Reason to Fear

A few days ago, I wrote a post entitled A Life Without Fear wherein I blogged about what I would do if I had no fears. One of the "fears" read:

If I lived a life without fear... I would...Tell my Mom to stop talking to me about being in love with her love and actually do something about it. Then I would take my own advice.

The reason for this "fear" is coming clear now. See... as I mentioned in my post entitled Pet-Peeve-ish-ness, I shared this post regarding fear with my mother. I figured it was time to grow some balls, so I chose to not skip over the above "fear" regarding her. Damn. I am stupid. You would think 39 years of experience would teach me otherwise. And, actually, THAT is the problem. It has taught me.

I have learned that being honest with my mother most often lands me in the shitter. I have learned that for me to be honest, I have to walk on fucking eggshells with her. (Which I also wrote about in ummmmmmm... summer of 2006. Yeah... sorry, can't link you there. It was a Meditation, not a blog.) And, at any rate, I absolutely loathe the terminology "walking on eggshells" to start with and despise what it implies. Depending on which side you are on. If you are the shell, then it feels like someone has crushed you without any thought to your experience of the situation. If you are the person doing the walking, it implies that you are careless - or, more clearly, give a shit less - about another person's feelings. The entire situation of "eggshells" is just uncomfortable all the way around.

I have learned, after 39 years, that my mother is a great big eggshell. There are certain things you can never say or do around her. Ever. There are certain things you can say and do at certain times and it is perfectly okay. There are other times at which, if you do the same said things, you are likely to get your head blown off. Actually, no. There is no blowing off of heads. There is simply this venomous silence that eeks out of every pore until she is vibrating with it. She sits there, like a wall and does absolutely nothing, which is, in my opinion, more terrifying than if she had actually blown off my head.

Soooo... long story longer... I read the "fear" post to my mother. And, since then, I have been met with a wall. It is a so-not-subtle wall, at that. I keep calling her on it saying, "Mom, I am picking up on something that is in your mouth that you are not saying. Are you mad at me?" She responds with an icy, "If it is in my mouth and I am choosing to not let it out, then it probably is a good thing that it is not coming out."

Yeah. Whatever. Manipulation at the finest.

Last night, my aunt (her little sister) planned a spontaneous dinner for the three of us. We get to the restaurant to find that my aunt had already arrived. Her hair looked fabulous. I commented on it and felt my mother bristle beside me. I glanced at her and she wore that same facade of disgustedness she wears when my aunt compliments me. What's this??? No one can compliment anyone but her in her presence???? WTF!!!

Mom slid into the booth, sitting dead center so there was no room for either my aunt or me to join her. Fine. We sat together, she and I. Mom sat across from us evading every single question my aunt presented to her that even hinted at being anything personal. It was bizarre. Then my aunt turned to questions about my mother's love. The evasion got hostile at that point.

Finally, after an entire meal of this ridiculous behavior, I had had enough and I called her on it, "Mom! Your sister asked you a direct question. Answer her." See, Mom has this thing that whenever she is with her sister, it is all about her sister. Now I know why. Mom is difficult. She also has a story that no one asks her to do anything and, when someone does - like tonight - she gets bent out of shape because it is spontaneous.

Mom looked at me indirectly, in a most weird way that let me know I was getting the stink eye, but my aunt did not, and with this acidic tongue pronounced, "I refuse to talk about this because you don't want to hear me talk about this anymore."

I blew up. "Fuck! That is why..." and then I stopped. What did it matter?

My aunt, the whole time is saying, "What? What? I don't get what's going on. I don't understand what you two are talking about. Tell me."

Later, I explained the situation to my aunt. And the dinner became strangely quiet and uncomfortable from there on out. My mother sat there, never looking me in the face, avoiding direct conversations with me and, even on the drive back to her car, would not act like a grown up.

So, there is a reason to fear retribution from being honest with her. I feel angry about that. I have just decided that it is no longer a fear that is going to run my life. Fuck it.