I’ve been dreading people asking me what I’m doing for Thanksgiving this year because I didn’t do anything or see anyone.  I did a pretty good job of emptying my Netflix queue, saw some crappy movies and a couple good ones.  I ran, but I’ll save that for my next post.

I fully intended to skip over the holiday completely and just talk about my week in running but there’ve been some rough days and I have this twisted need to spew it all.

First off, Thanksgiving week is the week my mother killed herself and this happens to be the 5-year anniversary.  It really fucks up the holidays, as you can imagine.  There are so many memories I could do without, like all of them.  Even the good ones are painful, but actually, because I have so much guilt at how our relationship evolved, I don’t even see the good ones. What I see are flashes of things that make me cringe, a strobe of unpleasantness.

I actually think of her as little as I can, which is really a shame because she had some amazing qualities but as her craziness became apparent (she wasn’t looney tunes, just paranoid schizo) I had a really hard time loving her.  I was angry from the first moment I witnessed her going “off” – I was probably around 20 and back home on vacation, we were in a grocery store and she was convinced someone was following her.

And while I never held back about her paranoid delusions – we talked freely about everything – she was no longer the same person to me and I struggled to be empathic.  Actually, I plain out failed.  If it was anyone else, I’d be understanding and kind but it was my mother and I couldn’t deal with it.

Now, I find myself adopting traits of hers.  The anti-social ones are worrisome (though I’m a party animal compared to her, so no major worries on that score) but even the innocuous things make me so sad because I wish to god I could apologize for having been so judgmental.  I just wanted her to be normal.

This week, I looked at all those great photos of feasts and togetherness on Facebook and I will tell you this straight up, I was not sad one bit for not having any of that.  But what does bother me and in a very deep way, is exactly that: the fact that I don’t want any of it, that I’d prefer to hide and be miserable alone than be among people, chitchatting and exchanging pleasantries.  I see my mother in me and I hate it.

Maybe I’m also having a delayed mid-life crisis.  I wish the simple things that make people happy would make me happy, too.  I love running and I love writing in this blog but that’s about it.  It’s like I’m waiting for something to happen only I’ve no clue what that could be.  Not to say I’m an unhappy person, I think I am a happy gal most of the time, but I guess this week being what it was, plus a little look in the mirror that reminded me I’m getting older…it’s a weird time.

Please, you sweeties, I’m posting this because it’s important to me to say, this blog is a chronicle, but here’s the deal: I don’t want to talk about it so please don’t send any emails or Facebook messages about this.  Also, Christmas is coming and I’m going to be spending it alone as well, but not in a depressed manner (no crappy memories for that holiday, I’m happy to say) so nobody feel inclined to invite me anywhere, it’ll just be awkward for me to say “thank you but no thank you”, which is what I’d do.

This is actually a relief to admit; now I don’t have to worry about hiding the fact later.  Funny how ashamed holidays can make a person.

Bottom line is I know I’m loved but for the most part, I’m glad to keep it at arms-length.  That’s weird and messed up and I hope it’s not always the case, but it is what it is.  Anyway, this was a strange post, huh?  I actually feel a lot better already.  Now the question is, will I press the Publish button?

Silly little blog.

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