I’m trying to work around my mother in her pit (the living room) and she is on the phone with my brother saying no one is working to decorate here.
Yeah. No encouragement, just passive aggressive shit. No participation in her own pleasure, just disappointment that no one makes her happy.
I come downstairs feeling slapped. I tell my father, demonstrating with slaps to my head.
He tells me that I shouldn’t be upset about that I can’t control. After all, he says, I have my own hang-ups too.
I laugh, slap myself more and explain the paradox. I can’t control her, and I can’t control what they want me to control in me — more compartmentalization is needed, my mother once told me — but I still get slapped for it, because I should make things happen, even when those things are out of my control.
Yeah. It’s out of my control, but within my obligation, so I still stand to be punished for that which is out of my control.
And he, with his Aspeberger’s like behaviors, well, he is out of my control too. Ambiguity confuses him, he has no real empathy, just tries to understand thinking with the assumptions that others think like he would, and is generally in his own world. No wonder I learned that emotions would never cut it.
Excellent crap, eh?