Dismal and low. Why so dismal? I do kind of bob up into a better state between posts you know. And then I fall back into a dismal dark hole. Why didn’t I post when I was more normal? Who knows, who knows.
Today I worked at home, and again there’s not a lot to do. That should be a good thing. I can’t seem to make good things good somehow.
In the afternoon I went to the hospital to see my mother. My sister was there, unexpectedly. My mother’s doing better and today went for a walk around the corridors. She still drifts in and out quite a bit when she’s lying down. The body gives out, parts wear out, one feels helpless.
My mother was the first person I ever saw, most likely. She’s always been a remote, ironic sort of person. I don’t remember ever confiding in her about anything. It seemed best to keep everything to myself, that way I wouldn’t be rejected for being too much. She is being very brave and uncomplaining in this illness. Following instructions, trying hard. She’s always tried very hard.
My sister is a person whom I struggle with, though silently. Of all my family, she will not talk to me at all. It’s always as if we’d just met a few minutes ago, and chat about the surroundings must be found to ease the social situation. As young children, we grew up like twins. At one point, when my sister was learning to talk, my mother said, I was the only one who could understand what my sister was saying, so I would translate for everyone else. We played together all the time, as we are almost the same age. We were in the same play fantasy world, being fine ladies drinking tea, nurses, saving people.
She runs an informal gardening business for friends and neighbours, and was on her way home from a new gardening job. She was carrying a backpack of tools, and had on her gardening boots.
I think she only talks to people who are intellectuals. You have to have a certain tone, the right kind of jokes, and be passionate about some intellectual topic, in order for her to talk to you. Or something. Or she just doesn’t like me. If I think of my friends, they will all talk in an ordinary way. They will say what’s on their minds. If they have a difficulty, they tend to launch into it without much prompting. I value that, when people will talk to me.
My sister will never do that. She will talk on topics, or make ‘in’ jokes. She will not trust people with her true feelings or problems. Maybe she talks to her boyfriend, who knows. Or to people she respects. Not me.
Seeing her, I’m always trying not to be rejected. I stay calm and unemotional at all costs. Don’t say anything threatening. Don’t refer to making a living. It hurts to be so cautious. And it doesn’t really pay off. We just make polite conversation, and I still feel that I’m too much, too apt to be emotional, rough, common, saying stupid things. She won’t talk to me. If I’m ever impatient, she will withdraw completely.
Kind of like my mother I suppose, but my mother doesn’t reject me in the same blanket way. My mother will tell me a few things, news, how relatives are doing. It’s my mother’s personality to be that way. With my sister, it feels more personal, more that it’s directed at me. And I’m not sure what I’ve actually done.
We leave after an hour with my mother, as she’s fallen asleep. Off to the subway, me still trying hard to be an acceptable person for my sister.
At home I’m a little dissociated I guess. I wanted to have supper and go down for a walk in the park, but instead I lie down. I read, then I fall asleep. When I wake up, I’m lower than low. That’s my pattern. Dissociate, need to lie down, when I wake up I feel so bad, then hours struggling to get back.
I was thinking this is my chance to work out what happens when I see my family, to notice how I feel. I get anxious for sure. But seeing my sister just does me in. We were so close as kids, and now, she’s worse than a stranger, almost an enemy. It’s sad.
Art: Fractal Bargain Bin, Chrome Dragon