rant, rant, rant...

This a journaling episode for me. If you really feel the need to read it, well it's here, but if you're the kind of person who freaks out if they know too much about someone, then don't read further.

Ok, back to the dish towels from mom...

So, let me make it clear that I am grateful for my mother's hard work that she put into those towels for me...and I do know that needle point is a lot of work...especially for someone whose eye sight is so bad she can't pass the DMV eye test with her glasses on. Also, may it be known that I'm not upset about the dish towel designs because I'm a big bad butch lesbian, although that doesn't help.

The thing that bugs me is the little girly designs, because this is part of my mother trying to make me into her "little girl" (yes, I intentionally wrote "make me into" as opposed to "keep me"). I am my mother's last child, and god save me, her favorite ("Luannie was so quiet, she never bothered me") and I get that whole emotional crappity-do that results from this fact, but I don't have to like it. In fact I find it to be a slap in the face that now, as an adult, she expects me to be her 'little girl', when as a child she didn't really offer me the opportunity to be a 'little girl.' No instead I got to take care of her when she was having her nervous breakdowns, or, even before that, I got to get raped weekly by the frakking neighbor long before I even knew that I had a thing called a vagina, while my mother ignored the fact that something was very wrong (and I certainly knew that I couldn't tell her what was wrong). I didn't get to be a little girl because my mother needed to be the little girl, and I had to be the adult...no matter what happened to me...it always had to be all about her.

And I've done enough therapy to know that "she did the best that she could with what she had", but sometimes that just isn't enough. I am sorry that her childhood was so frakked up that she had to steal mine away from me, but it doesn't make any of the hurts I suffered any less painful...and the thing of it is; her trying to make me back into her little girl (by doing things like sending me 'bonnet girl' towels) after all these years just makes those wounds fester.

PS: if you decided to read this anyway, don't worry, I've had more therapy than you can imagine, and I'm just hunky-dory, so don't go getting all weird on me.