I've been meaning to blog for ages. And it's not that I haven't had the time, it's just that I haven't had the energy. Also, I'd much rather be sitting in a Starbucks and blogging, however, getting there is next to impossible now that my car has broken down. It's done. It's a goner. It broke down a week ago while I was on my way to go and get gas. I knew the car was a ticking time bomb and just waiting to go off. It belonged to my brother who left it here when he move six hours away for school. He left it here to die.
Simple, right? Oh no. Not at all. Earlier that morning my mom had asked me to bring my dad down to her work in said car because she needed someone to stay with my grandpa while she and my grandma were running to an appointment. She only asked my dad to come because a) She knows I don't feel comfortable being alone with my Grandpa (which has everything to do with how he treats my grandma) and b) She didn't want my dad just chilling home alone. All fine and dandy, yes? Yes. Until we actually get to the coffee house (did I mention mid way to my moms work she calls me and says meet at the coffee house instead) and there is no parking. I've been driving less than a month, and still getting the in's and outs of parking, and when given the option, I always pull through or back in because I hate backing out of a parking space. So the only spot available I could back into, but I wasn't quite sure how to maneuver the car being on the other side of the road (sounds simple, right? Not for me.) ANYWAYS, this erupted a huge fight between me and my dad which ended with him calling me a "Fucking Bitch," and then throwing a kleenex box at me and storming out of my car. And of course, I reacted horribly. I called my mom and told her I was done, I was over it and blah blah blah.
Somehow, this translated into me getting into trouble. Yes. YES. I was pretty upset. When I explained to her what happend a few hours after the fact (she had to rush to the appointment), it didn't go well at all. In fact, she told me it was my fault and that I provoked him. FIRST, she told me that when she asked my dad what had happened he had no idea why I was so upset and that I just kicked him out of the car and all this other bull shit. Yeah, okay. So when I explained to her what happend, I of course was told it was my fault and that my FIRST mistake was provoking him. What's that? Oh right, the woman who just got punched in the face by her husband, that was her fault too, wasn't it? I cannot even begin to fathom what that felt like. I was screaming in my car, SCREAMING. The wind was knocked out of me. I couldn't breathe. My mother? Saying this? TO ME? I hung up and went inside and started throwing all of my shit into my suitcases. I didn't even know what I was packing and what I needed, I just kept grabbing things and throwing them in. My sister ended up calling me because my mom informed her what had happened and it was a nightmare. I threw everything into the trunk and I'm not sure where exactly I thought I was going to go. I ended up at Starbucks just to clear my head and when my other sister told me she was on her way home I decided to go home as well, and that is when, my car quit on me.
I have never been so terrified in my entire life. I was going uphill (and I drive automatic) when it started to feel like it was shifting back and forth and not working properly. So once I was over the hill, I accelerated and did not speed up. Pedal to the floor and my car would not go above 40. The RPM was in the red zone. I flicked my flashers and pulled over, turned off the car and of course, it would not turn back on. So I sat in my car and sobbed. I called my sister who came and got me while we figured out what exactly to do with the car. I couldn't afford 100$ for a tow. My mom was livid. And I knew that there was nothing that I did wrong. That car was here to die, and whether I hadn't gone out that day at all and left the next day when our fight blew over, the car still would have quit. But with everything that happened in the morning, kaboom. World War 3.
Things have settled down since then. My mom has apologized, which means a lot to me. Apologized for the things she said to me that day, and for the way she's responded to things I've told her within the past few weeks. I feel like we've made some progress (?), but at other times I feel like we've just acknowledged how fucked up everything is. I have gotten so close to telling her that she just isn't the same mom that she used to be now, post diagnosis, and that makes me angry. It makes me angry because I'm 21 and I still need my mother. It makes me angry because I feel forced to drop things I'm trying to work through because they are suddenly "less important" than what's going on. Miniscule in the overall picture? To her? Maybe. I don't know. But to me? Not at all. This is my life, and I've been mixed up and on the wrong path for eight and a half years. Change doesn't happen overnight, and I feel like I've been making so much important progress since coming home from NYC. Since therapy and now Koom Bi A. But I feel, I don't know. Guilty for it? Bad? Or no, I feel like I'm supposed to feel guilty for that and bad for that. Bad that my dad is being robbed of his brain and instead of focusing on making him comfortable and spending time, I'm focusing on myself and trying to sort my life out. I'm angry at my mom. I'm angry because I'm 21 and I'm trying to sort out my life and fix things and figure things out and this is the most crucial time in my life, or it feels like that. And it's...I feel like, I feel like she wants to take that away from me. And I don't mean that in a horrible sense of "My mom is such a bitch!" I mean, it scares her to know she has limited time with her husband, and I think that translates to her being scared of the limited time her children have left with their father. And maybe she's right, maybe my friends are right, maybe one day I'll look back on this and regret that I didn't care enough. That I put myself first. That instead of spending that "limited time" with him, I chose to invest so much time into my life. But, what else can I do at this point? I think of where I was before NYC this summer - before Jill - before those nights of sleeping on her futon thanking a god I don't believe in for letting me remember what it feels like to be alive - and I can't...I can't go back to that. I can't go back to that miserable, sick, sad girl who hated the idea of another day, of a tomorrow morning. What kind of "limited time" can even be spent if I'm spending my days binging and purging and over exercising and literally begging to fucking die. I can't do that anymore. I literally don't have it in me.
And so this is where I am. Neither here, nor there. It's been a rough week. It's been a bitch, but I have to be proud of myself for the things I have accomplished in spite of that. The fact that as much as I was just ready to bail, I didn't. As much as I didn't want to go to Koom Bi A on Tuesday, I went. In spite of how much my family makes me feel like shit for needing medication, I made the appointment to talk to my doctor.
I can do this, and that terrifies me.
But I can do this.
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