I’ve been experiencing a lot of frustration lately, and rather than unloading it on the good people around me I’ve decided to do a weekly core dump here. If you don’t feel like reading about me whining about my life, feel free to skip these posts. If you don’t have anything constructive to say, don’t comment. Having said that, let’s bring on the angst.

I know a couple of my friends and readers have been in a situation much like mine. After being out in the world for a while and running into a bad patch, you’re forced to take a huge ego shot and move home with relatives or move in with friends. No matter how you try to paint it, it sucks. No matter how optimistic you are when you first do it, the golden goose egg manages to turn into another turd by the end. Having your freedoms and privacy stripped from you after you’ve gotten good and used to having both does wonders for your self-esteem and not in the good way. This is what I’ve learned since I moved home.

I’ve been so lucky to rediscover why I stopped getting along with my mother. Let’s put aside being beaten with electrical cords at age 2, being thrown out of my house at ages 8, 12, and 16, being told I was (insert name here), being blamed for her diabetes, and being told that she wished I was never born. I know I am not the only person who has lived through all of that, and I’m far too smart to let it sink all the way in. I don’t believe I am all of those bad things. Don’t get me wrong, they’re still my ghosts, but they don’t make a huge impact on my life from day to day. What stops me dead in my tracks on an almost daily basis is her irrationality.

I’ll try to give you some examples as to why my mother is so exasperating. The newest situation is that she’s losing her hearing and she won’t get it checked. My dad worked in Audiology for over 25 years and I have a BS in Communicative Disorders (Speech Pathology) and she adamantly denies to both of us that there is any real problem and that visiting an Audiologist will do her no good. Denying that you need help is a slap in both of our faces, and she has no idea how insulting she’s being. At least come up with a better reason when you’re talking to two people who worked/studied in the field, and if you choose to stay the way you are, at least have the courtesy to not participate in any conversations so the people talking don’t have to repeat themselves every two minutes! The icing on this cake is that if my father or I harp on it, she’ll go into one of her downward spirals and try to destroy the family again. That’s what she does.

Dear Kevin was astute to point out that I’m not a happy person and I can be a downer a lot. After a lot of introspective thought, I have an explanation for why that is. Aside from all of the not-so-great happenings in my life over the past two years (if you want details, feel free to e-mail me), I’ve realized that my melancholy doesn’t completely stem from that. Being raised in a Caribbean household, I was never taught to seek happiness. I was never encouraged to do things for enjoyment, or to make sure that I was happy. I’m sure I’m not the only COCP (Child of Caribbean Parents) that understands this or grew up in that kind of environment. There is an overwhelming sense of duty and that’s all there is. Having friends and fostering relationships with people is not seen as being important or necessary at all. Leisure activities and relaxation are all a phenomenal waste of time. You get your work/school done because that’s what’s necessary and that’s all there is. Everything else is expendable. Therefore if you don’t find a great deal of joy in work or school (which the great majority of people don’t derive most of their happiness from), where do you get your happy? This is a thought pattern that I have been slowly breaking myself from for years. Every year I get a little bit better about it. I’ve gone from waiting for happiness to fall in my lap to actively seeking it, but like anything else you have ingrained in you as a child.. it’s a hard pattern of thought to snap out of. Like if you’ve given up your Christianity.. around Christmas time you don’t know what to do with yourself. In good time you get over that, but there is an adjustment period which is what I’m going through with my proverbial happy right now.

All in all, I’ll survive all of this, but without having an outlet to angst to, it gets overwhelming and things pile up. I’m going to try to not let that happen anymore. It’s not worth all of the frustration. Anyway, feel free to comment at me.

So I went bowling with the family and some neighbors last night. Six people on one lane for two hours. Fill in the blanks about my level of enjoyment but I don’t care to elaborate. Anyway, being the occasional bowler, I had to rent shoes. They gave me brand new right out of the box bowling alley rental standard leather shoes. After wearing them for over two hours I can tell you that I would’ve rather risked athlete’s foot with a scrubby old pair of shoes than ever wear brand new bowling alley standard shoes again. I got home and took off my Superstars and my two big toes were purple. Yeah… purple. Yeowch! They still hurt this morning.

So as my feet were suffering on this family bowling nightmare of an evening, I decided that I wanted a Bass (or a Guinness would do). I sent my dear ol’ da to get me my cup of brew and he returned in 5 minutes to inform me that this nightmare of a bowling alley had neither Bass nor Guinness even though they sported both banners on the walls all over. From what I gathered, they didn’t even have them in stock. If they did it’d be hard to run out of either by 8pm on a Saturday night. The only other darkish brew they had was Amberboch. Uhm… yeah that’s what I said.. Amberboch. One glass of Amberboch and two hours of sore toed bowling later I felt no pangs of sadness as I limped out of the worst bowling alley I’ve ever been to. *sigh*

So yeah, I’m 26 today. I don’t feel older than I did yesterday, nor do I feel any wiser. If anything I feel a little younger because my aches and pains from the gym are gone.
Anyway, the first song I heard on the radio this morning (around 7am) was Mambo #5. It’s been forever since I’ve heard that one and when I heard it I kept thinking about that stupid little flash video called Combo #5 about the chinese food. Aah the memories. Reminds me of conquering the Uncle in 2 Willard. If you don’t know what that means, you weren’t meant to know.
If anything interesting happens today I’ll throw up an update later. I might get my hair cut. If it’s particularly bad, there will be pictures.

So, my parents take me out for the day cause it’s my birfday. We go to Wal-Mart because there’s a salon near there where I get my hair done. I can’t get fit into the schedule today, so I told my mom that I’d come back tomorrow. Dad agrees and says, “I’m tired, I don’t want to walk around this big store anyway.”

In the next heartbeat, my mother has a shopping cart and proceeds to run all over the store filling it. Not only does she decide to try to do a full month’s worth of grocery shopping, but she goes into the pet section, gets one thing, then crosses the half mile long store to the food section to get something else and then TURNS BACK cause cat food is the next item on her list. So this zig-zagging ritual contunes and after I’d walked about 2 miles, I lost it. I had a fit and i tore her a new orafice in public.

Who gives you the right to take over someone else’s birthday? If this was her birthday, we’d all have been shunned for weeks. In 2002, I took over a week off of work and flew down to Orlando just for my father’s 70th birthday and on that day we did whatever he wanted to. I am forced to give respect but not get any in return. In the same breath my parents will tell me I am being childish and then treat me like a child. How does a person become an adult if they’re not treated like one? How can you teach someone to give respect when you don’t give them any? Where is the example? When am I going to be allowed to grow up?

As you can see, this is not only an illustration of my mother’s mental illness, but a clear illustration of the delicious irony I have to live with every day. Yes, I said mental illness. I have come to grips with my depression and my anxiety disorder, which are a result of being around her. She, however, refuses to consult a professional about her mood swings and her manic cycles because she doesn’t put any stock in them. This is what I am forced to deal with daily, people.

Now you know why I am dying to move out of this place. It’s not just Orlando, it’s the bloody mind trip that happens in this house. If I could I’d take my father with me but he’s too softheaded to realize that life can be better and he has a guilt complex that my mother has instilled in him for the past thirtysomething years.

If you’ve read this far, let me give you some advice. It is ok to be selfish enough to live your own life. Don’t fall prey to the guilt traps laid by parents and family members. Don’t ever stop your life to try to spend “quality time” with these people that just take you for granted anyway. If you’re going to take a chunk of time out of your life to spend with your parents before they wither and die, make sure you have the type of parents that will recognize this gift of time that you’re giving them. Don’t waste time on people that treat you like a piece of refuse. Don’t waste time on unreasonable people who ask for help and advice but never make use of it. And for god’s sake don’t let them take your self-esteem away. When that happens there is very little hope left.

Now that I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to help my parents, I’ve realized that it’s time for me to spend some time on myself. I can’t reclaim the last year, so I’m going to spend the next year putting every iota of energy I have into getting away from them. I’ve often wondered why the phone in this house rarely rings. I’ve gone an entire week without hearing the phone ring. I realized today why it doesn’t ring; the people out there know who lives in here.