Because there is nothing my mother hates more than celebrating her daughters...

Is I grow older I find that the temporary relationship I formed with my mother has deteriorated beyond all repair. For 23 years we squabbled and danced between the feelings of love that I, as a daughter owe my mother, and the pent up anger and pain she has forced into my life for as long as I remember. For a mere 2 years, it seemed as though my mother and I had set our differences aside long enough to form an actual relationship. For the first time ever, she took an active interest in my life, and it was good. However, tensions have been mounting since the beginning of this year - upon my return to university, and my move to Hawaii. At this point I see no resolution to our situation.

Sometimes I think I can overlook the injustices that she has caused me to endure, but the problem comes as she inflicts these same tantrums on my fragile sister. Despite my differences I have always had with my sister, I will still draw a battle line between her and anyone who dares to hurt her. She may be the older sister, but she is twice as fragile, and takes my mother's constant berating and disapproval to heart. She just can't seem to cut the ties, and continues to endure menacing remarks about her weight at 7 months pregnant, and comments about the greasiness of her hair when she has just woken up from a nap. Things that a mother should never say to her daughter - insults about appearance that would be offensive should she not be 2 months away from giving birth strike her extra deeply when she is already uncomfortable and self conscious of her body. These tensions came to a head last Sunday when my mother threw my sister a baby shower. Since the mention of this event my mother has been telling my sister that she doesn't want to spend the money on her, and criticizing everything my sister wants for her unborn child. Instead of being happy for her first born daughter and excited at the prospect of her first grandchild, my mother turned my sister's special day into nothing less than a circus. She took the day completely away from my sister constantly complaining and throwing a tantrum in front of all her family and friends. On the way out of the restaurant, her relatives were apologizing my my mother's unacceptable behavior. My sister called me an hour later - crying about what a horrible day it was. As the title of this blog would indicate, there is nothing my mother hates more than celebrating her daughters. She couldn't let my sister have one day to herself - just one day where she doesn't make her cry. If she decides to so something nice for us, she has to detract from it - telling us that we OWE her or throwing in a few cheap shots just for the hell of it. My entire life, birthdays, holidays, barbecues, church functions... my mother shows up with her phony smile on her face- playing the role of mother of the year, never letting on any trace of what she has been doing behind the scenes. I am growing a hatred for her. As she gets older she is so unhappy that all she can do to get through the day is complain about everyone else. I can't be a part of this anymore. I find it impossible to sit quietly in the room when she verbally attacks my sister and my father. I can't keep my mouth shut when she starts putting me down in a room full of my relatives. My tongue is sharp, and I am aware that my words cut deep. I sometimes feel bad for this, but I have no control over it anymore. I find in keeping my mother in my life, I myself turn into a person I don't like. My words are powerful, but I hate using them to knock someone else down, yet I can't keep them inside of me while someone else knocks me down. In fighting a battle to appeal to my mother's likings, I will lose the ability to conquer the rest of my everyday tasks. I can't do it anymore, and I refuse to become a victim of her rage again - so late in the game. I live 6000 miles away from her, and one phone conversation can still make my blood boil. I will walk away, and walk on, and stand tall beside my sister, but until she can make peace with herself, there is no way there can be a peace between my mother and I.

We are so fragile, our cracking bones make noise, and we are just breakable girls and boys...

I awoke the other night to a feeling of paranoia that I couldn't seem to shake off. A bang in the distance brings me back from my groggy state of half asleep. I feed myself the usual lines of drivel that we are required in order to calm our nerves "It's just the wind, it's just the neighbor, It's just the cat..." Except that I don't have a cat. I finally can't stand it, I get out of bed, grab a tennis racket out of my closet and walk around the house shutting and locking windows, and double checking doors. Is this paranoia, or was someone really looking to enter my home? I'll never know. This is the battle we fight when a man enters your home at 2 am looking for god knows what... I know it was another apartment, I know It shouldn't happen again, but I still can't seem to believe these things. I have never been the kind of girl who spends time worrying about things that "could happen." I'm the girl who will jump out of a plane with a parachute attached to her back and not think twice. The only problem is that this isn't a hypothetical situation. It's not that someone "could" break into my home. Someone did. Once the sanctity of your own home is violated a feeling of unsafe follows you - creeping into your life like a dark shadow that can no longer be ignored. I still picture him standing in my living room - looking almost as shocked to see me as I am to see him. I still don't know why he would look surprised. I live here - He came into MY home. Of all the possible scenarios that played out, I guess I'm just lucky that he was satisfied to take my wallet and keys, and leave me without harm. Still I am haunted with the aftermath of "what if?"

I am not myself as of lately. I can tell when my mind is not healthy - it affects my whole body. I got sick with strep throat last week. I have strange dreams at night. My dreams tell me about my mind. When I am upset or unhappy my unhappiness haunts me in my dreams. It allows me no relief from my discontent. When I am neither happy or unhappy - more in a content phase I have no dreams at all. When I am happy I have frivolous dreams about people I haven't seen in years, and sometimes just the last thing I saw before I fall asleep. It's been this way as long as I can remember.

I need to release myself from this funk. When I feel this way I feel like I have to give myself about a week to feel like it's the end of the world, and then I get tired of playing the victim and I get up and make some changes. I have approximately 3 days left before I overshoot my alloted misery time.

I was doing homework tonight with my roommate Ana, and she was asking me questions about my Astronomy class - and I was answering her - intelligently too. It was good for me. I surprised myself. I sometimes forget that I am a strong. I know that this too shall pass...

Thoughts on One's Own Mortality and the Unconsicous

Lately I have found myself unusually preoccupied with my own mortality. I know why. I have always known why. Ever since I was a little girl I felt like I would not live a full life. It's just a nagging feeling. I have felt this before. I felt it before my grandmother died when I was only 12 years old. I knew the end was coming for her. I found myself wondering what would happen if someone broke into my house literally 3 hours before it happened that night. I don't know why. My body is just programmed this way. I can feel the world around me deep down in my bones. This has been a blessing and a curse. I'm not so deep into the supernatural world that I believe in sorcerers and witches, but I do know believe that there are many levels of consciousness that lie between being awake and being dead. Perhaps locked away in these levels is the ability to really understand the world around us. All it takes is opening our mind to it. I have felt these things since I was a child. Maybe it is because of the troubled childhood that I lived and my desperate need for an escape. I remember being locked out of the house in a t shirt in the dead of winter, and finding a way to sit under a tree and convince myself that I was not cold, and it worked. My goosebumps simply disappeared, and my shivering ceased to exist. I felt like I had unlocked something wonderful - and found myself wondering what else I was capable of. It opened my mind up to the beauty and power of the human mind. Whether I want these feelings or not is no longer a question, they come to me, and as of now I still haven't figured out how to react to them and how to decipher between my own paranoia and a true honest to god gut feeling.

I have always felt that I would not live to old age. When I leave the country I always make sure that my family has access to all of my information just in case. I keep my personal accounts business private, but still easy to access should the situation arise. I put my father's name on things like storage units and bank accounts as a precautionary measure. I make sure to let someone know when I leave town or take a journey to someplace out of the ordinary. I am petrified of car accidents because I have always thought that I would one day get into a tragic accident. I feel that this feeling is more than just basic paranoia, it seems so real to me. I don't share these feelings with anyone else. This burden is mine alone to bear. I live my life to the fullest everyday. After living half of my life in a figurative hell I find myself literally starving in my appetite for life. I just can't seem to get enough of it. I can find the beauty in simple things, and I can truly let every moment sink into my skin. I know how fortunate I am to have been blessed with this extraordinary life, and I refuse to let it go to waste. I can't prevent the inevitable, but I can go on with my everyday affairs and know that although I will never be quite ready to leave this beautiful earth behind, I did my best to enjoy it and try to make it a better place. Can we really ask for more out of life???

Missing my heart

So I was talking to my friend Laurnan the other day and we were discussing how much things have changed in the last year. This last year has flown by so fast. It has been a year of transition for me. this time last year i was anxiously awaiting my graduation, and the arrival of my parents in San Francisco. I knew I was on the brink of something different and new, but I had no idea to what this extent this was. This time last year I had no idea that my grandmother was dying. I was ignorant to the fact that cancer had taken over her body. I can hardly believe it all happened, and I can hardly believe that it was over 9 moths ago that this all happened. Time in Hawaii Stands still. Here in paradise there are no seasons, no ends and no beginnings. the waves and the ocean are constant and thus, so is life.

I find that I miss my grandmother a lot, but it is a different kind of miss that I was not familiar with. When my other grandparents passed away it was an aching, sense of constant loss that overcame me and practically crippled me. Sorrow and grief. I went through my loss and these feelings, but it has changed to a different kind of missing her now. The only way I can think of to describe this loss is like My best friend who gets sent away for a while and I am just dying to talk to about my day. I have so much I want to tell her and so many exciting things I want to share with her. I want to tell her the details of my adventure to Australia, and about how I might take a roadtrip home with my good friend. I want to tell her how paranoid I get when I hear noises outside my house at night since that man invaded my house. I just miss the everyday being able to talk to her and tell her these ordinary things.

Maybe I don't feel grief because I am so far away. Maybe it is because I got to know her so much better than I did my other grandparents. I have spent thousands of hours talking to her and laughing with her. She knew me - the real me, and I knew her. I have no regrets. Her spirit lives on. I talk about her with my sister and my cousins and sometimes I catch myself referring to her in the present - saying things like "My grandmother is so funny." We speak of her as if she never left us. Maybe she hasn't. I remember right after she passed away - taking a ride up to Humboldt, and I could feel her all around me. I could feel her presence in the car with me. It felt like she could have been sitting in the back seat. I felt her looking through my eyes. I don't know how to describe it, but I knew she was there. I feel like she is watching me right now as well. Right this second i feel tingles up and down my spine. Maybe she knows I am talking about her. Maybe there is some unknown channel that we dial with our unconscious that lets her know that we are thinking about and need her to listen - to be there... I don't feel these feelings everyday, and I consider this is a good thing. I think my grandmother is happy and safe in her own heaven with my grandfather. She lived a long and full life, and I don't think she spends her whole eternity looking back on us. She loved us the best she could when she was alive, and gave us everything she could, so I am happy she doesn't spend her afterlife dwelling on the ones she left behind. In my mind I picture her returning back to her younger self - walking - for the first time in 20 some years without the aid of a walker or a cane, strolling along some enchanted garden with my grandfather - smiling and happy. That's all any of us could ask for her.

I know life will go on without her, and I know this feeling of missing her will never completely go away, but it will become smaller and smaller in time as I find new people to share my heart with. She is alive in her spirit, and she exists all around me, and every memory we have will keep a part of her alive. I know she will be following me all summer - Yelling at me when I get into trouble, telling me to watch myself when i come up with bad ideas (which I always do), and laughing with me during my happy times. I think she would be happy to see the things that I have accomplished since her death... in fact, I know she would.
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How to let go

I find as I get older, that my relationships with men never work out. I know that I am the problem. I don't allow men to get close to me. I have a thousand male friends who I give my heart away to, but as for the men who want to know me - who want a piece of my soul I can't seem to open my heart up to love. I have become hardened to it. My secret, however, is that i think behind my front, I want to be able to fall in love, It's just easier to not try.

I have a close friend named Laurie. Laurie is a rather talkative drunk, and has a habit of disclosing her secrets every time she gets a little tipsy. These are big secrets too. She once told an entire table of practical strangers and friends that she had an abortion from a man 8 years younger than she. I think she does it on purpose. she wants to release her secrets, so she uses alcohol as an excuse to do it. How free she must feel! She can speak freely about her life experiences in front of any company. She doesn't have to cut her stories short because she has a friend in the room who she hasn't told her secrets to. I envy her for this. I want to be that free.

I stop myself from getting into relationships because I don't want to disclose my secrets. I have so many other stories of places I have been and trouble I have started that i can detract others from realizing that In babbling for hours, I have not shared anything about myself. The smart ones can see right through me. Not many can. I refuse to let a man hold me if I am upset because i can't stand the surge of emotion and the feeling of my walls being torn down. It makes me feel as though my flesh were tearing in half. I know why this is, of course. My stories are not unique and my bruises are not special. i wear the same scars that every other woman displays. but I don't know how to get past them. I don't know how to get over Raymond who left me the night I terminated the life of our unborn child to be with his other girlfriend. I don't know how to forget that My ex Kristian Lead me on and then tried to trade me in for 3 of my best friends. I don't know how to admit to myself that Bryant made my feel so insignificant. He would pretend to care, and give me his body, but let me know that he was looking to give his heart away to someone else. He told me of course that he would say these things hoping to make me mad enough to confess my love to him. I could never love him. I was too busy trying to pretend that he didn't matter. The list could go on forever. I, of course have crumbled the hearts of others. I've almost enjoyed it. How do I let this go? How do you stitch up your heart and allow it to love again...