So, remember when I told you I was talking to my legal mother again and I was happy about it? Now, I’m not so sure.
There are so many emotions going on, I’m not so sure what I’m feeling.
I’m happy that we’re talking again. It feels like we’ve picked up missing pieces and are having a nice time catching up. I have missed her… So I should be happy, right?
But I feel like I have to be guarded too, because I don’t want to get hurt again. Because I know how she’s been in the past, I don’t want to be manipulated… I don’t want her to walk out of my life again, and I guess I’m preparing myself for her departure. I feel like, if/when she leaves I might be crushed again, even though I’m telling myself that I don’t need her and that I haven’t needed her for the past 7 years. So I should be prepared for her to walk away.
I feel like she’s pushing me to do things that I’m not ready for yet…. Like she wants to come see me. I don’t want her to know where I live. I’m not ready for her to know where I live. She knows the area that I live in, but not my address. If we were to see each other, I would want to meet somewhere that’s neutral or something. And she wants me, so badly, to call her mom. And, really, she’s not my mom. I mean, legally, yes, she is. But in my heart… No. She hasn’t been my mom. She lost the title when she literally slammed the door in my face so long ago. Even when I had reached out to her years ago, she kept shutting me out, and didn’t want to have anything to do with me. So, no, she’s not my mom. My Momma is a strong woman who’s been with me my entire life and didn’t leave me when things got hard. She has helped me keep going when my life got hard, stood by me during my divorce, and walked me down the aisle to the man of my dreams. That’s my mom. Donna, my legal mother…. Is just that…. She’s just legally my mother… And anyone can be a mother. It takes great strength and patience and LOVE to be a mom.
I feel bad for not wanting to call her mom. I do. But then by talking to her, I feel like I’m betraying my mom! The one who’s been there with me through everything. And I’ve talked with my mom about this, she said that I’m fine. She wants me to have a relationship with Donna, because she’s always wanted me to have a relationship with Donna. Things never should have changed when I found out I was adopted. I was just supposed to have two moms, you know how cool is that? To find out that one of your best friends happens to be your biological mother? Yes, I was mad about the fact that it was kept a secret. But I was going to have two moms. But now, I have the best mom in the world. But this new relationship with Donna makes me feel like I’m straining everything, and it’s barely a week old.
I told Donna that I forgave her. Which was the entire point of this venture, to let her know that I forgive her for everything that happened and that I don’t hate her. She has cancer and I still don’t know if she is going to die or not… So I wanted her to know that, at least. I never expected to get a response, let alone have a conversation with her. Or video chat with her. But it’s going so fast and I don’t know how to slow it down. I don’t do slow, I go at 100 mph!
Maybe this whole thing was a mistake, because now, I just feel so confused, I don’t know what to do with it. I feel like I brought home a new puppy and I’m face palming and saying “now what?” Because I really don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know if I want a relationship, I didn’t expect one. I had hoped for one, but now…. Now, I’m not sure.
I’m afraid. Afraid of being hurt, afraid of making her angry. All the fears from my childhood are rearing their ugly heads and I’m scared. I’m an adult. But I don’t know how to act around her. I still tiptoe around the conversation. But having a conversation with her makes her happy. Am I doomed to repeat the last 19 years of my life with her if I continue down this path? Tiptoeing around subjects, hoping not to piss her off? I mean, I planned on setting boundaries. But now that I’ve stepped back for a moment, I see that my boundaries are simply me avoiding subjects!
Then, she acts like we had this perfect relationship when I was younger. Our relationship was stormy, at best when I was younger. I think the best time we ever has was when I was 5. And then it got a little better when I went off to college, but she acts like there was never anything wrong. Like she did nothing wrong. And she tried to blame Mom for everything that happened. And she was still mad that I found out about the adoption? So I countered, I mean, I was bound to find out anyway, the ENTIRE WORLD KNEW BUT ME!
I just don’t know how to handle this one. I got myself in a pickle this time. I want to have a relationship, but at the same time I want to sabotage the whole thing so I don’t have to talk to her to save myself the heartache. What do I do? I’m so confused.
If I haven’t told you before, I work in a nursing home. I deal with death, dying people, sick people, the crazies, and much more. I also deal with the aggressive, the ones that are very hard to deal with.
Recently, it’s getting harder and harder to deal with the aggressive ones. There is one, in particular, that I can think of right now, that it is becoming progressively harder to deal with.
I don’t deal with aggression well. I didn’t tolerate it at Rock House, and I’ve dealt with it, passively, all my life. I’ve noticed that, in the years passing, I, myself, have become more and more aggressive. Whether it’s defending a passion, or facing adversity and aggressively physical people, I have become more aggressive. My anger blossoms in my chest and the thoughts that pop in my head are sometimes uncontrollable. No amount of breathing and walking away fixes it. And most of the time, my anger is when I’m at work. Understandable, an aggressively stressful environment, it’s understandable that I would be angry. But, when I get angry at home, for no reason, it’s a problem. I digress.
The elderly, there are few types. There are the ones that are sweet, little old men and women. The ones who have basically reverted back into a childlike state, they have some tantrums, but are mostly agreeable and wouldn’t hurt a fly.
There are the ones who think that you are there only to serve them. You are their personal servant or slave. You are only there to serve them and them alone, forget about the other people that are on your hall needing your care. They are better than you. They will tell you exactly how they want things to be done, and don’t you even think about not doing it “correctly”, even if you’ve done it a million times. You are to be there when they get on the light. You are to wait on them as long as it takes and do not rush.
There are racist ones. One that think that people of different colors should NOT be allowed in their room and wonder how they ever even got into the building. Which, honestly, doesn’t make sense. I thought that it did, because that was their era. To be racist. But, really, back in the day, their slaves were colored and took care of everything. What would be the difference? Does that make sense? Like without being racist, because I’m definitely NOT trying to be racist. Honestly, I don’t know what the proper etiquette is for not being racist or saying something inappropriate. And if it helps, I got that from an agency aide, who happens to be black. She didn’t understand why they wouldn’t let her in their room just because of her skin color. I didn’t either. But she brought up the point of slavery and how the “help” raised white folks kids and did laundry and etc. You know? So why wouldn’t they allow her in there to take care of them. It made me really mad, because I don’t believe that you should be racist, period. Secondly, if you can’t take care of yourself, and you have to have someone take care of you, you should probably be thankful that someone is willing to help you. It shouldn’t matter what color their skin is.
Then, there are the stupid ones. The ones who act like they don’t have a lick of sense in their head. You have to do everything for them, even though they are perfectly capable. They are not stupid, they just really act like it.
Finally, there are the really aggressive ones. The ones that I can’t handle. And I applaud anyone who can deal with them with patience and compassion. But when you sit there and take a swing at me, try to kick me, pinch me, slap me, spit at me, or try to bite me when I am trying to help you? HELL NO! I can’t handle it. It happens all the time. I have one resident that is just aggressive and he aims to hurt you. I can’t take it. I am there to help, not to be your punching bag. And with my anxiety, it makes it worse. I start feeling the panic set in. I start trembling and tears well in my eyes. But I have to help them. I can’t just not help. I’m not that kind of person. But when they try to hurt me, I want to bad to hurt them back.
Yes, that is against state law, pretty much everywhere. And it’s against all kinds of ethics, but I’m sure you could understand the impulse to hurt someone who is hurting you. And you can understand the fight or flight system firing when you’re being swung at.
Now, explain this: what if the behavior is not provoked? Like, I have a resident who gets on my nerves, they act stupid and they aren’t. But when they act that way, I want nothing more than to smash their head into the wall. And I feel no guilt about feeling like that. I don’t act on it. But I feel the pull, the rush, the need to do it. But I resist. I’m not about to land my ass in jail. But I want to. And when I feel like that, it takes over an hour to calm down, if I do calm down. I don’t think it’s healthy.
But I need a job, and this one is good. I just need to get my thoughts under control, at least I’m controlling most of my actions.
We were playing around in bed last night. No, not in the nasty way. He was a little buzzed, maybe he was even drunk, and he was being silly. He would roll, taking all the blankets with him. It was fun. I would try to take the blankets back from him, but he would roll and make it where I couldn’t even grab a corner!
We were having fun. And he finally let me have a corner, so I pulled and rolled with the blanket so that I could make sure that he didn’t take any more blankets than what he needed. But he tried rolling again, and since I had most of my weight holding the blanket down, he couldn’t go anywhere. So he came closer, and he pulled down my panties in a certain way…
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