boundaries, we need boundaries, I am told. growing up without guidance I was never shown boundaries. my mother blurred those for me, very early on. she didn’t desire to be responsible to varying degrees throughout my life. not for her life, her actions, her family, her children, her self, for me that list is endless.
here I sit in my 40s, dealing with yet again, my anger with her. thought I had this done, and here it comes again. 62 is too young, these days, to be old and addled. she checked out again! this makes me furious, uncontrollably full of rage. yet it surfaces in tears. come to think of it, I have only really cried, in another’s presence, when fully enraged, otherwise the tears only flowed in absolute private. and here it comes again. this may be the title to this entry.LOL.
so I go to a meeting, and then to another, afterward, with the ladies, for guidance. the tears threaten, I’ve got them under control for now. I realize I’m sad. Sad! that is a new one for me. I hurt for my little sister, that is new too. she’s going through the death of her marriage, mostly at her hand, and cannot deal with it. who could? she drinks, and obviously this was part of the problem and will not help now. but I’ve learned in my recovery from … the ‘isms of alcohol, that this is not mine. I can’t help her I had no hand in the damage done, I can only listen. my listening somehow makes her feel as if I an judging her. in all actuality she is judging her.
the spiraling of sin is a hard thing to detach from. the sin of hating oneself, the sin of self-destruction, the sin of not taking responsibility, how does one let go?
one day at a time. don’t commit the act (drinking, drugging, sexing, blaming, self-loathing, self-destructing…) for the next hour, call someone, then don’t pick up the behavior for the next hour, repeat. 24x. one day at a time.
so don’t attach to the anger. don’t blame mom. don’t pick up for my sister. what to do. the Sadness continues, its new, I’m not sure what to do with it.
I mourne my family. so much dysfunction, no, non-functional. somewhere inside a part of me cries in the corner, wanting my mommy. she’s not here, and she wasn’t sometimes anyway. grow up little one, big girls don’t cry.