my mood changed so abruptly tonight.
it was spurred by the pain in my shoulder and a short conversation with my dad. he accused me of yelling, of talking down to him. i was speaking loudly so he could hear me, slowly (perhaps a little too slowly) to better articulate my words so the conversation would have less repetition. the repeating, his repetition and my own, together it tries my patience, makes me lose my temper. and yes it may sound condescending but its not meant to be.
it's my own fault really I know it's best to not visit with him too late at night because he's not as coherent, not as awake. but the guilt of not checking in after two days, weekend days when perhaps I should be more mindful but in my own self-preservation i am not, propels me to knock on the door, to attempt a conversation over the closing scenes of Anna and the King of Siam, a 1946 classic starring Irene Dunn and Rex Harrison.
it is just after midnight, and i am having a spot of calming tea, sitting in quiet contemplation. i feel sad, a bit lost. i don't know where it came from this sudden burst of anxiety, and in the last few minutes a swirl of emotions has danced around, painting a pattern on the inside of my brain. i miss my mom, i miss being able to talk to my mom. after 13 years you would think that the reality of not being able to talk to her would appease any melancholic feeling, let me tell you before you get any hopes of peace that it never goes away, never ever. there are always going to be moments when the people in your life cannot offer the reassurance that a mother can, your mother could.
sometimes i think perhaps i have in some way not come to terms with her death, my rational mind does not agree, but my emotional mind is on the fence. there are some days i feel broken, stuck in the mud, in a place that my mom might pull me out of if she was here. of the men in my life (only two at the moment), my dad certainly doesn't, he doesn't pull or push, he just lets me be. my brother is the same, avoiding any kind of interference. i think i would prefer a little prodding, something to show that they cared about my well-being, my heart. (i have a glimpse of memory where maybe they tried but the approach, the choice of words, fell flat; they never tried again.)
around the holidays dad made a stray comment about not understanding the decisions i make, that they are not the decisions he would make--and before I could pursue the conversation he catches himself and pushes it away. my family (and many others from what i can gather) is very good at pushing things away, past the point of conversation, until the words are deflated, two dimensional, linear equations part of a larger tapestry of forgotten moments and dialogue. i've had to learn to let go, to not expect anything from anyone; the less you expect the less chance for disappointment. its the insurmountable disappointments that can shatter a person. and it takes a lifetime to get over that.
if it weren't for my second family, an enclave of close friends near and far, i think i would be lost, an island. my heart goes out to those people out there who have nothing, no one, who can't see tomorrow as a brighter day. that is depression. this is not that, this is just a moment of melancholy brought on by the pain in my shoulder. pain from pushing myself too hard in yoga class on Thursday, from forgetting that inversions are not something I can experiment lightly with, that they can trigger a debilitating migraine. i was lucky this time i thought, the pain is in my shoulder, the blade and depending on my movements shoots down my arm, up my neck, trickling down my back. progressing, just not in a good way.
to think that's how all this began, from taking a stance.