Bottled Up

I've spent my entire life trying to recover from YOUR disease.

I've spent my entire adulthood trying to no longer be affected by YOUR selfishness.

I've spent the last 12 + years sheltering my children from YOUR wrath of painful words.

I've allowed YOUR problems to infiltrate my marriage.

I watched YOUR behavior ruin EVERY milestone moment in my life.

I spent years in therapy mourning an earth shattering loss only to find out what I was mourning was YOUR lack of love and nurturing in a time when I needed it most.

I've given everything I can to try and repair this relationship with you to no avail.

Your sense of entitlement to things that I have worked hard for is mind boggling.

Your inability to be accountable for the path of destruction that you laid before me for so long physically hurts my heart.

I used to wonder why I have no photo albums of my childhood, no memory books of my first words or school pictures but it's so vividly clear now...you were too busy entertaining your demons to be a parent.

I cringe when I hear others tell you how proud you should be of me, what a great job you did "raising" me and how proud they are of you for getting rid of your demon.

I got where I am today, not because of you, but in spite of you. However, you got sober thanks to me, because unlike you, I didn't give up on you...and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do...but YOUR disease was killing me.

I see snip-its from time to time of your potential to be a good parent, grandparent, etc. but, they are few and far between. And again I'm mourning. I'm mourning the fact that YOU'RE going to miss out on two wonderful gifts that you were blessed with because you feel that I owe you something for doing what's right.

What scares me most is that I see snip-its of you in me. I too dance with the same demon far too often and find myself yelling too loud and too much...but its not my voice I hear coming out, it's YOURS.  

The difference is, I'm going to take steps to change my path NOW and not be a burden to my children. I will repair the whole me, mind, body and spirit.  I will continue to be a positive influence, a nurturer, a provider and a safe spot for them.  I've seen what happens to a child when they are without all of those things.  It's by the grace of god I made it out alive.  

I wish I didn't have to be anonymous.  I wish that I could say these words to you in a way that wouldn't immediately bring you to become defensive but that's not possible. So, for now, I will hide behind my anonymity but no longer behind the bottle.

Anonymous

Of Damaged Goods and Positivity

Maybe two or three souls in the universe know this secret about me….I am, in a way, two-faced.

When I go out into the world, people see a poised, always fun-loving, perpetually happy, down-to-earth girl with all her shit together; someone confident and sure of herself and her place. Well, this is not so. In private, in those moments when only the few can witness, I am full of anger, fear, anxiety, and doubt. I am most certainly not that self-assured person the rest of the world gets. I can feel very lost, confused, despondent. Insecure.

Why?

Is it because of my addict mother; and the resulting environment in which I grew up? I really don’t know. But I think and think and think on it, and wonder if….

She is everything that’s wrong with me.

Her promises of “never doing it again” dissolved into falsities every time and she always claimed “I’m not high” or “I wasn’t high then” when she clearly was.  Are these the reasons I question the lot of what everyone says or automatically think they are lying to me?

Is she why I’m so shy and introverted, because it was always easier to hide than explain my home life to friends?

It seems impossible for me to simply trust. Is that because childhood was a series of one disappointment after another?

Is that environment the reason I still let my imagination run wild with terrible thoughts, too often jumping to conclusions, because I was never really told about what was going on and had to fill in the blanks for myself?

Parties, gatherings, and being out in public whenever it involved my mother while she was high were certainly strained and uncomfortable.  So do I tend to feel socially awkward because it’s become expected that all encounters must be like that?

Is this all why I feel threatened and assume everyone and everything is against me, because it seemed like the whole world was back then?

Is she the reason I have a need to completely control my universe, because I (or anyone else) could never control, sway, or help her?

Is my default position one of nervousness and anxiety because that’s the behavior she modeled?

Am I very reserved because joyousness and being carefree tended to get crushed by harsh realities that no child should have to endure?  Perhaps my reticence was the only calm I could muster in my life.

Am I programmed to ignore issues and pretend problems aren’t there because no one ever really addressed hers head on?

Do I find it so hard to change because she never did (never will)?

Can I not admit when I’m wrong because until just recently she hadn’t, and because all my life I watched her not own up to her mistakes?

I could go on and on about my super-fast fuse, my impatience, my emotional volatility, my constant expectation of disappointment, my….patterns that need to break.

I guess I have been conditioned.

Now maybe it seems like I'm just looking for someone to blame, or grasping at straws, but there really does seem to be a correlation in my eyes.  And I’m not the only one who has put forth this theory.  The fact is -- as I got older, the more in depth I came to talk to my mother about her addiction, the more details I learned, and the longer I had to pretend to be strong and tough; keeping up appearances….the more depressed I became and the worse my own secret existence got.

So, the beans are spilled.  I am damaged goods.  I learned from destructive and inconsistency, and became them myself.  Certain parts of my private life have spiraled out of control to a pretty dark place.  I realized the other day, as small a detail as it might seem, that I don’t even sing in the car anymore. I used to do that, a lot. What happened to me?

I’ve had friends tell me I am very brave for my writings on the subject of my mother. Brave? I say scared, and worried about the consequences of putting this all out there where she too can find it. They think I am strong. Strong? No. It’s only because of those friends and their support that I have been able to do this at all. Unstable is probably a better descriptor of me right now. Definitely weak.  Certainly wary and always ready for battle; feeling fight-or-flight; claws at the ready.

But no more. Something has got to give. I’m getting too damn old to let it affect me like this anymore. So now I’ve written it down for all the world to read. It’s as real as it’s ever going to get. Change begins today. She is her own version of two-faced; switching from good to wicked, seemingly randomly, at the drop of a hat. But I do not want to be, I can’t be, her!

She brings so much negativity, and I don’t want to write about her anymore. I’m tired of feeling compelled to check my trash and message filters when I don’t even want to hear from her, and then having to consult with others to find out if what she wrote is even true.  I don’t want to spend any more time talking about her, and what to do about her, when she isn’t even around or in any condition to participate.  I am drained of worrying what she will do in response to me refusing to see her; when she’s left at home alone.  I want to be able to encounter other people in the world who have her same issues and not be triggered immediately by them into an adverse mood.  I can no longer reward her cyclical behavior by continuing my presence in her life even if only on the goods days – it feels too….inauthentic, like I’m pretending.  I need to not feel like I can overcome the guilt only when I am so angry that it’s superseded.

I’m turning the corner. Healing.

I recently made the decision to cut her out of my life at least for the time being; until (if ever) the good parts of her far outweigh the bad and I can forgive her; until the point where she can control herself and respect my needs, too. She needs to be a choice, a desire; not an obligation.  Maybe it won’t be the entire solution to all of my misery, but that was step one -- removing a vast unyielding uncertainty. Now, starting at this very moment, I am going to practice being trusting, being confident, being enthusiastic, being more engaged, being even-keeled, being more attentive, being more happy, being more stable….being more alive.

Positivity!

Until I damn well get it right.  For me, and for you.

I need you now, world, because I am going to take you for all the strength and support you will afford me, until I truly am what everyone thinks I am, what I want and need to be -- brave, secure, confident, full of self-esteem, and all those other things that I so desperately long for. And it will be hard. And I will screw up along the way.

Small victories – one at a time.

It’s time. My life depends on it.  I no longer want to have to put on that second face – I need it to actually be my one face.

End rambling.  Reboot.

Robin Donoghue

The sly and trusty Robinator is a square peg – 

not fitting easily into any single category, living not just inside and outside of the box, 

but all mixed up in a pile of them. She’s a walking contradiction  (in the good way) – 

having a wide, diverse range of interests, not being defined by any one thing, 

and willing to try pretty much anything at least once. 

Born and raised in Somerville, this lifelong athlete, foodie who almost always ends up with 

pasta sauce on her (especially when it’s white) shirt, mother of two cats, free-spirited hippie at heart whose socks never match, is socially awkward, yet a flirt, too.  She enjoys photography, traveling, generally being creative, and practically requires having pockets.  When she grows up, she wants to get an RV and be a nomad with her dear husband, or live on a self-sustaining 

intentional community with all the best people she knows and loves.

Walking Away

Looking back at old smiling pictures, I wonder: were you high then?

How about that one, and this snapshot, or in the album over there?

We sure seemed like a happy family.

And I know we had lots of good times.

So was I just not aware?

Was I oblivious to what was going on around me because I was only a child,

too small to understand?

At what point did I become conscious of what was happening;

that you were almost always high at every party,

for every holiday gathering, during every wedding and funeral.

Did I then simply start ignoring your behavior to protect myself,

to ease the weight on my psyche of never knowing what condition you’d be in,

of having to always be prepared for every possibility, every scenario.

At what point did I go from that happy (looking) little kid to who I am now –

cringing, dreading every time I’m slated to see you,

either individually, at a family party, or otherwise?

Because I never know how you’ll be, how you’ll act, what you’ll say.

Because I never know which you I’ll get,

or exactly how uncomfortable you might make us all feel.

You make me not want to be there, around lots of other people that I love and miss.

Because it’s easier to not have to deal with you there, too.

Because I feel like I am responsible for you in those group settings.

Does everyone else think I am your keeper?

Am I?

You obviously have some sort of anxiety that caused(es) you to drug-up for events,

and on plenty of regular days, too.

But the rest of us do not deserve the price.

And we are not your solution.

Most of the time now, I avoid you,

because I can’t stand not knowing which you I’m going to get.

Would I have done that when I was a child if I could have?

I don’t know.

What was life like before my eyes were opened?

I can tell in an instant, now, as an adult -- one glance; one breath; one word.

That’s all I need.

But what the heck did I know back then?

By a certain age, I knew a damn ton more than a child should have.

Am I giving up all of those happy memories,

rejecting the good times that really did happen, denying their existence;

if, when, I walk away now?

I don’t want to.

Can I keep and cling to the old joy, all the while declaring,

accepting and knowing that there's no future?

Would that be legit?  Ethical?  Acceptable?

I hope so.

So many questions still unanswered.

Is there someone, anyone who can tell me it’s okay to walk away?

Because I’m doing it anyway.

Walking away.

I have to.

I have told you that if you want to do drugs, go ahead –

because you’re an adult that can make your own choices;

just keep it away from me and anyone else who doesn’t want to see it.

But you can’t.

You cannot control it.

You cannot control yourself.

I, however, can control me, and what I let into my life.

No more apologies.

No more gifts.

No more manipulation.

No more guilt.

No more anger.

No more surprises.

No more promises.

No more you.

When (if) I can ever be confident in your state of mind, your status,

how you will be on a given day – constantly, consistently –

when I can know without a doubt that you’ll be fine and good –

then, we can resume some kind of relationship.

On my terms.

Turning, walking away, MY healing begins.

This is about me now.

Turning over a whole tree full of proverbial new leaves.

Deleting the past pain, so that I can’t even revisit it if I wanted to.

1…

2…

3…

Now.

Risk.

Leap.

Robin Donoghue

The sly and trusty Robinator is a square peg – 

not fitting easily into any single category, living not just inside and outside of the box, 

but all mixed up in a pile of them. She’s a walking contradiction  (in the good way) – 

having a wide, diverse range of interests, not being defined by any one thing, 

and willing to try pretty much anything at least once. 

Born and raised in Somerville, this lifelong athlete, foodie who almost always ends up with 

pasta sauce on her (especially when it’s white) shirt, mother of two cats, free-spirited hippie at heart whose socks never match, is socially awkward, yet a flirt, too.  She enjoys photography, traveling, generally being creative, and practically requires having pockets.  When she grows up, she wants to get an RV and be a nomad with her dear husband, or live on a self-sustaining 

intentional community with all the best people she knows and loves.