Today, a trip to the beach ended in a screaming match, with me yelling at my mother that I am not the alcohol police. I also told her that I am not her parent, and that our roles have been reversed for a very long time.
That was good. The delivery could have used some work, but when sentiments have been repressed for almost a lifetime, the volcano simply explodes.
Apparently, the first (and decent) day of this trip was an anomaly. As my brother’s wedding approached then passed, it became more and more tense. I’m not just pissed at my mother. I have a lot of resentment against my father as well, but my mother is just more accessible and vocal, so she gets to bear the brunt. Plus she got all defensive and confrontational about wanting to buy more alcohol (apparently the two beers she had this afternoon and the three in the fridge are not enough for the day) and that just invited me to completely blow my top.
The truth is, I’m so wound up that I’m confused. I don’t even know where to place the anger. My mother? My father? Myself? God? It’s like being impotent. Writing it out, prayer, and starving myself are the only ways I know how to cope. Tears? I might feel a few in the heat of the moment, but it takes real privacy and imagining hurt animals to really get the faucets running. My mother blames my father; my father blames my mother. I’m a 30 year old child. It feels so fucking pathetic, but for as much as I love them both, they keep me stunted at the age of trauma. It’s not healthy.
The triggers are strong, and the two anorexics at the beach this afternoon turned my stomach. If I were standing on a cliff, they pushed me over the edge. I even transferred my anger momentarily to them, which of course was silly and irrational. I’m embarrassed to even admit such thoughts. I even found myself comparing my thighs to a really nice girl in our group, and remembering when my arms were the circumference of my wrist all the way to my shoulder. How I missed that. I quickly put on my coverup, suddenly ashamed…and oh so motivated.