Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: letting go

More thoughts on family, dysfunction, and letting go

I’ve been talking in the past several posts about my family, and here is something I rarely admit out loud. One of the reasons I get so frustrated when my mother goes down the negativity route is becuase it echoes the monkey chatter in my brain as well. I can ‘what if’ until the cows come home, and it makes it so it’s really difficult for me to make an actual decision about anything important.

When I was in my twenties, K and I talked about how different our mothers were. Her mother was very much a ‘things will work out, no matter what’ kind of person, whereas my mother had a ‘something will always go drastically wrong, no matter what’ mentality. This came out when K was taking me to the airport and joking about me having a roll of quarters, an umbrella, and a bunch of other things she thought unnecessary. I said you never knew what you might need when you were on vacation.

Years later, I realized t hat as long as I had proper Id and my credit card, I could buy anything I needed. A huge privilege, yes, and not something I wanted to abuse, but it really eased the anxious part of my brain.

That’s something I learned in my twenties/early thirties. I had to find ways to work around the destructive chatter in my brain. I had to build that into everything I did because it was just a part of me. It makes it harder for me to do things, but I’ve gotten better in the last few years. In some ways. In other ways, it’s gotten worse.

K and I talked about the pros and cons to our mothers’ ways of thinking. With K’s mother, a pro was that she did not have to expend too much energy on ‘what ifs?’. She assumed things would turn out ok, and that must have been a relief. On the other hand, when things didn’t turn out ok, she was ill-equipped to deal with it.

Whtereas with my mother’s Debbie Downer mentality meant that she was always prepared for the worst, but didn’t know what to do if things did not reach that point. In addition, in always looking at the negative side of things, it paralyzes her from actually making decisions because any choice seems bad.

This is what I hate the most because it’s how I deal with things as well. I can see a million things that could possibly go wrong at any given time, and I can’t see a way forward. Rationally, I know that every decision has consequences, both good and bad. I know that there is no choice that is completely positive.

And yet. My brain equates negative consequences with catastrophe, and then I can’t make any choice at all. I have to consciously push my way past that mental barrier in order to make a decision.


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Finding that almost non-existent common ground (part four)

This is my last post on finding common ground within my family. Probably. Here is yesterday’s post explaining some of my family history. It’s necessary to at least know the basics before I dive into the latest chapter.

My mother is having a really hard time dealing with my father’s dementia. This is not a surprise, obviously, as dementia is really cruel. Both on the person it’s consuming and anyone around that person–especially the caretaker/s.

The problem is that she still hasn’t accepted that the dementia isn’t reversible. One of the last times we talked, she brought up some promising science that suggests there may be a way to reverse dementia in the very early stages. I will admit, I was impatient when I told her that it was not a thing, but that’s because I know better than to give my mother an inch.

Also, I did look up the science she was talking about, and even if it was promising, it was not applicable to my father. Even if it had been, it’s in the very nascent stages. That means it will be years before it can go on sale–if the efficacy turns out to replicable and an actual thing.

My mother talks about how she’s doing this, that, and the other thing in hopes that my father will turn back to ‘normal’. She also mentions how frustrated and bewildered she gets when they’re having a conversation, and he suddenly veers into dementia.

I understand and symppathize with the latter. He’s not so bad when we’re talking as he can usually keep to a topic (that topic being when am I going to go visit him), but when he does start spouting gibberish, there is no warning.  He usually knows who I am, but he can’t grasp that I live thousands of miles away from him.

I have read about what you’re supposed to do when someone spirals into delusions/dementia. Basically, just go along with whatever they are saying. So like when my father asks (demands) when I’m going to visit him, I tell him soon. Or in a few months. Or whatever. I have to repeat it over and over, but usually, he will accept it.

Sometimes, however, he surprises me. He’ll say how long it’s been since he’s seen me (true. It’s been nearly four years), and then urge me to plan something sooner with my mother. Also, one time, I said that I would go visit him the next day. Much to my surprise, he latched onto it and got really excited. He shouted to my mother that I was coming, and I realized that I had made a mistake.


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Agender as default

More on gender. But a quick note first. My internet was not the problem–it was my keyboard. Apparently, it was fritzing out so it was hitting the internet availibility button without me knowing. Then, it died completely. The keyboard, I mean. I am so hard on them. They’re supposed to last BILLIONS of keystrokes, and then they die in less than a year. I don’t think that’s keystrokes, though. It’s probably because I eat near my laptop and shorted the USB cable on the keyboard. Fortunately, I have my desktop keyboard until my new laptop one arrives.

Since I figured it out, I have not had any issues with my internet, knock on wood. I also talked with Xfinity and restarted my machine, too, so at least one of those things did the trick. Probably a combo of all.

I maundered on more about gender yesterday. Today, I’m going to maunder some more. Then, I’m going to call it a day and move on for now. Not really, obviously, but I’m getting tired of thinking about it. This is how I end up on almost every identity issue, by the way.

I (not-so) blissfully go about my life not aware of why I feel so weird, but acutely aware that I don’t fit in. Ever since I was a little girl, I was unhappy in my own skin. I had no idea why, but I just wanted to crawl out of it. I would have clawed it off if I could and if it would have mattered, but that wasn’t possible, obviously.

I didn’t know why  I was a freak; I just was. It took me decades to realize that my parents were not interested in American culture at all. Well, my father wasn’t, and my mother did whatever my father wanted her to do. Sometimes, begrudgingly, but in the end she always gave in.

In this case, my father was very much nationalistic Taiwanese. He was for the Taiwanese Independent Movement, and I remembered marching on the streets of St. Paul for the cause. I firmly believe that he would have went back to Taiwan as soon as he got his PhD if it weren’t for my brother and me. The fact that he went back right after I (the younger one) graduated from college was indicative that he was only here by force.

He had no interest in American culture. Not the food or the pop culture or anything else. He only wanted Taiwanese food, Taiwanese entertainment, and Taiwanese friends. We went to a Taiwanese church, and that was all the interacting he did outside of work.


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Set phasers to neutral

I’ve been watching a lot of reaction videos to Tim Minchin songs lately. Why? Because! I’ve been into Tim for decades and I thought he was pretty niche. Well, he was. He’s gotten bigger (and, sadly, more conservative not in politics, maybe, but in ideas) over the years.

My favorite to watch is White Wine in the Sun because people do not expect it at all. Tim is hilarious in a dark way, saynig things you don’t say out loud. He’s an atheist and very outspoken about it. So you’d think the song would be bitingly acerbic. You might not even know it’s about Christmas–which it is.

Then, there’s the dawning realization that while it des have a few digs at Christianity, it’s mostly a heartwarming song about his love for his baby daughter. It’s just a really sweet song and one of two Christmas songs that I actually like. It makes me tear up every time I listen to it.

Last year and this year, however, it hits especially hard. See, I think of it as an atheist Christmas carol, but it’s really an ode to family. And family is something I have written endlessly on, about how dysfuctional my family is.

I’ve also mentioned a time or a hundred that it was when I died and came back again–

By the way, I want to get a t-shirt that says, “I rose from the dead twice” on the front and “That makes me better than Jesus” on the back, but I won’t because that would be rude. But it’s funny. I told it to K and she burst out laughing. And she’s spiritual!

Anyway, dying puts things in perspective. It can bring out the best in people like my brother. He was my rock and held it down while I was unconscious. He did it all without a word of complaint. He talked to my medical team every day, and it was on him to make decisions for me because I did not have a partner.


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Letting go and moving on organically

I have difficulties letting go of how I see myself. I think of myself in terms of absolutes such as, “I am a negative person”, and “I am lazy”. Once I get an idea about myself, I can’t move past it. It’s fine with such things as, “My favorite color is black” because it doesn’t really matter if I change that or not. It’s not so fine when it impedes me, such as, “I hate  people.” I mean, it’s ok that I hate people, but it’s not realistic to think I’m going to go through my life never talking to people at all. Also, it’s not completely true. I don’t hate all people or even most people. Just certain ones, and if I have to be around lots and lots of people, then I hate the idea of it and not necessarily the people themselves.

I keep thinking about how I didn’t care about Christmas this year, in a positive way. Short explanation: I hate Christmas. Or rather, I did. For many reasons, I became grumpy about it right after Thanksgiving, and it lasted until New Year’s Day. I would notice all the Christmas bullshit around me, and I would gnash my teeth at my hatred of all things Saint Nick. This year, I didn’t even really notice it was Christmas until a few days before when my brother invited me over for dinner Christmas Eve. I wasn’t going to go, but then, to my surprise, I thought, “Why not?” I went and had a good time, and that was the end of Christmas for me.

I know it doesn’t sound thrilling, and in some ways, it scans as a subtle neg. “I didn’t even realize it was Christmas until it was over–that’s how little it means to me!” But, you have to take me at my word when I say it really is a positive thing because it freed up so much of my mind and heart in the months leading up to Christmas. I say it started the day after Thanksgiving, but oftentimes, it was earlier than that because Christmas commercials start earlier and earlier every year. I don’t watch any TV and rarely listen to the radio, but that doesn’t mean the collective unconsciousness doesn’t seep into my brain as well.

My point is that I didn’t force myself to be chipper and cheerful and to pretend that I love Christmas while internally seething. I didn’t grit my teeth and endure it while resenting it with every fiber of my being–which I’ve done in the past–I just didn’t care about it. It was so freeing, and it wasn’t something I could make myself do it. Which is one of my issues with how obsessed with positivity this country is. Don’t worry. That isn’t the main point of this post, but I had to throw it out there.

It was strange for me not to choke with burning resentment against Christmas this year, and I was at a lost as to what to do with it. I mean, being anti-Christmas had been a part of me for such a long time, I felt as if I lost a part of myself. It’s not a bad thing, but it is an adjustment. An absence of a negative is still an absence, and I still think about it from time to time. Fortunately, it’s not something I have to replace with something else, but it’s still something I have to adjust to.


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