Frustration

My mom and I had a fairly long, disjointed phone conversation last night. It started with "so we need to start planning your wedding, Melissa..." and migrated, as it often does, into talking about my brother and my father, in no particular or linear order. I feel like we always talk in circles, and that I repeat myself almost every conversation in hopes that sooner or later, my mom will actually listen to what I'm saying and maybe even accept that yes, I do, in fact, feel very strongly about a few things. And that no, she doesn't necessarily know me that well (and that I don't want to tell her things sometimes).

The good news on her end is that she's found a new man, named George, who seems to be (in all true senses of the word) a fantastic guy. He's a strong family man who loves his kids, loves animals, and shares my mom's love of life. He's moving to Pennsylvania in a couple of months (not in with her... but to the area. She met him via her real estate work), but until then it's a long-distance thing.

I'm happy for her. I liked Jim, but the two of them were so different. At the end the whole on-again off-again thing was maddening. Jim has thankfully found a woman much like him-- into motorcycles, into deer hunting, etc. Mom's happy for him, and I am too.

So in that department, I'm happy. Mom's happy. It's a good thing.

My dad on the other hand, well...

Those who have read my journal for the past three years or more know some of the very bad recent history with my dad. To sum up for newer readers... he and I had a huge falling out at Christmas in '03. I went home, had a very nasty time that culminated in a horrifying dinner the last night I was there, the only time I had any opportunity to be with my dad one-on-one during the visit, in which my dad spent the entire dinner laying out every single way I suck at life. All things that could possibly be argued were valid about me as a senior in high school, but half of them were so far in the past and over and done with that I couldn't even fathom how to respond to it (i.e. nearly converting to Mormonism when I was in high school... for my boyfriend at the time).

The next day, I stewed on the plane-- all fucking eight hours from Billings to Providence, plus the hour drive back to Boston.

Three months later, I wrote him a letter. A five-page, single-spaced typed letter, discussing everything I've had to say to him since I left for college at eighteen. All of the shit I'd held in.

Cathartic? Yes. Needed to be done? Yes. Good for our relationship? . . .

Fuck all.

My dad and I have perhaps spoken a half-dozen times since I wrote that letter. I might be generous with that amount, actually. The conversations are strained, barely scraping past the surface and generally settle on the Red Sox or the Philadelphia Eagles or the New England Patriots or some other thing football. We've grown apart. And I have to be honest-- I'm wary and not all that excited to to bridge that gap anytime soon. He's shown no interest in knowing me as I am now. And for the most part, I like who I am now. I'm not about to go expose that to someone who's only going to rip it apart and tell me how much I suck at life.

I may appear strong... but this whole new self-esteem thing is still not quite stable. It wouldn't take much to crack.

In the meantime, my mom and I talk nearly every week. We rarely go more than a couple without at least a quick little "hi, how are things?" conversation on the phone. And every conversation she'll tell me that I really need to talk to my dad, and how we need to patch things up.

Two months ago, that suggestion began disappearing from our chats. She's had some contact with my dad recently, partly due to the wedding planning and partly due to my brother, and she's starting to see how annoyingly avoidant and disconnected my dad has become. He has no interest in knowing me as a person now. Why should I push forward to make any sort of an effort?

Last night I pointed out that the only reason I even was discussing him as because of the wedding. I have no interest in trudging back down that road again with him, only to be left stewing for another eight hours of flight between Montana and Rhode Island, allowing my already too short temper to get the best of me.

And on the other end of the bad news... my brother's taken another downturn, and it's hurting my mom to no end. I understand why, but it's one of the things that I just get myself to deal with. And that pisses me off. I've focused so much of my emotions to work through the shit with my father over the past few years, I haven't gotten through all of the history with my brother. It's shoved in some mental filing cabinet in my brain labeled "deal with this shit later."

I don't talk about my brother much in my journal. We're not that close, and that is my fault. I've purposely put a lot of emotional distance between us. A lot of it has to do with our relationship when we were growing up, and my celebration when I went to college and no longer had to deal with him one-on-one every day.

My brother's bipolar. And recently, he decided - as he does - that he's doing better and no longer needs his meds.

So he stopped taking them entirely.

Again.

And now he's cycling.

He was doing so fucking well, too. Getting his life in order, out looking for a job, getting rid of girlfriends who are using him for god-knows-what while he's on a turn towards mania.

I can't wrap my head around how he can be 28 and not holding down a job. He seems to be out of work every six months or so. Either he's fired or a company closes, or he left because he didn't like it... etc. He's not getting the idea that you suck it up and deal with getting any job so you can pay the bills. He doesn't want to move closer to my mom, but he's running back to her via the phone, wishing she were there just to give him a big hug. And whether intended or not, I hear that tone in my mom's voice that suggests that I need to patch things up with him. That I should be helping with him. But how the hell do I do that?

When it comes to my brother, I just freeze. I'm too scared to approach the big ball of chaos that is my manic-depressive sibling. I intentionally seek out calm things in my life. I detach. I try to avoid making ripples in life if I can help it. I probably started doing this as Scott started cycling as a child. My brother doesn't just make ripples in life. He jumps in and makes cannonball waves. Big fucking ones that make me seasick.

And currently, my stomach is lurching.