Tuesday, May 20, 2008
It's late right now, too late for me to be writing. (I'm old now, and I need to be asleep before 10.) In any case, I've been thinking a lot about my parents, my biological mom and my dad. I always say that I am like my dad--we lose things, forget things, get angry and impulsive and put our feet in our respective mouths. I can't say I am like my mom because she is dead but the rumors of her extreme temper and her inability to handle stress...that I can relate to. When I think about my parents, a sense of dread comes over me. I think about all of the awful things that I don't want to be and how those things are lying in wait to take over my body and make me do things I don't want to do. Like make selfish decisions or close myself off or die at age 36 and not be there for my children at all. I love my dad, but I hate the way I was raised and I hate that he won't acknowledge all of the bad things and try to change them so he doesn't make the same mistakes with my little brother and sister. I find myself thinking only negative things about him and fearful that I will make these same mistakes. This isn't nice of me, but I don't know what else to do. I'm always on the defensive, trying to protect what I have as though someone is out there trying to take it away from me. I think about my own kids and hope they never feel this way about me, that when they think about me, it won't be with a mixture of dread and stress and sadness and anger. This is how I know existentialism isn't true, not purely. Because it is impossible to cut those ties, to not feel, no matter how much we wish we could.