I can’t cry.

I can’t sob.

I can’t scream.

I can’t just keep slamming myself in the head, no mater how hard that is to resist.

My father was “finally coming out of denial” as a solution to the pain in his hip, as he told his pastor yesterday.

But what he couldn’t do was de-stress himself enough to keep his blood pressure down.

He can get it down when he relaxes enough, but that’s hard for him.

So today, after a month of intense preparations for hip joint replacement surgery, he blew over 200.

Surgery cancelled.

And my mother is upset — it’s all about her, always — and he is upset, and I am upset.

But all I can do is get them back to the elevator, get blamed for bad directions, get them in and out of the store with the deli, get bruised and battered.

I made a big party yesterday  I had to transport it to my sister’s house, and then make everything happen instantly, with a grill I don’t know, a fire made by tyros, just amazing work.

My mother made a comment about one of her friend’s sons being a bit of a dweeb in the past, eating bad stuff.  I agreed.  I then got a lecture about how he was doing well for himself, a good smart wife, a house, nice kids, everything a mother could want he gave his mother.

The implicit statement?  I failed.

I agreed he did well, better than me.

I couldn’t cry.

I couldn’t sob.

I couldn’t scream.

I couldn’t just keep slamming myself in the head, no mater how hard that is to resist.

This was a nice party, and I had to keep things nice for my father, down to being up in the middle of the night to do laundry as part of his disinfection procedures.

I had to stay denied.

My father wants to think that he can leave denial, but of course, he cannot.

Too much to stay denied, past the hip.

Starting with the woman he carried on his hips for all these years.

I need to stop this before my own head explodes.

I’m way too sick to keep standing.

I know how hard this makes everything, harder and harder.  I thought that the wave would break one way or the other today.

But instead, it just keeps intensifying.

And I cannot handle it anymore.

I’ll ask my sister if she wants to get someone in to do this job.

And then I go.


Ms. Ruby notes that I don’t fight for my own boundaries.

Instead, I treat the boundaries of other people as I would want them to treat my boundaries, with respect and grace.

Somehow though, for most people, the Golden Rule doesn’t overcome the comfort of their boundaries like it does mine.

I think there are two reasons I don’t fight.

The first is that I don’t trust the appropriateness of my boundary setting.  Those of us who were abused into serving someone else’s narcissism have that problem.  Add to that the queerness of my nature, shamed  & stigmatized in culture, and it sets me in doubt.  Do I have the right to challenge others by exposing my nature in public, or are they right that it’s something that must remain submurged?

The second is a respect for others boundaries as I would want mine to be respected.  I don’t do that just out of good, I also do that out of bad.  I spent years with my defenses being manipulation of others, trying to get what I needed, trying to get what I wanted by the force of my mind.

I learned that I had to give that up, that it was bad for them and bad for me, counterproductive and sabotaging true healing.

I was a good manipulative asshole.  But it was bad.

Miz Ruby is right.  I don’t enforce boundaries well.

But that’s something I learned to do.

Child Of My Parents

We got my father a new blood pressure tester, as in the last week, his BP has threatened the hip replacement surgery scheduled for tomorrow at 4PM.

Between my diabetes and my high blood pressure, I am definitely the child of my parents.

Even if my mother, discussing her diabetes and genetics factors with her doctor last week, said that the diabetes was on her husband’s side of the family.