I've been hit with a big dose of irrationality and crankiness today. It started this afternoon when my husband informed me that he hadn't bought my Christmas present yet. Considering that last year and this year he has managed to miss Mother's Day, my birthday and last Christmas... it settled in my heart the wrong way. I know that everyone is reading this now and thinking to themselves, "Really, you selfish cuntbag? Since when did that become what the holidays were about? Material things are nothing in the grand scheme of things." And you would be right. But even so, sometimes a girl (especially one with my condition) needs those stupid materials to feel like she is cared about. Throughout the year, I sacrifice a lot so that my husband and kids can have what they need (and want, most of the time.) I look longingly at the book section and gorgeous clearance dresses as I walk through to grab diapers and laundry detergent and hold off because I know that my birthday is coming, or Mother's Day is or Christmas and my family will go all out for me. So when that day comes and everyone else is opening up their gifts, the light on their faces shining brilliantly and I am sitting on the couch empty-handed, like a schmuck, it makes me feel like I am not even a part of my family. I'm just a bystander that is there to make everyone else happy. My wants and needs be damned.
I don't blame my children for this, they are seven, two and one and are not responsible for the happiness of their mother. Quite the opposite as a matter of fact. But when I had my first son, I went through a stage of mourning, knowing that as a single mother I wouldn't have that male figure in his life to urge him to make me a Mother's Day card or draw me a picture or pick me a flower... you know, teach him how to be a gentlemen and how to melt a woman's heart. Now that my husband is here and has taken over that role, I kind of expected him to direct our children to do these things. I expect it because I do that for him, so that he knows that we care for him and on his special days... we've gone out of our way to do something to make him feel like he is more special than we do the other 364 days of the year. (Or 362 if you count Father's Day and his birthday.) So occasionally, I want to be on the receiving end of this ordeal.
But that isn't all... the other major disappointment and frustration is that I hear in between the lines of what everyone says to me. Something trivial and meaningless to someone else is heard as a massive insult to me. Prime example is about tonight: I forgot one ingredient to make the Christmas Eve cookies. Brown sugar. It's nothing important but as everyone on the planet knows, stores are all closed on Christmas Eve so everyone can spend time with their families. I did find a few that were open until like 10 p.m. or even one that is open all night but they are further away from our house. Twenty minutes or so. I really wanted to make this special cookie for my husband... his grandmother has the recipe for the best damn oatmeal cookie this side of heaven. But again, stupid brown sugar. So I found a few stores that were open, meaning we could make a plethora of the divine treats. But my husband said, "I just want this to be easy. I want it to be about our family today and tomorrow and nothing else." Which sounds admirable to the normal human being. To me, it suggests that I DON'T want it to be about our family... that I am being a selfish, raging bitch. And the thing is, he is probably right. And all that makes me want to do, is put a gun in my mouth and pull the fucking trigger. I won't because ironically, I am terrified of guns and death. Instead, I will sit here, trying to mend my heart and fix my mind. That isn't how this works though. Borderline Personality Disorder isn't about rationality and everyone else's feelings... it's about what I want. And I fucking hate it to the umpth degree.
Just once, I want to be able to sidle through a fucking holiday without the stress and the emotional terrorism getting to me. I just want to enjoy wrapping my kid's presents and watching Almost Famous with my husband and making cookies and fudge with the ingredients we DO have. But that isn't how it works in Rachel's mind. Instead, I'm going to sit here, typing out my insanity until I feel like maybe I can survive another hour or two without committing suicide or self-mutilating. I'll try to convince the underdeveloped part of my emotional brain that brown sugar isn't the end all, be all of my existence. And I will try to convince myself that maybe I am worth more than gum on the bottom of someone's shoe. It probably won't work because the childlike emotional part of my brain is much more loud and convincing than the adult, rational part... but maybe, just maybe, by tomorrow morning when my children are opening their presents and my husband is opening his and I am sitting there eating cookies because that is all that I have going for me at the moment... I will feel a little bit better.
