My mother and my sister went to Germany for a wedding. They returned yesterday: traveled, jet-lagged and happy. This morning my mother and I got to spend some time together alone at breakfast; walking in the rain; trolling the bookstore; before we had to wrap it up and get ready for what came next. For her, a plane out to Newfoundland; and for me, back to work.

The subject of my mental health dominated the conversation; questions concerning how I’m approaching the diagnosis, the things I’ve discovered, how it changes my plans. Nebulous, difficult things, but things that I want my mother to be in on, becasue, being as she is (how she’s always been) I can feel her taking on some sense of blame or responsibility, thinking that she may have somehow failed in a role as parent and let things get too bad for me. Perhaps that she wasn’t there for me enough. I have no sense of this at all, and certainly don’t think she can apportion blame for a physically rooted mental disorder on herself, but Ifs, Woulds and Shoulds often weigh heavy on mothers. Well, my mother. She frets. She’s a worrier, First Class.

I’ve done my best to tell her that there is no blame. I’m wired this way. At least, now that we know, it can be addressed. “Look,” I said pointing at my head, “healing.”

But I don’t actually feel like I’m healing anything, at the moment. Yesterday was a bad day. I was miserable and angry and direction-less; bereft and exhausted from being around too many people for too long, but out of sorts without true cause. Out of proportion. My job is not good for me. I’m beginning to get an inkling of the triggers that have sent me spiralling into alcohol abuse in the past, and my job is bad mojo. It needs to go as soon as I can be rid of it.

On with the plans.

Mum likes my blueprint. She likes what I’ve laid out for the near future. So do I. I want to see change just as badly as I want to feel that I’m not a whirring dervish of misadventure. I have good, reasonable goals. I have a lucid, sensible timetable for these goals to be brought to fruition. It’s all very nice on paper.

The only problem is, I feel like I have never been anything but extreme.


~ by A Mundi on July 30, 2008.

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