Ain’t that the truth?

Note to self: continuing nausea and fatigue does NOT automatically mean I’m pregnant no matter how much I wish it so. Patience, young grasshopper, is the key.

Li’l Bit of Nothing

Life seems unreal sometimes. I have an idea where I’m going; I have an idea of what I want to do with my life other than be a mother, but then these thoughts pop in my head and I stop.

Where am I going to be at this time next year, in two – three years? Five years? What am I going to do if something happens to one of my children? What am I going to do if the courts rule that my children should go and live with their biological father? Or what if something happens to me?

I try to expect the unexpected. I try to plan for the unexpected, but that normally doesn’t work out. Who knows to expect everything? Even paranoid people don’t expect everything.

I guess I’m close to paranoid too, though. I worry about everything. Mostly for my children. I want the best for them, I do. But then things in my mind blur together and I don’t know where my thoughts are going.

Everything is “what if” and “how am I” and it makes my anxiety climbs higher and higher.

It’s why I write here. Why I write so much. To get my thoughts out of my head and, hopefully, to calm down my anxiety a bit.

It works most of the time. 🙂

My Mother and I

I have a complicated relationship with my mother. That’s putting it lightly.

At this point I’ve put the past in the past, where it belongs. There are times when I have start dwelling on what has happened and who to believe: the rest of my family or her? Then I realize that it doesn’t matter because it’s over and done with. What matters is what she and every other person in my life chooses to do now – how to handle their own life and how much they want to be involved in mine, whether they truly want to help me or they don’t. I can’t make those decisions for them.

But it all comes back to my mother.

From the time I moved out with my [now] ex-husband, she was one of the few people to support me even if she wasn’t fond of him. I was happy about that. She told me how she felt and she was honest; she didn’t hide from me the fact that she didn’t like him. It’s the fact that she still helped me when I was pregnant and inbetween homes, when everyone else was proven right that he was an a**hole and they wanted to shove it in my face.

She helped me. Then.

Two years later I’m living on my own an hour away from her and she’s still the one that I talk to the most out of my family and still the one that I see the most out of my family. She’s still the one that is most willing to help me when times get tough and something comes up suddenly. She’s my mother; mother’s do that kind of thing.

But she didn’t when I was growing up. She was never there. Ever.

She’s told me that she’s trying to make up for it. It honestly seems like she is. There’s just one problem.

My mother’s letting me stepfather influence her too much. I’m not sure if it’s consciously or subconsciously or if it’s because she’s been with him for so many years, but it’s happening. I have proof. It’s this proof that hurt me the most.

Those months ago, earlier this year, when my ex took my children for three weeks and I panicked because I had no idea where they were, just a vague idea, and he wasn’t allowing contact? That’s when it happened. On the second day after he finally fessed up that he wasn’t bringing them back like he said he would I finally told my mother. She told me to calm down and basically go through every thing that I already had. She said she would wait a day or two to tell my stepfather. My mom was on my side. She thought that what I was doing was right, especially since I had already spoken to my lawyer and was calling him everyday to try and get something done. She was proud of me, though not half as anxious.

Those two days went by fast. I kept my mother up-to-date with what was going on. One day, mid-afternoon, my cell phone rang. It was my mother. She told me that she’d told my stepfather the night before and then she started in on me about how I needed to “get something done to get your kids back”.

Because I wasn’t trying to do that?! Seriously?!

She kept yelling and ranting at me through the phone. She had switched sides, from being completely on my side to completely agreeing with whatever my stepfather said. What’s sad is that within the past night and earlier in the day I had just been discussing that I thought my mother would do that.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

It was bad enough that I was so anxious that I couldn’t be in the house by myself, I was restless so I was constantly walking, I’d had multiple panic/anxiety attacks and I wasn’t able to even GLANCE at children without bursting into tears.

And she had the nerve to tell me, as a message from my stepfather, that what I was doing wasn’t enough, was wrong, and I needed to do more and not to listen to my lawyer?!

I love my mother, but F*CK THAT!

It was the first and only time it had happened in my life, but I just lost it. I started yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs into my phone at my mother. I don’t remember everything I said. I couldn’t control what I said. Every word that came out of my mouth was exactly what was on my mind and how I was feeling. I had snapped.

That had never happened to me before. Nobody previously and nobody since then has gotten me that worked up.

I know this: I told her that my stepfather was just that – my stepfather, and that he had no right to tell me what to do. That I was an adult and I didn’t care if she was my mother she couldn’t make my decisions for me. He wasn’t my father, he’s never been my father, and he’s never tried to act like my father so he needed to just shut the f*ck up.

And that was just the part that I can remember. I ranted at my mother for a good five minutes. And then I hung up on her without letting her say anything. And didn’t answer any calls from her house for a week. The only communication would be if something came up having to do with my children, and even then I was emotionless and stayed on the phone for as short a period as possible.

And I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing. What she did. I don’t think she realized how much she hurt me.

Unfortunately, nothing about this changes the fact that I love my mother. No matter how shitty she may treat me. It’s like I’m in an abusive relationship and I just keep coming back for more. I don’t understand why I do even though I know how I’m going to be treated and that I’ll never reach any sort of approval in her eyes.

I’m the child she didn’t want. At least, that’s my assumption.

When I was pregnant, right after I left my ex-husband, my mother and stepfather asked me two questions: “Is it yours?” and “Are you going to keep it?”

My mother was in almost the exact situation with me and she kept me.

That hurt too.

I don’t think she realizes that, unlike the rest of my family, I don’t hold grudges. I just keep memories. I will remember. I will never forget. Ever.

But I won’t hold it against her. I love my mother.

Random Realization

Just a brief little update that I find amusing. It’s more of a realization about myself than anything, but still. It’s amusing nonetheless. 🙂

I think I figured out why I prefer older men. Or at least partially why. It’s the beginning of a theory, it is.

I read too many romance novels where the lead female gets involved with a male who is a decent amount older than her. As in 7+ years older. I find it fascinating that I just realized this.

Because out of my four most serious relationships, three were 7+ years older than me. My fiance is 13 years older than me, in fact.

Environmental influences at its best. Gotta love it.

Definition of Love

Complex. Romantic. Hard to find. Hard to let go of. Vulnerable. Risk. Selfish. Selfless. Paradox. Everything. Infinite. Passion. Affection. Tenderness. Fight. Make up. Forever. Acceptance. Openness. Freedom. Security. Insecurity. Friendship. Everlasting. Forgiving. LOVE.

To me, love is everything. You can’t find it if you’re looking for it; it’ll find you. Once it grabs ahold of you, good luck ever letting go. Though if it truly is love, I don’t believe that you will want to.

Love is a paradox. You want to keep it to yourself, because it makes you happy. In the same way, you want to share it; you want to make your partner happy – the one with whom you love – because they are the cause of this great happiness inside of you. You would do anything for them.

Love never dies – familial love, first love, true love, none of it. Insecurities may boil up inside of you, but that is what love, a relationship, is about; you talk it out and rule out the assumptions and the insecurities. If your partner truly loves you as you do them, nothing will come between you, and he or she will understand; they will love you for you. He or she will love you despite your faults, your flaws, your past, and despite your insecurites. You will be there for each other through thick and thin. Love is love, no matter what.

It is tender in looks, touches, actions. Love makes you vulnerable in ways you never thought you could be. Love is a risk, but it is a risk worth taking. Every moment of every day spent with your loved one is precious. You cherish it and look back on it, no matter how simple the action.

I don’t say this out of randomness or some fantasy or wish of what I want. This is what I experience. This is what my relationship is like with my fiance.

Like I said previously, I’m getting married next year – summer 2014. My fiance and I are not the perfect couple and we don’t claim to be. We have our ups and downs, but we don’t advertise our relationship to the world. I think that our privacy has a lot to do with it.

We’ve had our little spats, because both of us have a tendency to hold our emotions in when we’re upset and try to avoid confrontation of any kind. We both, also, know each other well enough that we can tell when the other is upset. I normally ask him if something is bothering him, and more often than not, Chris tells me he’s ok. We do end up talking about it after a couple days; then everything is back to normal.

Chris makes me happy. Happier than I’ve been in years, and I don’t know what I’d do without him. Honestly, I think I’m happier with him now and more attracted to him now than when we first started dating last year.

Like I said before, love never dies.

It’s love.