Next week I’m going to a short holiday with S and M. The less there’s days left to count, the bigger my level of anxiety gets. I think, it’s because of M. When I spend time with her or even talk to her on the phone, my Father comes along with it. Now I’m freaking leaving to a trip with this person! Obviously I continue to hang on to the stupid hope, that my children would still have their grandma. The sad thing is, it’s really killing me.
As I wrote earlier in March, I minimized Lexapro doze rapidly and from that on I’ve managed to be without it. It would be great if I wouldn’t have to feel anxiety anymore but I guess I just have to suck it up. Every day I get myself caught thinking, wish I wouldn’t have to go… I would gladly have a vacation with S, but S only. The odd thing is, if we ever even think about it, M calls and simply envites herself to come along with us. Is she afraid, that I might tell S something about her old gossips?
My parents are like cancer. What would be the best chemo to delete them? My trust for them is totally gone. M suggested, that she’ll bring her old laptop with her so that my Husband could “fix” it. M said, she wants to save our old holiday pictures back from 2009, because: “It’s a shame, that I can’t see them – we have to save them somehow!” In the eye of the blink I said, of course, bring your laptop over. But soon after that I started to feel humongous anxiety. Those pics have F all over them. What the hell M was thinking even asking me something like that? She really doesn’t want to see that I’m broken. She cares only about herself.
I told S, that the freaking laptop is making me crazy. It was confidential conversation – or at least it was to me. Anyway S told M about it, and now I feel abused.
I’m so afraid.
I’m afraid that my Mother, my own Mother, will taunt me and hurt me in every way she can every freaking day we are on this holiday. I’m afraid, that when M comes here, she will talk about F and this and that and totally miss and diss my feelings and anxiety. I’ve begin to wonder, should I after all tell her about my earliest memories… Maybe the biggest one, where F grabs my four-year-old hand and puts it over his erection and sighes arousedly: Ooooh…! Would that make any difference?
Let me think.
No. No, it wouldn’t.