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How do you know when parents shouldn't be...
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<blockquote data-quote="ShakespeareMamaX" data-source="post: 71502" data-attributes="member: 3861"><p>My mom called today.</p><p></p><p>Weird, huh?</p><p></p><p>I'm not sure of a lot she said...I couldn't focus on her words. </p><p></p><p>I've sat...and read...and sobbed like a #@!%ing baby. I believe you. I believe all of you... I don't want to. God...GOD, I don't want to. </p><p></p><p>I don't even know what to say. I hurt so bad. They hurt me so bad. I can't even imagine letting go. I can't! It's impossible! I....</p><p></p><p>My husband's parents are the best set of parents I have ever met. As much of a sin as it is, I envy that entire family for the love they share, the lengths they go to...the encouraging words, the extended arms, the unforgotten birthdays, the love the love THE LOVE. The perfection of it all!</p><p></p><p>God! Why can't I just appreciate it?! It's here for me. I embrace it, but still compare. Still wish, hope, still....it's still not good enough because they're not mine. They're not the people who were "supposed" to act this way. </p><p></p><p>You know what really throws a rusty dagger into my heart? When my parents came to my house that one time to see my daughter. I was ripping things from shelves, walls, boxes. Things that I had made. See...I have a knack for drawing...a pretty good one, I suppose. I handed my dad a picture of Angelina Jolie I had drawn. He was completely floored with the expression, "Wow! You did THAT?!" God, it was the only time I actually felt like I meant something....like I may have made him proud. I WAS proud... It sticks... It's like I added a few more bricks to the surrounding wall holding the "family" captive. A few steps back, I guess. And it echoes...echoes...echoes...</p><p></p><p>I'm in therapy. I've been in therapy since I was 15. Unfortunately, for years, I was treated like <em>I</em> was the one that had all the issues and <em>I</em> needed to figure out a way to live with my family and not grab a razor or pills everytime a fight broke out. </p><p></p><p>I just addressed this issue with my therapist a week ago. Yesterday, he told me to write the letter and we'd go over it. </p><p>A (62 y/o) woman at work suggested I make a video letter so maybe they can see my emotion and have the chance for my dad to see it (if it's pure paper, in the mail, my mom would probably hide it). </p><p></p><p>I need to know why. It's probably a pointless journey, but...I have to ask them. I have to ask why. Any answer is acceptable, as long as it's the true one. </p><p></p><p>I've calmed down a lot since the beginning of this post... *sigh*</p><p></p><p>Ya know...in a way...this almost seems like I'm preparing to deal with a death (or two). I guess that's kind of what it is when you cut something out of your life completely. </p><p></p><p>I can't do cordial... It's just not in me. It's all or nothing.</p><p></p><p>I'll keep you updated on my therapy. Thanks, guys.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ShakespeareMamaX, post: 71502, member: 3861"] My mom called today. Weird, huh? I'm not sure of a lot she said...I couldn't focus on her words. I've sat...and read...and sobbed like a #@!%ing baby. I believe you. I believe all of you... I don't want to. God...GOD, I don't want to. I don't even know what to say. I hurt so bad. They hurt me so bad. I can't even imagine letting go. I can't! It's impossible! I.... My husband's parents are the best set of parents I have ever met. As much of a sin as it is, I envy that entire family for the love they share, the lengths they go to...the encouraging words, the extended arms, the unforgotten birthdays, the love the love THE LOVE. The perfection of it all! God! Why can't I just appreciate it?! It's here for me. I embrace it, but still compare. Still wish, hope, still....it's still not good enough because they're not mine. They're not the people who were "supposed" to act this way. You know what really throws a rusty dagger into my heart? When my parents came to my house that one time to see my daughter. I was ripping things from shelves, walls, boxes. Things that I had made. See...I have a knack for drawing...a pretty good one, I suppose. I handed my dad a picture of Angelina Jolie I had drawn. He was completely floored with the expression, "Wow! You did THAT?!" God, it was the only time I actually felt like I meant something....like I may have made him proud. I WAS proud... It sticks... It's like I added a few more bricks to the surrounding wall holding the "family" captive. A few steps back, I guess. And it echoes...echoes...echoes... I'm in therapy. I've been in therapy since I was 15. Unfortunately, for years, I was treated like [i]I[/i] was the one that had all the issues and [i]I[/i] needed to figure out a way to live with my family and not grab a razor or pills everytime a fight broke out. I just addressed this issue with my therapist a week ago. Yesterday, he told me to write the letter and we'd go over it. A (62 y/o) woman at work suggested I make a video letter so maybe they can see my emotion and have the chance for my dad to see it (if it's pure paper, in the mail, my mom would probably hide it). I need to know why. It's probably a pointless journey, but...I have to ask them. I have to ask why. Any answer is acceptable, as long as it's the true one. I've calmed down a lot since the beginning of this post... *sigh* Ya know...in a way...this almost seems like I'm preparing to deal with a death (or two). I guess that's kind of what it is when you cut something out of your life completely. I can't do cordial... It's just not in me. It's all or nothing. I'll keep you updated on my therapy. Thanks, guys. [/QUOTE]
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