing okay when I haven’t been, enough of trying to be brave and cheerful when really I’ve been terrified.  Enough of letting other people’s view of me determine who I am, and of trying with all my might to pass some kind of unarticulated test with impossible standards that nobody in the world succeeds in living up to.

Enough of worrying what people will think of me if I don’t “achieve”.  Definitely enough explaining myself and apologizing for who I am.   Enough of not taking my life into my own hands and making decisions that I know are right for me.  Enough of letting other people take the power in a relationship.  Enough of hoping my mother will stop hurting me.  Enough saying “do I have the right to seek the backup I know I need?”  Enough fighting debating am I right, am I wrong?

Well Christmas is over, and 2010 is nearly gone.  I’ve found myself almost without words as the accumulated pressures of a challenging year have come to a head in this strange season.  It’s supposed to be about love and celebration of family and community.  For some people it is, but for many it really isn’t.  For many it’s just about pretense.

So many people seem to be having fun, but so many others have either committed suicide, or longed to have the courage to do it, or have just buried their head in the sand and hoped with all their might that tomorrow, next week, next year will be better.

I didn’t seriously contemplate suicide, nor did I bury my head in the sand, but I did something this year I’ve never done before: I said to myself it’s enough now.  Enough of the pressure, enough of pretending I’m doing okay when I haven’t been, enough of trying to be brave and cheerful when really I’ve been terrified.  Enough of letting other people’s view of me determine who I am, and of trying with all my might to pass some kind of unarticulated test in my head with impossible standards that nobody in the world succeeds in living up to.

Enough of worrying what people will think of me if I don’t “achieve”.  Definitely enough explaining myself and apologizing for who I am.   Enough of not taking my life into my own hands and making decisions that I know are right for me.  Enough of letting other people take the power in a relationship.  Enough of hoping my mother will stop hurting me, stop manipulating my financial vulnerability.  Enough saying “do I have the right to seek the backup I know I need?”  Enough fighting and debating am I right, am I wrong?

2010 marks the year of me being the poorest in about 15 years.  My prospects have seemed to have gotten dimmer and dimmer, my dreams have seemed very far from being achievable.  I’ve tried hard to resuscitate them, and at times they’ve flickered with a spurt of brightness.

But I haven’t been able to sustain those dreams, and I’ve been getting increasingly desperate about it as I’ve got more and more frantic about money and the passage of time until they’ve become like some far away country I once visited a million years ago.   Now at the end of the year I’ve no creative energy left at all.

It feels like the lowest point, which is a painful place, but it’s also the one where you face the truth of all the things you’ve clung to that are actually killing you.  Things like beliefs that you don’t have entitlement to meet your needs, to put boundaries down, to draw your line in the sand,  whatever it is.   In this low place I’ve suddenly faced the stark reality of how much energy these beliefs (and my acting on them) take out of me and that I can’t generate it any more.  Ever again.  I can’t come back here. People can’t always see from the outside when you’ve hit your limit.  But you can, and that’s all that matters.

I’ve been waiting for people to tell me it’s okay to claim my boundaries, my life, what I need.  I’ve been waiting for my mother to realize what she’s doing and to want to stop because she loves me.   It doesn’t work like that.  I have to say it’s enough, this is my line in the sand, especially with those who don’t want me to draw it.   You can’t wait for them to give you permission, because they’re never going to.

I’ve said it’s enough before, but never in this way.  I’ve never felt so completely and utterly sure that what’s exhausting me isn’t my circumstances alone, it’s that I haven’t believed I had the right to a solution that made sense to me.   I’ve always either been kind of pleading with God, my mother, my family, the Universe, or I’ve been raging in disempowered protest.  But now I can feel that I’ve hit the core within myself, a place where I’m saying if I don’t change this, it’s over.

It’s a kind of quiet thing within, neither a protest nor begging nor pleading.  I guess it’s just saying here, to me,  in this moment of being with myself as 2010 draws to a close and I stop trying to please a merciless God and instead I let life embrace me, it’s okay to be real about what you need, it really is.  Whether it’s emotional or material.  Just claim what you need.  It’s yours for the taking, it’s your birthright.

Thanks, CNN Blog!

Thank you CNN.  I logged into WordPress this morning thinking “I’m tired right through to my bones.  Had enough.  Enough fear, enough of this crap with my mother, enough not having enough money so I’m dependent on her, enough difficult choices to make, enough not knowing which one to make.”

Not even feeling angry about it, too tired to be angry.  Maybe that’s a good thing. The thing is, it’s just my relationship with my mother that decimates me and drains me of my will to face challenges and feel great about where I am no matter what my circumstances; to see value in my life.

She has that much power over me.   I’ve walked away from her many times.  Always because I wanted to repair the past with her, but the outcome was always that she accused me of being terribly psychologically damaged, that as hard as she tried, she just couldn’t help me.

The worst part of it for me these past 7 or 8 years has been that I depended on her for financial backup, just to stay alive, while I pieced myself together.  But the minute I started getting a grip on something, she’d withdrew her financial back-up, and punish me emotionally.  It’s happened this time again.  We just had a debacle over money that flayed me.  It’s enough now, have I said that already?

It’s so weird looking at psychological dynamics in relationships.  A part of me can’t quite believe this level of neurosis is happening – not in her, in me.  But it is.  I guess it’s true to say that my mother isn’t the problem.  My dependency on her is.   Truth sucks.  Unless I walk away, nothing is going to change.

So here I am at the age of 55 finally walking away, inside of myself.  Better late than never.  I don’t have to make a fuss, I don’t want to.  I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t let her hurt me any more, and the way she does herself in relationship to me flays me.  So I’m just withdrawing.  I can’t afford to give myself away for another second.  I’ve got a life to build.

Curiously, in a way I also want to leave her in peace.  She is who she is.  And she has the right to be who she is.  The most difficult relationships are always the ones that force you to face up to the responsibility you bear for your own life.  Because if you don’t, you don’t have a life!

Well, the point of my introduction to this blog is that when you log onto WordPress, you get to see their 10 or so pick of the day blogs.  And the first one was a CNN blog –

It’s going to get better.

This blog is about overcoming obstacles and making dreams come true.  Mine are to establish myself as a script, novel and blog writer, and a vocalist, and to be financially independent again.  If you’d like to help me achieve my goals, a thousand thanks.  Click the Paypal button, and choose your own amount.  For more info, click here.

Foundation for a better life and making dreams come true

I have 2 basic dreams:  to establish myself as:  1) a vocalist/musician;  2) a film script/novel/blog writer.  I wanted to be a musician and writer as a child, but my belief that I was stupid, ugly, uncreative, unlovable and undeserving got in the way.  I couldn’t change those beliefs until I went bankrupt 8 years ago.   In that place of having nothing I faced the truth of my self esteem and what I believed about myself.

I set about doing the inner work I had to, to be able to change.  I also began to sing, play piano and write again.  Gradually, as I changed on the inside, my creativity developed, and my desire and ability to have healthy relationships.  Now I’m rediscovering my mojo, reconnecting with my dreams and people, and starting my life over, with the same dreams but a better foundation.   I’m claiming my life back.

This is what I’ve done on my own so far:

Singing: I’ve developed my voice with some lessons, but mostly on my own.  I have a jazz repertoire of about 100 songs, but I’m developing my own compositions too.   I play piano (classical for my own benefit, and am learning jazz) and acoustic guitar (only have a cheap one).  See my blog of August 24 for more on that.

Writing:  I’ve completed a TV series with colleagues;  I wrote a novel Meeting Robert de Niro (working title) then adapted it to a screenplay, which I got to Robert de Niro (haven’t heard from him, though).   The script ended up being better than the novel, so I need to rewrite the latter.   I’m on the 5th draft of my 2nd script, and have 2 others partially written plus 2 in early stages of development.  I’ve started on a book about my bankruptcy experience, what it taught me and how it benefitted me.  Finally I’ve started a crime novel, which will be the first in a series.  I also write this blog, and post articles on Searchwarp.com

Not having money has stood me in good stead in a way up to this point, because it’s forced me to focus on developing my – music and writing.   I’ve had help for survival up to now, and haven’t needed many material resources but now they are starting to be important for me to take the next steps, as I move out into the world.

Recovery from bankruptcy (to read the story in 6 parts click here) included overcoming my fear of the world, and beginning to earn again.  I  have some work that brings in money, but it’s often not enough to sustain me very well (I live off about US$650 – 700 a month, which includes $400 for rent), and definitely not enough to pay for equipment.

This is what I need right now:  I’ve quoted approximately.
1.         Good quality condenser microphone (Rode M3); US150
2.         Decent guitar (Tanglewood); US$400
3.         Piano overhaul (pads needs replacement); US$500
4.         Good quality digital camera (for my blog, and to earn with iStock);  US$600
5.         Good quality video camera (also for blog, and to earn with YouTube); US$600
6.         More memory for my computer;  US$60
7.         Cost of sending scripts to: Oprah, Charlize Theron, Matt Damon, Jim Carey, Gavin Hood, Sol Kerzner, 5 other US producers, Sandra Bullock, George Clooney, Renee Zelweiger.  US$630 – $45 per script
8.         Paper and cartridges for printing scripts and manuscripts US$210 – $15 per script
9.         Decent anti-virus / spyware etc.; US$519
10.         Get my car fixed (service, starter motor, new tires, and rust fixed); US$600

These items will give me better earning capacity, and allow me to take the next steps in moving forward in my two chosen arenas.  I’m looking for help to create a balance in my life between financial independence again and the development of my dreams.

If you have a suggestion, or something you don’t use that you’d like to pass on to me, I’d be so grateful.  If you want to donate some money that will also be wonderful.  Click on the “donate” button and follow instructions.  Choose your own amount.  I don’t get to see your bank or credit card details, by the way.

Thanks for reading this.

It’s Enough Of The Shame Now!

Epiphany day!

Logistical and money challenges abound.   I’ve twice had to borrow small amounts for food but it hasn’t been enough to eat properly.   Went shopping, had to make a choice between bread and toilet paper.  No brainer.   But shame prowled the corridors of my being when I got to the till, and had to count pennies, literally.  I tried to hold myself together and couldn’t, didn’t.   Not inside.   Please god don’t let anybody see what I feel like inside.

Then epilepsy medication ran out.   Okay, that’s scary.   Had to ask chemist if he’d sell me 10 –which I’ve got money for – and keep the rest of the box for when payment for work comes in.   Felt humiliated.  He said would only sell me a minimum of 15.  I had R50 in a bank account I wanted to close.   Couldn’t draw the money till the account is closed.   Probably get it next week.   Not enough money for 15 tablets.

Pressure building.   Asked my mother for rent, but couldn’t ask her for money for food or the medication.  If only I could get the shame off my back.   And I need medication.   Last night I felt trapped.   Nobody to turn to, nobody to ask, waiting on banks.   Waiting for somebody or god to tell me I’m not a bad person.   Please take the shame off my back. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Woke up this morning early.   No money for the train to get to therapy.   And something kicked in as I walked between the kitchen and the bathroom.   It’s enough torture now, enough waiting for God, it’s enough of not having enough food.  Enough terror, enough apologizing to my mother and the world. I’m not going through another night or day of terror.

The only action choice I could see in front of me was to walk to therapy.   Two hour walk, that’s easy.   On the way is a chemist who might sell me 10 tegretol.   I will let myself have solution.

It was a beautiful morning, sun rising over the ocean, the air freezing, winter cold, bracing.   I held my head up high as I marched, and said to myself, it’s enough of the terror and the debate whether it’s okay or not for me to ask for help outside of my mother – and it’s enough of the shame. It’s time to give myself the right to not be ashamed of myself, to decide what I need to be able to move forward, and to give myself permission to ask for it.

I greeted people I passed, and they greeted me back.  It was fantastic to be alive.   I walked into the chemist holding onto my dignity.   I neither begged nor pleaded nor apologized for the fact that all I could afford were 10 tablets.   She sold me what I needed.   So I got to therapy and I have the tegretol.   And I had an epiphany to boot.

Wherever I’ve come from; whatever I’ve done that I wish I had done differently; however many times I’ve failed in my purpose; no matter what my age; I know where I want to go, and I have an idea of what I need.   God or the universe or my mother or my family are never going to tell me I don’t have to apologize or that I’m okay.

I have to decide it for myself.   And I just did.

New Year’s Resolution

1 January 2010.  I try to think of it as momentous.  Maybe there is something different about it for me, I can’t be absolutely untouched by all the hype.

I woke up angry.  How’s that for a start to a new year?  It’s been happening for a while now, months maybe.  I’ve been thinking I’m backsliding, but today I realized it’s forward movement.  Waking up aware that I’m angry is better than waking up aware that I’m depressed but can’t figure out why, which is what I’ve done for 30 years.

God I’m a slow learner.  I joke, but it’s the tears of a clown syndrome.

Depression is repressed, depressed, suppressed emotions.  If they’re repressed, you can’t do anything about them, can’t identify them.  You stay disempowered.  So this is a big progression.  I remember when I first learned how to identify and release my anger in general I thought it would never end. 8 months of perpetual rage.  Backlog.  Then I thought it was over.  Well, it wasn’t.  This is rage of a much more focused, informed kind.

How many more blogs do I have to write about how my mother slaughters me emotionally with some seemingly trivial words or actions?  More to the point, how many times do I let her even do it, let alone get away with it, before I shut the door and

Walk…away.  Forever.

One of my sisters once said she could forgive my Mother for what she did in our childhood if only she’d behave differently now, but she doesn’t, so it’s impossible to build a healthy relationship, and for the old pain to heal.  She also said don’t accept help from her because you’ll pay for it.  I heard the words, but didn’t believe her, I was so caught in my mother’s web, so conned by her exceptionally creative and effective PR.

I’m not conned by the PR any more, but everything she does and says causes an atomic conflagration of hurt and rage in me.  There’s a song about a woman who can’t see that the man she’s in love with is no good: “…that I’ll go on playing with fire until I have learned my heart has been burned”.  Same with my relationship with my mother, but the learning isn’t just about knowing it in your head, you go on playing with fire long after that’s happened.  We all do.

You stop when you can face the truth of the damage that’s being done, let yourself feel your desperation and hurt with the intensity and reality that it happens.  I’ve reached a point with my mother when I feel all the hurt that happens all the time.  I used to just feel the real big things.  Now I feel everything. Somebody said to me once you can’t live with that intensity of feeling.  Well, she was wrong.  You can’t live with it if you remain where the abuse is.  But the more you let yourself feel, the more you empower yourself to finally leave.  The only way you leave is to feel the pain of what it is to stay.

Still, how do I really face the truth that my mother sacrifices me to her interests, exploits my vulnerability and needs with no compunction, remorse or awareness?  How do I face the truth that she’s an accomplished liar and fantasy builder who has no compunction about bullshitting to avoid personal responsibility, that she’ll hurt herself so that she can punish somebody by blaming them for being responsible?  How do I face the truth that she is a classic passive-aggressive narcissist who has no consciousness of how much hurt and damage she’s caused to the people who’ve loved her?  How much she continues to do it.

I feel like that fly struggling in the web still, while the spider just hangs out until it’s hungry.  Truth is, it’s not my mother’s web I’m caught in any more, it’s my own, and I’m the one who lets her in.

I know I’ve been burned, I know I fell for her con.  I’ve had periods of clarity when I’ve tried to walk away, but I’ve always come back because my knowledge wasn’t complete, and because I keep wanting her to love me selflessly.  The times I’ve challenged her she’s responded in the way she does to anybody who dares challenge her: she tells me there’s something terribly wrong with me, and I need help, and my therapist doesn’t know what he’s doing.  If he did, I wouldn’t need to challenge her.  Right.  She trashes me with not a backward glance.

It’s taken me ages to realize she does it with everyone who challenges her.  Did it to my father, my siblings, her neighbours, anybody who works in her garden for her.  She’s the sane one, we’re the fucked-up ones.  She doesn’t care that it hurts, that it’s unjust, untrue, why should she?  She doesn’t have to, she’s more special and sensitive than anyone else in the world.  Why should she take responsibility for her actions and broken promises and the things she says?  She doesn’t have to, because she’s the good guy.  Why should she have to live by the harsh, judgmental and rigorous standards she expects of everybody else?  She’s too important, too sensitive, too special.

She’s very powerful is what she is.  The victim’s PR.  She’s so good at it.  She gets away with it by having no awareness of it.  If anybody tries to confront her she denies, then breaks down and cries and says I try so hard, look at everything I do for you, nobody appreciates me, I don’t have to take this from you, you don’t know how guilty I feel, you don’t know how hard it’s been for me.  And pretty soon she’s on the “you don’t know what your father did to me” tack.  It’s such a good tactic.  It raises so much dust, makes the other person feel like hell, it exploits their own self-doubt, their own goodness and willingness to try and forgive, to take personal responsibility.  And it elevates her and places all the attention on her.

She’s a master at it.  I see now why my father shrivelled up and died inside. It was that or go beserk.  Oh my father.

So what triggers off my own rage?  The myth she propagates that she’s meeting my needs at great cost to herself, contrasted with the reality of her constant refusal to notice that I’m there when we talk, to remember she’s the mother, I’m the daughter.  The way she bullshits about my childhood and never thinks to herself – Oh I can’t say that to Jennifer, she was there, she’ll know it’s a lie.  She forgets I was there.  She forgets I’m right in front of her now.  I feel as if I’m behind a one-way sound and vision sheet of glass.  I can hear and see her, so she can benefit from my listening, and she can dump her anger on me, but she can’t hear me, can’t see me.  Won’t.  That’s what I don’t want to accept: I want to think she can’t, but it’s not the truth.  She can.  She just won’t.

The way she lauds my brother, forgets how much it hurts, even though I’ve told her hundreds of times.  The way she refuses to listen to what he did, the part that he played.  The way she tells me with such pride how she loved and protected him as a child, and moved heaven and earth to make sure he went to university.  She tells that to me, the child she delivered to a pedophile, the child she didn’t care about.  he didn’t know I wanted to go to university.  And much later, when I tried to get in to study music, she didn’t care.  I was living in her house and she didn’t notice.  Wasn’t going to let me compete with her. Imagine if I proved successful?

Oh oh oh this isn’t rage.

It doesn’t occur to her to think about how unbearable it is for me to hear her talk about what she did for my brother, considering everything she did to me.

She doesn’t notice me.  He’s like that, too.  When I came back from Italy, I looked like death.  I thought I was dying.  He told me he thought I was, and he didn’t care.  He actually told me that.  What is it about this family?  They speak to me as if I’m not there.

The way my mother refuses to listen to the whole story of my bankruptcy, brushes it away as if it were nothing, and reduces it all to being completely my fault – I shouldn’t have used the credit (“I never do, darling.”  Well Mom that’s because somebody else has paid all your bills all your life) – and her perennial explanation for all my problems, namely that I just don’t have enough confidence.  Doesn’t matter that laws were broken in the part other people played, doesn’t matter that I worked like the devil to try and stay afloat, that my brother withheld information from me that would have saved my business – and ensured that his loan to me got repaid.  Doesn’t matter that when that business went down after all because I couldn’t access the backup I needed, that he destroyed the next business I tried to create.  Passively and actively.

But he’s the conquering hero.  Right.  He destroyed a fledgling business of mine and his solution to my ensuing financial crisis was to bankrupt me.

None of that matters to her.  It’s too uncomfortable for her to listen to the truth because it may mean she has to get angry with my brother.  What’s it all about anyway?  Power.  Meal ticket.  He plays the hero with her, pays for things, is charming, loving, tells her he loves me.  He’s her backup if she somehow loses her income – which comes from my Dad, by the way.    She can’t afford to piss my brother off.  He might walk out on her.  He might do to her what he did to me.

And here’s the rage again.  Back and forth like a yo-yo.

I think about how easy it is for her to dump anything on me and not notice that it’s hard for me to hear.  It doesn’t enter her mind, not even in retrospect.  She constantly tells me I’m so intelligent and talented, that she has total confidence in me and believes I can make it.  But it’s an accusation, the unspoken part being I’m just downright lazy and stubborn, and if I tried harder I wouldn’t need to take money from her, I wouldn’t inconvenience her so terribly, she wouldn’t have to make such incredible sacrifices for me.  It’s all my fault.

Well, she doesn’t believe in me.  When I wanted to create a business out of my singing, she said who’s going to bail you out when you fail this time?  And hey, if she believed in me, she’d have known when my brother my brother wasn’t telling her the whole truth when he told her his cleverly biased version of my situation when he suggested bankruptcy as a solution.  She’d have said what aren’t you telling me, because I know Jennifer, I know you’re leaving something out.  Why?

If he’d told her the truth, anyway, he wouldn’t have had the balls to say I fucked her over, and now I’m going to use your money to bankrupt her, which is what he did.

She doesn’t even realize that her lies and self-justifications are flimsy and easy to penetrate for me.  Lies always are.  Compulsive liars never realize it.

Oh I don’t want to do this any more today.  I don’t know if telling the story over and over helps or makes it worse.  I guess it helps, it keeps the reality in my face, so I don’t slip back into denial.

If only I could be as unconscious of her as she is of me, but I’m not, and maybe that’s where the problem lies.  I’ve learned to place her before me, and it’s just so hard-wired into every fiber of my being.  Even when I’m conflagrating within in the face of her abuse, I fear that I’ll hurt her, I shove myself into the corner as effectively as she does, I make her more important than me.  I keep her in my mind, I try to not hurt her, to show her consideration, try to take responsibility for myself so that I don’t dump on her.

I remember her.  All the time.  Everything she’s ever told me I remember, all the small details, the large ones.  She takes up more space in my being and my mind than I do.

There you have it.  That’s what the problem is.  The power of the mother is like the power of the Catholic Church, only magnified a gazillion times.  When a mother emotionally voracious the child learns very very young that it has no rights, and that the mother is more important.  That message gets entrenched at the most important learning time in a person’s life.

Then there’s also the need.  When the mother withholds nurturing, the child stays needy, carries on doing what the mother requires.

It continues right on through adulthood, until you root it out.  I know of lots of women whose mothers still control them.  And the mothers present as very sweet little old ladies.

Sweet little old ladies my arse.    The PR of the victim.

When I talk to my mother I slump inside of myself, I give up, I don’t challenge her, because I know what the result will be.  She’ll shut the door on me, and my deeply rooted fear of that still resonates to such a degree that I become as helpless and compliant as I was when I was a child.  Well, the good thing is that I’m seeing the truth of how, when my need for unconditional core love isn’t met, I let myself be hurt.  Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  It hurts, but it’s good.

There’s also that I’ve tried being aggressive, assertive, gentle.  I’ve tried being so careful of what I say, speaking so lovingly and non judgmentally so I don’t hurt her with my words, tone or energy.  Nothing works – simply because

she doesn’t want it to.

That’s so hard to accept.  Some part of me keeps going back to that place of believing the problem is with me, it’s with the way I approach her, or it’s my own bad anger, or that I can’t let go of the past, or it’s just because I’m not enough in ways that can’t be described.  If I try harder she’ll see me, she’ll love me, notice me, she’ll say I’m so sorry for what I did to your father, for how I lied to you about him and deliberately tried to make you hate him, I’m sorry for what I did to you, and for the way I’ve been treating you these past 6 years, I’m sorry that I singled out your brother and left you abandoned, molested, raped, ravaged, unnoticed.

Every time I speak to her, that small child in me breaks free and runs towards her, “this time it’ll be different, because I know what I did wrong, Mom, and I’ve changed!  You’ll see, Mom, you’ll see!  You’ll like me now!”.

I don’t know how to explain the pain of it.  Intellectually I know who she is, I know what she’s done, I even know the why of it, and I know she’s never going to change, because it works for her to be the way she is, she stays in control.  It works for her to sacrifice everybody to her interests and pretend she isn’t doing it.

It didn’t work so well for my Dad.  It crushed him, it broke him.  He’s dead now.

I have to get out of this jail, I have to break the bond.  I have to.  She’s eating me alive.  I can’t let her do to me what she did to my father.  Correction: I can’t let her do it any more.

I will not let her die with me in her grip.  I want to do it while she’s still alive.  I want to do it today.

I have to find work, have to stop being dependent on her in every way.  I have to stop that small child in me from running towards her.  I have to stop turning to her, hoping she’ll want us to have a healthy relationship.  She doesn’t.  She’s not going to release me from her web, she’s not going to facilitate me claiming my life from her.

And it’s not about the money.  It’s playing out in the realm of money, but if I got a great job now, it wouldn’t change things between us, she’d find some other reason to dump on me and manipulate me.

I have to be the one to walk away, close the door.  I have to close my ears to all the arguments and justifications that support her, and listen to those that support my own need for a life of no emotional abuse.  Maybe it’s just a discipline thing at first.  I’ve been hoping one day it’ll be easy, but I realize now that it won’t.  It’ll never be easy.  It’ll be very easy to walk away from the abuse, the subtlety of her tactics, her machiavellian way.  It’ll be a relief to say it’s over for ever, I never have to talk to her again, never have to give her another chance to hurt me in even the smallest most insignificant way.

It’ll be hard to deal with everything in me that says I’ll hurt her irrevocably, I’ll destroy her, I’ll cause her to collapse, to have another nervous breakdown.

Hardest to deal with is the primeval fear, of having no mother.  It defies logic, defies even the pain of abuse.   That’s the fear I have to face.  Existential angst.

If I knew how to protect myself enough from her I could stop the hurt from happening when we talk, I wouldn’t have to walk away.  But I can’t.  I’ve tried exceptionally hard and in every damn way I can think of.  I have to forgive myself for that, I have to say it’s okay that I can’t do it.  It’s okay to walk away completely.  I can’t give away any more of my life.  I’m 55 for god’s sake.  It’s enough now.

She sets the rules of engagement and absolutely refuses to see that she does, refuses to try and change, to try and take responsibility.  I’ve tried understanding her, adapting, changing.  It’s enough trying now.  I don’t want to wake up angry every morning.  I’m glad and proud it’s graduated from depression to anger, and so long as it presents I’ll do what I need to do with it, express it, get it out of my body, pay attention to what caused it.  But like my sister, I see the truth.  It’s not the past that’s causing the anger and hurt now, it’s the present.  I don’t want to put myself in situations where that anger and hurt keeps getting triggered.

I want to wake up happy and excited about my day, the work I’m going to do, the people I’m going to interact with.

I want my freedom.  It’s mine to take.  You can’t wait for somebody else to hand you your freedom.  Well, you can, if you want to, but you’ll wait forever.

I haven’t had a fun history.  It’s time to move out.  Time to let go of the main author of it.

I know it’s unhealthy to let her help me financially, ludicrous even at one level.  I know that no matter what anybody else did to me that led to my bankruptcy – and does now, even – my disempowerment in the face of it is my business and I can do something about it.  Am doing.

I do have to walk away from her in every way.  I can’t let myself be hurt like this any more.  She’s like a poison in my system.  The energy I sink into that twisted, distorted, very unhealthy relationship, I can, want to and must sink into my own life.

That which I need from her I must get elsewhere from a source that gives it willingly and with real pleasure.  I will make my own money.  I will forge my own way.

Sobering way to start the New Year!  I guess there is something momentous about this one after all.  This one I can celebrate in future.  1 January 2010 was the day I said to myself I’m willing to do what I need to do to claim my life.

It’s a definite improvement

“Seek ye the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you”.   I think the kingdom of god means the source of life, which contains all that is good at the most potent level; which we’re always drawn towards  and which we strive to become increasingly conscious of.  In every part of our lives, in real physical, material ways as well as intellectual and spiritual.

Well, I’ve been seeking that kingdom of God for a long time, at first not knowingly, then in an increasingly conscious way.  Now I can see what it looks like and experience it at what I’m sure is still a pretty primitive level.   It’s fine by me.  I know there’s more to come.

I’m happy for my consciousness of it to expand exponentially.  I’m thrilled that every time I experience more than I have before I get to realize there’s more ahead of me.  I’m Cheshire-cat-grin pleased that nobody can take this away from me.  You can’t lose what belongs to you.

It’s a distinct improvement on the old idea that dominated and drove my life.  The idea that I’m a failure, worthless, ugly and stupid and my life can go nowhere.  That I’m too old, that it’s too late, that if I could somehow be good enough I could at least get to heaven when I die, only I won’t because I’ll never be that good.  So I’ll burn in the hell in the total absence of good and love – forever .

Yes, I’d say it’s an improvement.