It has been 2 months since I have written, and although I have a multitude of excuses, such as a new job, continuing medication adjustments, and the onslaught of commercialism know as the "holiday season," the reality is that I have simply not believed that I had the time, energy, inspiration, creativity, etc. to write. And all of those excuses are ultimately false, and my beliefs are false as well.
It is true that I spend a fairly large part of my work day writing as I take notes and attempt "verbatims" for the services I provide in an elementary school setting. This is in part because I want as much documented evidence as I can provide for my students, and it is in part because I need something to do when my services are not needed. I voluntarily have chosen to do this, and I feel largely certain that few people in my current position would without a specific request from a supervisor. It is the nature of my educational over-qualification and my own personal need to write that have created this documentation system that I am doing, and I have been told that it is of great help to my supervisor as well as supervisors within the hierarchical chain. It is also writing that must be kept entirely confidential and therefore cannot be shared with almost anyone, let alone expressed in a public forum such as this blog. It is a "Catch 22" for me as I find myself writing pages and pages daily, yet for an audience that is limited to a select few individuals.
That said, nearly every morning I awake, just as I did today, with numerous thoughts about what I personally would like to write about and share here in my blog. Each day I chide myself for not making notes, or writing. And I know that this self-deprecation isn't helping emotionally or literally to do any actual writing. Again, a "Catch 22" that haunts me.
And speaking of such, here is the real life "Catch 22" that I find myself in.
My mother is moving to Minnesota. Yes, Minnesota, Duluth to be precise, in the dead of winter.
Now, for anyone who knows me personally, you know that in some ways this is the answer to every prayer I have ever had regarding this woman. I have always had a tenuous, stressful, exhausting, and otherwise hideous relationship with my mother. And oddly, it has nothing to do with my own gender identity issues, life choices, religious beliefs, or really anything to do with me at all.
My mother is an artist, a poet, a musician, a free spirit prone to wandering wherever the winds of her desires may blow.
My mother, like myself, suffers from mental illness, however it has remained untreated for her nearly 72 years on this planet and she has no intention of ever treating it. She has a keen ability when it comes to lying to therapists, and I have not heard of one yet that has told her she needs more intensive interventions. Then again, even if she did, it is remarkably unlikely that she would share such information with anyone, and she would, as she has in the past find a new therapist.
She happens to meet all the criteria in the DSM IV for Borderline Personality Disorder. It has been said that many of the world's greatest creators have or had some form of mental illness. But for those with certain functional abilities they are simply labeled as "eccentric," "quirky," or "creative." Of course the old joke goes that the difference between "weird" and "eccentric" is money, of which she burns through faster than an oil tank here in Western Maine.
When these individuals are not your parent or loved one they can be the most fascinating people who can enlighten and enliven your own life for as long as they take an interest in you. In reality it is what you can offer them, although they will in fact see their offerings as gifts to you. They have been endowed with a sense of self that makes narcissists look like Mother Theresa in comparison.
When these individuals are in fact your parent or loved one their ability to focus on you and provide the stability and unconditional love that is necessary for safe, nurturing, and healthy human relationships, you are often completely out of luck and on your own to pick up the pieces left behind when the tornado has passed on to another place. Indeed, this tornado can be emotional, and spiritual, but it can also be physical, damaging to your space, your home, your personal body and others in your own life. It is a burden that you live with, waiting for the next storm. Waiting in horrified expectation of the insanity that is sure to come when their "next great adventure" presents itself.
And as an individual with mental illness myself, though of a different sort, it is not lost on me that my own loved ones may well feel the same about my past actions and fear for the future themselves. I take solace in the fact that I do take medications, meet with therapists, physicians, spiritual leaders, and have voluntarily committed myself to a mental recovery hospital at one time in order to deal with the demons that I have been asked to battle. Mental illness has many gifts, and it also possesses many horrors that can lead to profound harm to those you love the most. It is a high-wire act that requires constant attention. And luckily for me I have created, with help, a safety net to catch me if I fall, no matter the height I may mistakenly climb to. Mania is a more dangerous drug than any street drug or prescription one can ever take. Trust me, I know.
So, my mother is moving half way across the country, driving herself, one week from today.
And there is a part of me that is rejoicing.
And there is a part of me that is weeping.
Once again, my mother, the person who supposedly was charged at my birth with providing me with the emotional foundation to go out into the world and use my gifts and talents to their fullest with a self-confidence and pride that is brimming over, is putting herself, her needs, her wants, her mental illness ahead of me. Again, and again, and again.
Once again, her insanity is the driving force for her forward motion into a situation that to a "normal" person would seem ridiculous even if they were to be the most optimistic person in the world.
She is driving to Minnesota, in a Toyota Scion, with a dog, who is not truly house-trained, in January, to go live with friends she has known for less than 2 years, in their rented home, to follow her, well who really knows what, dream, mission, fantasy, hope.
She has listed her home here to sell, and will be taking with her only that which fits in her car.
She has told us that anything she leaves behind is ours to with as we see fit, although we are to box up some of her possessions and store them in our barn. She always wants to have it both ways.
Did I mention she is almost 72. And this is the 5th time she has done this, picked up and moved, in 18 years, to become something new and different and life changing. She has these revelations on a nearly quarterly basis. I have gently and not so gently reminded her of this fact, but her spirit and her mind are incapable of hearing my words. I have decided that now whenever she asks my advice I simply reply that she will do what she wants to do regardless and she is an adult capable of making her own life decisions. I do not believe that she hears this either.
And so, I am relieved that she will not be my burden for awhile.
And yet, I am terrified that if, and mostly likely when, this arrangement falls apart I will be called upon to rescue her once again.
From the moment I was born it was programmed into me that it was my life's work to care for her, meet her needs, and fulfill her in ways that no infant, no child, no adolescent, no young adult, no adult, no person in this entire world can or should.
And yet, when the chips are down, I have run. I have run to her aid. I have run to her brokenness.
I have run to fulfill her soul.
And I have run from my core sense of self that tells me that I do not need to do this. I have run away from my wife. I have run away from my two sons. I have run away from my own brokenness. I have run away from my own soul. And I am tired of running.
So as this ending place in our relationship comes again, I will promise myself that it is a new beginning for me and for my family.
And I will pray that this time, it will be so.
And I will pray that I can hear my own words that I always end my blog posts with.
Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.
-Ari
