How?

I don’t know how to do it.  It seems that lately everything is just telling me that I’ve got to change in really big ways.  I just had an argument with someone who triggered a lot of sort spots within me.  It’s not so much that this person means anything to me.  In fact, I just met them within the last few weeks.  It’s the fact that I just see how ugly of a person I am right now.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not hating myself or anything along those lines.  What I mean is that my spirit feels so disconnected from everything and that I am reacting harshly and out of places that are full of bitterness and defense.  I long to be inviting and open and just present without fear and without this hyperawareness and sensitivity to being judged.  There’s such a disconnect with my feelings, my spirit, and my reality that I’m just really tired of being so many things to so many different people.  I want to be authentic. I want to be consistent.  I just want to be me and to act accordingly.  The problem is, I have no idea who ‘me’ is anymore.  How does one go about figuring this out?  How does one go about loving and accepting themselves unconditionally?  It’s too easy to escape through work or hobbies or with friends.  At the end of the day I have no one but myself to answer to.  I don’t like doing this because the answers are never anything I actually like.  I long to be one of those people who just eminate peace and love and kindness.  But right now my spirit is telling everyone to go away and to leave me alone.  I don’t like this at all.  I really don’t.

How I Got My Scar

Previously I posted this about the scar I have on my leg.

Usually when people see it for the first time they think I have a long piece of scotch tape stuck to me.  Then they see that it’s actually a scar and ultimately I am asked how I got it.  I always lied about how I got it.  How do you explain to someone that your mom was punishing you for something and you inadvertently got cut in the process?    I remember I was in Mrs. Kropen’s class at the time, which means I was only in kindergarten when I got the scar.  I think I was ~6 years old.

Here’s the version I tell everyone, summarized in a few very basic sentences:

“I cut my leg on the bed stand.  I was jumping on the bed and fell off.  I fell against the metal leg on the bedstand and cut myself.” 

Usually people are so shocked at the size and look of the scar that the simple story is enough to satisfy their curiosity.  I think in some way they know the story actually doesn’t ’make sense’ when compared to the size of the scar, but then human nature takes over and they rationalize it that it was a “freak accident” and drop the topic.

I’m just sick of hiding the truth in order to save face.  That stupid culture thing again.  Man, if anyone knew how horrible our home life was (is).  I hate how everyone who knew us growing up thought we were this great family.  It makes me sick to think that my mom gets to live through the success of her kids, as if she actually had anything to do with it. 

This is the real story behind my scar:

My mom told us to behave for a few minutes while she went to take a shower.  My older sis was ~10 at the time, I was ~6.  We fought all the time as kids, and this was definitely not one of the more “intense” bouts with one another.  My sister wouldn’t play with me and I remember trying to plead with her to play with me.  I can’t remember accurately or not whether she was feeling sick, or whether she was just tired.  I just vaguely remember she was laying down on the bed on her left side.  I was trying to get her to play with me.  I remember lying perpendicular to her with my feet were dangling over her side.  I’m not sure how we got into this position, but all I remember was getting really angry that she wouldn’t play with me so I started moving my legs really hard, essentially kicking her in the stomach multiple times.  I had some serious anger issues as a kid.  My entire family did.  You can only imagine how physical my sister and I were when we fought.  This was still pretty tame compared to other times. More on this in another post.

Anyway, so basically I had knocked the wind out of her, just in time for my mom to come out of the shower.  My sister was kind of winded and couldn’t really speak.  Of course, my mom freaked out.  In fact, I don’t think she even tended to my sister to make sure she was ok.  I think all she saw was that we were fighting and, of course, who else gets punished?  Yep, me. 

I was always getting punished no matter whose fault it was.  My sister lied to my mom and stole stuff from me at least a few times, but when my mom found out she lied, it was MY fault for not sharing with my sis.  However, when I would steal from my sister, I got punished and hit and yelled at because I wasn’t supposed to lie or steal.  My mom always thought of me as the bad kid and treated me accordingly.  Nothing I ever did was right.  I look back and every kid inherently knows justice.  It’s the stupid adults who don’t get that.  It pisses me off too how my mom never directly dealt with bad behavior.  She’s always just gloss over in order to avoid conflict.  I look back and know why she took out so much anger on me, but that’s another rant (and very long and very complicated post)  for another day. 

Ok, so all my mom saw was that my sister was winded and clutching her stomach.  Did she even take time to check my sister?  I don’t remember that at all.  I just remember her reacting as she always did and her grabbing my arm and dragging me into the other room.  She took a fly swatter (or some sort of stick) and basically sat down on the bed with one arm holding me in place and with the other hand  hitting me in the leg with the stick. 

Now try to picture this:  When you are holding onto a child by the upper arm (remember, I was 6 at the time) and the child is trying to get away from you, what do they do?  The child will kind of go limp, bending at their knees and twisting their body to try and wiggle out of your hold, right?  Can you see that?

Ok, now picture that scenario with my mom sitting on the edge of the bed and hitting me.  I’m trying to get out of her hold and to stop her from beating me.  I didn’t know or feel this at the time, but I was literally throwing myself against that bedstand repeatedly standing up, going limp, trying to twist out out of her hold and trying to get away from her. 

When she was done hitting me I stood up to walk away and I felt liquid on my leg.  I look down at my leg and, of course, it’s actually blood running down my leg.  I have a gash that’s at least 6 inches or so long, about 1/2-1 inch deep.  Thank goodness it was on my thigh.  There’s a lot of flesh there to absorb such trauma.  I guess if I was going to get hurt that way, the leg is a good place to take it. 

I see the gash and all the blood and I start crying harder.  My mom and dad rush me to the emergency room.  I don’t remember too much at this point.  I just remember my mom grabbing a wad of paper towels to press on my wound.  I remember entering the emergency room and my mom carrying me and trying to tell the attendant what had happen.  She was crying so hard and was having trouble articulating herself through her broken english.  All I really remember is that my dad is with me in the suture room and I remember crying and screaming hysterically when I get the (tetanus?  anaesthesia?) shots in my leg for the stitches.  My mom was nowhere in any of my memories at this point.  I don’t even remember the drive home with my family.

The scar is still there.  The edges have faded a bit.  Nearly 26 years later a couple of inches have seemed to fade away through time, but it’s still a good ~4 inches in length and an 1/8 of an inch wide.  Deceivingly, it doesn’t hurt, at least not in the physical sense anyway.  Sometimes I even forget it’s there.   I’m tired of lying about it’s origin, but how do I tell people the truth about it?  When someone asks you an innocent question such as, “how are you?” do you really want to know the true answer to that?  And so, it’s just easier to tell everyone a hybrid story of truth mixed with a plausible explanation.  I was messing around with my sister when we were kids and I fell off the bed and cut it on the bedstand.”

I brought up my scar a year or so ago to my mom.  I was really hurting and just wanted to hear her acknowledge some sort of regret, some sort of knowing about what she did, even it was only in retrospect.  Instead, she got angry with me and yelled out me for drudging up the past.  She said it happened and it’s done with, so let it go and why bother bringing it up again?

It hurts.  It really hurts.  Even now, years later, she will never admit any sort of pain she’s caused or any wrongdoing on her part.  I just want to heal and I can’t do it unless she acknowledges her part in it.  I still can’t accept that I may never ever get that from her.  How do I let this go?  How do I accept that I’ll probably never get an apology or an acknowledgement of anything from her? 

And get this:  even after that happened she continued to hit us, and it wasn’t even as if the hitting was toned down.  There were subsequent moments when it was just as bad, if not worse.  She was always physical with us – especially with me – even when I entered my early teens.  It finally stopped one day when I hit her back.  She finally realized that she could no longer control me with brute force.

My sister once asked me if I could remember any happy memories from my childhood. Sadly, I said no.  I’m sure she thought that I said ‘no’ only because I was going through a hard time when we had that conversation.  In all honesty, I have to work really hard to remember any good times.  The few good times I do remember were mostly with my siblings or extended family and none, if any, with my mom.  My memories with my dad are more neutral.  He was never really around since he was always working at the store.  I have one significant bad memory with him, but generally the memories with him are good.

So that’s the story behind the scar on my leg.   

It represents all things bad and traumatic in my life.  It represents the shame, the guilt, the pain and the sorrow of so many broken relationships.  It represents the broken spirit that I’m trying so desperately to reclaim and to find again.  It’s my scarlett letter.  And speaking of “The Scarlett Letter,” I like how this cliff notes version ends:  “The scarlet letter made her what she became, and, in the end, she grew stronger and more at peace through her suffering.”

I hope the same will be said for me.

More Rant

Another thing that pisses me off is that my mom also dated this Caucasian guy after my dad died.  One major point of contention for us was the “do as I say, not as I do” shit from her.  She would “forbid” me to date any guy who was anything but Chinese.  How hypocritical of her.  I’d point out that she should take her own advice and then she’d get pissed at me.  OMG, WTF!!  It was ok for her to date ANYONE without having standards because she was the “poor widow”, but NOT ok for her kids to date outside of our culture because “we should know better”.  WTF kind of logic is that?  Whatever happened to judging the person as an individual, and not operating based on stupid stereotypes or biases?  It’s no wonder I ended up in SF.  I hate her so much.

Once in college I was dating this guy who was half Chinese/half Irish.  I was NOT going to marry him.  I was merely dating him.  OMG, my mom threw a hissy fit because he was not Asian. 

In fact, a few months into our relationship I came down with the flu (or probably just ate something thta didn’t agree with me).  The point is, when I complained to my mom about feeling queasy, she immediately called my grandma and was all, “it wouldn’t surprise me if she was pregnant.”  WHAT THE HELL KIND OF MOM MAKES THAT TYPE OF COMMENT ABOUT HER KID???  Oh, man, she should have more faith and trust in us to do and make good choices.  I was just FUCKING SICK.  That bitch.  I hate her for being like that.  I hate her for thinking and making me feel like such a bad person.  I feel so ashamed for just being here.  If she didn’t want me (which she did state during one heated argument), then she shouldn’t have had kids.   

I resent the fact that my siblings take care of her when she does nothing but be the way she is.  If we were not an Asian family she would SO be on her own right now.  I resent how my family doesn’t really “get” all the crap she’s done during those years I was home after my dad died.  They were never around and they never offered me support.  I resent how, in my mom’s fucked up way, she pits us against each other in her sneaky psychological way.  Yea, I am too smart for my own good.  I’m not blind to all the subtle nuances of relationship dynamics.  I’m not ignorant of the fact that this is a big reason I haven’t found someone to trust yet.  I just “get” people too well sometimes and I have to be careful about those dynamics. 

I’m pissed that once in college I dated this guy from my church.  After a few months I broke up with him.  This guy drank, smoked, and gambled a lot.  He was a real partier.  My mom yelled at me for breaking up with him.  I mean, afterall, he went to our church, was Chinese, and we knew his family.  Uh…WTF.  The guy is NOT a keeper.  JUST because he’s Asian makes him ok?  Does she not get that he would not stick around or take care of, nor respect me over the long haul??  She would rather I just end up with a Chinese guy, even if he was as ass.  How fucked up is that?  Well, a few years later he knocked up one of the other girls from that group I knew in church.  And what did my mom have to say to that, you ask?  Nothing.  She’d never admit he was a loser or that she gave bad advice.  Stupid lady.  I hate her.  She pisses me off.

I am soooo disconnected from my divine self, from my peace, from forgiveness and from acceptance.  I don’t operate out of a place of love or serenity.  I have no idea when or if it will come.  I really feel like I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.  God, help me.

San Diego – I Hate My Mom More

Did I mention how much I hate my mom?  Yeah, let me state that again.  Man, I can’t figure out how to make peace with all the wounds in that relationship.

I went home last week to AZ.  I went to look at property because I am considering buying an investment home there.  The other part of my trip home was also to join my sis’ family on their vacation to San Diego.  I also had the opportunity to visit my company’s headquarters in SD for some face time.

I was only home in AZ for a couple of days before we drove to San Diego.  One of those days I took off and went looking at homes with my realtor.  The other day I worked from AZ.  It was kind of complicated that day because my nephew really wanted to stay home with me, but I was concerned that he would be a distraction from my work.  My sis kept insisting he’d be good, so I relented.  Later on, what complicated matters was that I was helping my brother purchase some furniture for my mom’s house.  My mom had to be there to receive the furniture, but between the two of us we only had one car. 

Anyway, to make a long story short, my selfish mother bitched and griped when I drove her over to her house to wait for the furniture delivery.  I had drop my mom off at her house and I had to take the car and drive back to my sister’s house because I couldn’t work at my mom’s house because she doesn’t have an internet connection there.  My mom was pissed about not having the car with her.  Here I was, trying to explain to her that it was the only solution based on what was going on that day.  She couldn’t really leave her house anyway since the furniture delivery was 4 hour window.  On the drive over to drop her off at her house, she started yelling at me and telling me how I was always the one who gave her grief while I was growing up and how I was always getting in trouble and doing bad things.  Ok, I admit I was not an angel, but WTF kind of parent lords that over their kid?  Well, I shot back shit to her as well, telling her what an awful mom she’s been over the years and bringing stuff up about her as well.

When my dad died my mom did not cope well at all.  Now, I can only imagine how the death of a spouse can be devastating.  I mean, here is the one person who has shared sooo many memories with you (they were married ~20 years when he died).  In my mom’s case my dad really took care of her.  He was the glue that held the family together. 

I was 16 when my dad died.  It was December and it happened just a few days before our winter break, about a week before Christmas.  The details about that night I’ll share another time, but the part that is wreaking havoc with my emotions now were the few years that followed his death.

My mom started dating again, which just soooo fucked me up.  She started seeing this really creepy Mexican guy.  I’m not sure how she met him, but the guy was a total ass.  He was always a point of contention between all of us.  I was pissed that my siblings were all out of the house except for me because  I saw and experienced first hand more of her crap than I should have back then.  My siblings NEVER had to see it and I totally resent that fact.  He was seriously sketchy.  He was an illegal immigrant, I’m sure.  I don’t think he had a job.  He drove a crappy car. 

This guy would call and harrass us, demanding to know where my mom was, or just calling and hanging up on us.  Well, he’d only hang up if us kids answered, but never if my mom answered.  He knew we wouldn’t take his crap.  My siblings and I would tell him to quit calling and hanging up on us.  He was too scared of us.  But my stupid mom would tell him to dismiss us and she’d just continue to hang out with him.  He was totally controlling and at one point I saw bruises on my mom’s leg and arm, and to this day I swear he probably hurt her in some way but I’ve never asked her about it  and she would probably never admit anything.  He’d drive by the house just to see if my mom was home and to make sure she wasn’t with another guy.  I heard him call her a lying bitch a lot.  WTF!!!  There was one time when I was sleeping in on a Saturday.  Here I am, in high school, being a lazy teen, sleeping in.  I hear the doorbell ring and, of course, I knew it was him.  But I ignored it and figured my mom would handle it in whatever the fucked up way she would. I hear some verbal exchange of some sort, and then the next thing I know this guy is barging into the house and he comes into my room!!!!  OMG, I was pretending to sleep, but I was soooo scared.  Don’t get me wrong, I never thought I was going to be raped or anything, but I did not know what would happen if I said or did anything to confront him.  There WAS one time when he came to the house and I called the cops on him, but that was the only time.  Anyway, so I’m freaked out, lying in bed, and pretending to sleep.  I hear him going through the house.  He was always accusing my mom of being with other men and not trusting her, so he was ”checking” the house for other men.  WTF!!!  HOW THE FUCK COULD MY MOM LET HIM DO THAT???  OMG, I am so pissed when I think about that.  Did she have no regard for the safety of her kids?  Did she not realize what she was doing to us?  Even more importantly, did she not know what she was doing to herself and to her family??

And get this….  so, while my mom chose to hang out with this fucker, I tried to stay open-minded, at least initially.  I mean, I understand how someone needs companionship in old age and how freaked out she was about being alone.  So I tried to tell her that it was fine if she was hanging out with him, but just to keep the fucker away from me because I didn’t respect him.  I also just asked that she be honest about where she was going and who she was hanging out with.  So some time passes and she tells me she’s not seeing him.  Now, here I am in high school, ok?  I’m seriously needing guidance and should be enjoying my couple of years before college.  Instead, here my mom is, staying out until 3, 4, 5AM, doing God knows what.  She never did tell me where she was or what she was doing all those times.  I was making my own dinners, even taking care of the family business, and just constantly fighting with my mom and playing the parent, wondering if when she’d get home, wondering what she was doing, and barely knowing how to deal with my own grief.  My siblings weren’t living at home during the time my dad’s illness got really bad.  I resent that too.  Oh man, I need help.  How do I make peace with all this anger?  It was SO unfair that I had to deal with it all.  To see it all.  To take it all.  To fucking TAKE CARE of it all. 

Anyway, so one time she told me she was going out with some girlfriend of hers (it’s a long story), but basically I caught her in a big web of lies and man did she look like a deer caught in the headlights.  Why the fuck would she lie?  OMG, after that I lost all respect for her and my trust for her was completely gone.  She had gone out with this guy when she flat out said she wasn’t. 

This guy was so sketchy that there was also one point when I remember seeing my mom take an envelope out of her purse that had a bunch of cash in it.  she said it was his and he asked her to hold it for her.  OMG…WTF!!  Drugs?  Stolen?  God knows what that money was from or for.  She said we were just causing trouble when we’d suggest that she not hold it for him.  Afterall, that’s what a bank is for, especially if he’s legit, right?  Of course, she doesn’t listen to us kids.  Her fucking man was so much more important.  Or maybe fucking her man was much more important.  Whichever.  Whatever.

I’m soooo hurting right now about all of it.  To hear my mom gripe on that drive over her house about what a bad kid I was really hurt.  After all these years does she not understand her role in that dynamic?  Why do the kids have to be the ones to acquiese to her selfish actions and desires? 

Around the 10 year anniversary of my dad’s death I thought perhaps enough time had passed where I could try to talk to her about it.  I wrote before how some details are now fuzzy.  I just wanted some answers, some details about that time.  Oh man, she went off on me when I tried to understand more about the illness he had and the events of that time.  She yelled at me for bringing up questions that are better left unspoken.  Fuck her.  Better for who?  She’s such a selfish bitch. 

And I feel awful for calling her these things, but I am so hurt and so angry at all the resentment she’s felt and acted on towards me over the years. 

She was around maybe a whopping 1/2 day when I went home to visit.  That was it.  So much wanting me there.  She was off on her Vegas trip because I guess that was the better alternative than visiting her son and daughter in San francisco.  Fuck her.

One evening I went to visit my grandparents.  I was actually surprised at some of the advice and things they shared.  They were disgusted with the way my mom treats her kids.  They couldn’t believe she wouldn’t help me with my home purchase.  They told me I shouldn’t waste my time or money visiting my sister or mom or even them anymore.  Nothing against my sister, ‘tho.  I was really surprised they said that part because they were the ones who instilled the sense of loyalty and family in us all.  They said I was better off just taking care of myself and to spend my money on other things, essentially saying ‘if your mom isn’t going to give you the time of day, then you shouldn’t give her the time of day, either’.  Ok, I get that, but emotionally I haven’t figured out how to deal with it all yet.  Then my grandma and grandpa just said that they were old and it was ok for me not to visit them as much anymore.  Oh God, I so don’t want them to pass on.  I know it’s part of life, but they’ve been there for me so much more than my mom. 

I went home partly because in the past my sister and her kids tend to ground me in a lot of ways.  I know I’m mid-lifeing right now and usually her kids help put things in perspective.  But now that the kids are older, the dynamics are different.  I see now that they really have their family bonds and rituals, and I was the fifth wheel.  My sis would always welcome me, but spending time with them this time really made me aware that I’m all alone.  I have to take care of myself in every aspect and at the end of the day I don’t have that one person I want to share or could trust my life with. 

I’m getting closer to quitting my job too.  It’s a long story, but my mid-life caused me to have a ‘talk’ with my manager and now I just feel awkward and so out-of-place in my office.  I was looking to quit after a year and then taking some time to travel, but maybe I should just quit asap, with no plan.  Maybe I should just pack a backpack and go somewhere. 

I’m self-destructing and having the worse mid-life crisis right now.  I don’t know how to cope or to get through this phase.  I’m crying all the time, I’m having trouble sleeping.  I’m not really socializing these days.  I did go hiking with friends on Sunday, ‘tho.  I hate my job.  I feel stifled.  I feel confused.  I’m literally self-destructing.  It started with the job change and now it’s carrying over to my personal life and just the lack of caring about me, about life, about anything right now.

Lord, if you’re there, I really need your strength and help right now.  Amen.