Recently it has felt like there’s pressure continuously building inside my head.
It has been almost three months of doing Uber full time, and those experiences alone are something I want to talk about at great length. The type of people that I get to meet, and the conversations that I get to have, can be some excellent material.
And then there’s been the standard life stuff, like…
- Working out interpersonal relationships with people–trying to build stronger friendships and working relationships while maintaining boundaries and autonomy.
- Making plans with Larson — where do we want to be in a year? Three years? Five? How can we make those goals a reality? What kind of income and lifestyle should we strive for? What are our priorities?
- Starting, stopping, and starting again at dieting and exercise regimens. Finding podcasts, books, and articles about how to overcome roadblocks, increase discipline, and change lifelong habits.
- Committing to artwork — carving out the space needed to create, attending workshops, utilizing online learning tools, and sharing progress.
- Trying to build a business. Or two. Or five.
- Story ideas and outlining a publishing schedule for several book series I’d like to see roll out in 2018.
- Weathering one fucking financial emergency after another — and hey, guess what? An hour before I started writing this post we found a nail in my tire. My brand-fucking-new tire. Like, I’ve had these tires for two weeks, and they are good tires, but I can’t catch a break now, can I? So I guess I’m going to the tire shop in the morning, goddamnit. — while trying to maintain a modicum of sanity.
In 2017 there were a lot of upheavals. I spoke in that post about the search for the right chemical cocktail to fight off my depression and anxiety. We seemed to have hit on it, and now that my mental space has gotten to a pretty solid place, I keep wanting to write.
I’m flooded with ideas. I keep writing them down or dictating them to my phone.
As much as I adore art, and I’m glad that I’ve been working at and improving on it in recent months, I’ve missed this. Writing is my true love.
So what has been stopping me?
Well, to be honest, a lot of anger. Anger and frustration.
I know my mother reads this blog.
I also know that I said I didn’t want to get into a pissing contest. That remains true.
To my readers: there is a point to my rant if you care to read it. Otherwise, go ahead and skip this post and wait for my next one. It will be a post about gun control. It’s relatively straightforward and free of family drama BS. Love you and see you next time. xoxo
About a month ago I came on here to write some blog entries. I got three drafts to about 80-90% completion when I hopped over to my stats to see how things were going. I noticed a jump in numbers.
WordPress, in case you didn’t know, shows where a lot of your readership comes from. Did someone click a link on Facebook, Twitter, or a Google search? These sources will show up next to a number illustrating just how many visitors came from each source.
And I noticed that this jump in stats was due, in large part, to another of my mother’s blog posts. This happened back in July when I published Knowing When to Let Go. My mother reacted to it, shared it on her Facebook and posted about it on her blog. I got a record 1,000 visitors to my blog that month. Usually, I average about 2-300.
But here was another jump. It had been quiet for a while (because I wasn’t posting). Then I see the referral link. One of my mom’s blogs. Christineshuck.com or adeadlynightshade or one of those. Google her yourself, and you can see. Anyway, it was one of these blogs forward-slash “an open letter to my eldest daughter” (or something like that).
I felt a wash of anger. I tagged the link as spam and went off and did something that wasn’t writing related. I stewed.
I’m of the mentality that the victim should be given the benefit of the doubt, not the accused. If a victim of physical, emotional, or sexual abuse comes out as a liar, I’m pissed. It gives everyone a bad name because just standing up and saying something takes an enormous amount of courage. Plus, most of the people who are accused of wrongdoing are, guess what? Guilty of wrongdoing.
But, as often is the case, we can forget that just because you yourself believe or see things in a certain way, that doesn’t mean that’s how everyone else feels. So it shocked and infuriated me when I realized that about 3/4 of the people–at least–who read that post about my mother’s abuse sided with her.
And then, from skimming her blogs, seeing her conversations, and her Facebook posts, I knew that she was marketing herself as the martyr. The victim. It turned my stomach. Not only because of how she was acting but because of the outpouring of support from her friends. Telling her that they sympathized. Saying how hurtful I had been to her. How despicable I was for airing our dirty laundry in public.
I mean, it wasn’t anything that my mother hadn’t been doing, subtly and consistently, over the last decade and change because I was such a “difficult” teenager (gee, I wonder why). But where she had been steadily hammering at my reputation, I went after her like a wrecking ball. Subtlety isn’t my strong suit.
So I’m mad. Furious. Angry. Bitter.
I hate that she’s reading this. (Hi mom. Fuck you.)
I hate that she keeps writing about me. (Please fucking stop)
I hate that I want to read it. (I haven’t, because what would be the fucking point? I’ve heard everything you’ve had to say)
I hate that I still doubt myself from all those years of gaslighting. (Thanks for the neurosis.)
I fucking detest the simpering idiots who would side with a child abuser and consider her the victim. Fuck all of you. Get the fuck out of here.
After airing these frustrations recently, I was given some excellent advice — that despite my desire to take the high road, I’m still angry. I have a right to voice that anger. Writing is my love. My outlet. If my words hurt, don’t come here and don’t read them.
I want to shut the door on her. On that portion of my life. I want to move on.
So yeah, occasionally I may address or reference her. She was a huge part of my life. Her effect is still felt. It’ll fade with time.
I’m going to stop pretending I’m not angry or hurt. I’m going to stop pretending that I don’t know that she comes here and reads these posts.
If that’s hurtful to a certain someone… I can’t care about that anymore. I refuse to hobble myself.
So mom, listen up.
I stopped reading your blogs months ago, back at the end of last year. I’ve closed the door on you. You were a part of my life for a long time, but I never want you in it again. EVER. The pain from our relationship will probably linger the rest of my life. Fucking great. If it hurts you too, may I offer a suggestion? Stop reading this. Go live your life. Stop talking to my friends about me. Realize that this relationship is over.
You are experiencing the consequences of your actions. Learn to live with it, and leave me the hell alone.
To everyone else, if you made it this far — hi again. Sorry for the family drama. I do have some good stuff coming and a backlog of notes and ideas. 2018 is going to be great, promise.