I'm sorry.
In the past 8 years, I have slowly changed. I have cried and wept and screamed, I have felt pain so acute I didn't see how I'd survive. I have worried and fretted and obsessed, wasting unknown quantities of time in darkness and ugliness of spirit. And I have continued to justify such actions because of "the bad things that have happened that are out of my control." It's my party line, my platform, my modus operandi. Any amount of bitterness, jealousy, envy, and depression was covered, because of "the bad things..."
What follows are messages to various people in my life - raw and personal but necessary. Some of them will be read by the addressee, some won't. All are confessions from a soul weary of toting the burdens. And this is long. Very very long, so be warned.
REALLY long.
To my son Stephen:I have hung the lion's share of my unhappiness on your precious shoulders, and it is despicable of me. You are innocent and dependent on our care, and to make you and your autism "the reason" I've become who I am is deplorable and for that, my sweet one, I am sorry. You looked at me this morning as I helped you get in the car, and I felt the warmth of your expression as a stab into my heart. You trust me and I have used your plight as a reason to stay miserable.
To my husband, David:
I've used you, too, to justify my unhappiness. We've certainly had our share of struggles, as everyone does, but lately you have made real steps forward and I have dragged my heels, and my burdens, as I slog through life.
To my son Kerry:
I have not given you the best of myself, not consistently. Not only have I burdened you with my worrisome nature, but I have set a bad example at times. My bitterness, my cattiness (I'll explain that later) and my generally morose self do not a sweet and loving mother make. I have talked big, and expected your best in school, in football, in life - and I have stumbled and most certainly not walked the walk, as they say.
To my friends:
I have allowed ugliness and the general unfairness of life (see above: those "bad things") to become a constant shadow over my spirit. I have not reached out in love, or recognized that my pain, while understandable, is not the only pain that exists. How shallow and nasty and hurtful I've been, assuming that no one cared. How blind I've been to the many small kindnesses over the years. I have cowered in my corner and turned my back on you, and there is simply no excusing it.
To my mother:
You have been a constant and real source of comfort to me over the years, in more ways than I can count. But I'm afraid you also enabled me to continue feeling sorry for myself by being a willing participant in my regular pity parties. For all the love you have, you also have a problem with self-confidence and esteem...and so do I - what a pair we make, mutually enabling each other to continue to use these things as crutches, and going in circles, never moving forward.
To the people I encounter during the workday:
This one, this "letter," if you will, is really a tough one, and it sticks in my craw big-time. This particular group seems a clear-cut and logical beneficiary of my vitriol. There truly are "good" reasons to close myself off during a workday, to keep myself encased, to avoid all contact - I have not learned the art of appropriate boundaries, you see, and with me it seems to be that I either: a) bare my soul on an hourly basis, weeping over my pain and expecting you to comfort me or, b) stay closed and cold and suspicious, certain that everyone around me is plotting my doom. I'm starting to suspect that there's a middle ground...
To other people in general, at Wal-Mart, Target, the neighborhood pool or grocery store:
I can only imagine what my face must convey as I move among you on a daily basis. Do you feel the hate radiating from me? The sociopathic disgust? How dare you smile, be happy, be in love, have normal children, have plenty of money, be in shape, dress nicely and take pride in your appearance? Don't you know that you should all be in sackcloth and ashes, lamenting the dire straits of my existence? I have looked at you with envy and anger, because you've clearly appropriated MY life, and I want it back. You exercise, you care for yourself, you take time to fix your hair and present a pleasant face to the world...and I resent your confidence, your posture, your happiness. I have snarked and laughed sardonically at what I observe - "I can't BELIEVE she's WEARING that." I have refused to look inside you to the persons you are...the majority of you are people of value and good will and honesty. I have painted you all with a broad brush. I have used my own mean measuring stick and found you all to be sorely lacking.
How sad. How absolutely, incredibly sad that I have repeatedly looked outside myself, and made such shallow and ridiculous observations - often aloud, in front of an impressionable young son. I am ashamed. My face burns with the utter shame of using the people around me to further my own sad agenda. The victim of all those "bad things" can't be expected to be HAPPY, for God's sake! To smile? Come on. To look at the wealth of positive things that she has accomplished. To be the person she used to be...funny, witty, loving, compassionate, accepting of others' flaws, secure in the knowledge that every single person has them...
The fever of this humiliation burns so strongly.
You see, I have had problems with self-esteem for as long as I can remember. As a five year old, taking an entrance exam for a private school, I worried that I wasn't smart enough. At FIVE. I remember it. I remember the anxiety I felt, worried that I wouldn't measure up. My parents were told later that I made one of the highest scores the school had ever seen.
It didn't get better. Because of the unique shape of my eyes and the comments they elicited as I grew up, I began to realize that I didn't like being "different." I began to interpret comments remarking on my uniqueness as comments about my unfortunate and hideous ugliness. I never stood on my own, proud to be my own person, proud of who I was. I wanted to blend in, to be like everyone else, and I missed an amazing opportunity to forge a character to be proud of...and the irony of this is not lost on me as I try to teach my own son to stand on his own, to be proud of who he is, to never bow to the pressure to be just like everyone else. Again with the big talk, no walk.
Because I have lived most of the 38 years of my existence in a constant effort to do:
*What is expected.
*What is necessary.
*What is "normal."
*Whatever doesn't rock the boat.
I was so busy doing those that I forgot to do what I WANTED to do in the appropriate areas of life. I was accepted into an Honors English program as a freshman in college. I walked into the classroom on the first day (and it's etched in my brain: I wore khaki shorts, my one real Ralph Lauren polo, and, I kid you not, penny loafers) and sat down at a table with about 5 other smarty-pants freshmen...and I immediately decided I was in the wrong place. These people looked...different. They looked like they were comfortable in their own skins. The professor walked in and asked us to do an off-the-cuff essay...and I choked. I couldn't do it. I walked out, dropped the class, and went on to a "regular" English comp class, with "regular" students - and I excelled. I impressed my professors both terms with my writing. But the expectations were lower, so I was okay. Didn't want to stretch too far - that can be dangerous, because what if you make a mistake?
Everyone knows that the world very nearly comes to an end when I make a mistake. So, again, be warned.
So life continued on, as I exerted much effort, did really well with most of my classes, starting aiming toward a career in interior design - until I decided I didn't like the business aspect of that, and right about then, I met a young man. We worked together on campus and one day he took notice of me...we began to date and it was really a lot of fun. Right about this time, my school dissatisfaction was in high gear, and I changed my major to biology. Like David's. Because I thought that I should choose a career that MATTERED. You know, being smart and all, I should do something really snazzy. Like go to med school...
Oh, I could go on and on with how I tricked myself, how I truly believed I was following my heart - with the 20/20 vision of hindsight, I was only trying to impress everyone in my life and convince myself that I mattered.
And years and decades have raced by. I am a mother, a wife, an employee...all my "masks" for everyday life. Each them hides a tiny, pitiful soul who never learned to value her self, her soul, her unique spirit...that pathetically undernourished little thing cowers in a dark corner, its cries for attention echoing through the hard shell that wears the masks. That shell, layer upon layer, constructed over a lifetime...partly out of a need to develop a thicker skin, and yes, not to hinge all my self-worth on what others think...but its growth ramped up alarmingly and now, here I sit, trapped in this hardness of my own making.
If you've made it to this point, bless your heart. This manifesto, this "true confession" is heartbreakingly late, and carries tinges of adolescent angst - and coming from a 38 year old, that's kind of weird. But I have to start where I am, and this is it. Today I'm feeling the acute pain of having a mirror held up, and staring myself square in the eye...and oh dear, it hurts. It stings to start prying away a thin layer of the shell...I'm tentative and unsure. I hardly know where to begin.
I won't put the mirror down, though. As painful as it is, I must look at things, really look at them, and stop hiding behind the "bad things." I must accept that what I have done is grow so bitter, so cynical, so entrenched in negativity, that I couldn't even recognize the upward trends, the things that are good and true and noble.
Forgive me.
