It’s been three days since my parents left. I can breathe freely, even though my mom is emailing me every day. Sometimes, more than once a day. That’s much more bearable than having them around, though. My shoulders are already less tense than before. Maybe 50% less tense. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding in my shoulders until after my parents left. The first night, I had trouble falling asleep. It was because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or for my father to start an argument with my mother while they were half-asleep. That was one of his favorite tactics, by the way. To ambush her while she was asleep to accuse her of all sorts of crazy things. And I’m using the word ‘crazy’ deliberately. I’m not one who is precious about the word because I can apply it to myself quite easily. And because in the view of the normies, I’m pretty crazy in many ways.
In this case, I mean it clinically. My father has paranoid delusions, including his most prevalent that we (my brother, my mother, and I) are trying to steal his money. He’s made my mom look for trust (their money is in a trust) papers that he swore he put in a certain drawer (which he didn’t. I can say that with certainty). He’s also accused her of enslaving him (very bitter laugh as he does jack and shit) and various other things.
I want nothing to do with them. I’ll be honest. I can handle a phone call once a month or even every other week, but that’s about it. I feel some guilt for being so relieved, but not much. All I can think is, “I’m free.”
Today, it’s 10 degrees and it’s snowing. It wasn’t snowing when I woke up, but is now. I had decided to go for a little walk (not caring how far I went or if I walked farther than yesterday) and was delightfully surprised when I saw snow. And not just drizzling, either. It’s snowing big fat flakes. My brother bought me unders from Costco that are thin, sleek, and wicks away moisture while retaining heat. In black. I put those on under my clothes to brave the elements.
I felt so alive as I walked. I had no destination in mind. I just walked and savored the feeling of the snow falling on my face. It didn’t feel as cold as it was yesterday even though it was the same temp. I had gloves and a baclava in my hoodie’s pocket, ready to pull out at a moment’s notice. I had a mask on my face because COVID, and my hoodie’s hood over my mid-level ponytails. Not high or low, but medium (height). I was wearing my funky glasses whose lenses had tinted gray to block out the sun, and I felt fabulous.
I know I’m going to have to deal with life again. I know that the familial problems are not going to disappear. But in that moment, I was thrilled to be alive. I remembered the gratitude I had when I first woke up in the hospital and realized what had happened to me. Tromping through the snow is my best life and I am glad that I can experience it once again. I cannot tell you the exhilaration I feel when the snow hits me in the face. The grin I get when the snow clings to my clothing, turning the black cloth all white. I’m not a churchgoer; being out in the snow is the closest I get to feeling holy.
Not only is it invigorating, it fills me with both joy and calm. I can center myself in the snow in a way I can’t anywhere else. I’ve not done Taiji in snow, but that would probably be transcendental. For a few minutes, anyway, until the cold set in. I like cold, yes, but not being in it for a prolonged length of time. I always cite Dark Souls and Taiji weapons as two things I’m loyal to and am happy to natter on about forever, and I’ll add snow to that list.
I can finally breathe. It’s weird. While my parents were here, I knew I was tense. I thought I knew how tense I was, but I didn’t until after they left. It took until today before my shoulders finally relaxed. as I said before, the first night, I couldn’t sleep because I kept waiting for a fight to break out. That’s when I realized that I had always kept one ear out for my father. My mother tried to play it down by saying that he wasn’t bad all the time or even most of the time. Which, duh. No one is bad al the time. Otherwise, their victims wouldn’t stay.
It boggles my mind that she’s a psychologist. I know that being a psychologist does not inure you to having difficulties in your own line, but some of this is Psychology 101. I’ve known for thirty years that she should dump my father, have told her so whenever she asks, and yet….She’s still with him. She’ going to be with him until one of them dies.
Now, I’m trying to shake off the last few months and get back to living my life. When my parents were here, I spent so much time trying not to make waves or taking the bait my father was flinging around. Everything was crafted around not upsetting my father, which might have been feasible if he were a reasonable man. Which he most emphatically isn’t. it was impossible to determine what would piss him off and what wouldn’t. In addition, I had to try not to react to the bullshit things he said.
While they were here, I constantly had to talk myself down from snapping at them. Both of them for different reasons. And I had to brace myself because they would inevitably say somethin cutting that would knock down my self-esteem. My father’s derisive laugh when I said something he thought was stupid. Or the dead look in his eyes when he was mad. It’s bitterly ironic that my mother scolded me for not being respectful and loving to him when he was openly sneering at me. “But his pathology” was her pathetic excuse for him.
The rage runs deep. I was choking on it by the time they were scheduled to leave. I’m glad that they’re gone before I lost complete control of my temper. Now, I just have to repair my self-esteem as best I can.