currently:

*listening to Wolfsheim Spectators*

I got a call from my mother earlier this evening. First thought: "Oh, gods, please tell me she's not calling from a psych ward because she's been committed again."

Nope, she's just breaking down. She's depressed as hell. She offered to give me her dog. She said she just doesn't care about anything anymore. I honestly don't know what I should think. Yes, I am worried about her. I'm fully aware that she's a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Hell, she's missing the picnic basket. And some part of me wishes I could help her in some way. But the product of such a woman, the daughter of a clinical depression patient isn't exactly the right person for the job. I see everything that is wrong with her, and I can converse about it with her to a point only because I am gifted with insight of people's hearts and minds. But this is not enough to solve her issues. And there's far too much tension in my own heart and mind to fully communicate with her. Psychological influence on perception, I believe, is what they call that.

I'm just afraid that she's going to begin depending on me because she has no one else. Her symbiotic psychosis shared with my brother has obviously worsened her condition. In her mind, I think she knows that my sister and I hold some resentment toward her for not being a mother to us. Or maybe she doesn't. She's paranoid nearly to the definition of schizophrenic. Everything is about her and everyone else is to blame for her problems. She thinks everyone is out to get her.

I fear that if she doesn't get help, which she clearly needs, that she will continue to spiral downward and eventually do something to harm herself.

She showed up on my doorstep around 10pm. I just sat and talked with her and looked up stuff about psychosis on the internet for her.

She holds such a tight grip on my heart because she's my mother. And I see her in myself to a frightening degree. Except for that whole paranoid thing. If anything, I blame myself for stuff--even for things that are beyond my control.

Unlike my sister, I don't hold the past over our mother's head. I know it can't be changed, and I don't expect my mother to try to make up for it. The past is the past. It wasn't exactly Our Little House on the Prairie. It was rather shitty, in fact. It was a fat slice of the experiences-in-my-life pie that have made me who I am. And I'm adult enough to realize nothing about it can be changed.

Lost my train of thought.

I'm terrified of my mother because I'm still a child wanting to be loved, and I don't want to enter her delusional world just to find there's still no love there. I want that unconditional love you hear about on TV. I could get half of it from my father, but without realizing it, he gave me a failure complex when I was a kid. To this day, if he says anything insulting about my intelligence I start crying. Found that out a few months ago when he called me stupid (can't even remember why now). So, I feel he's obligated to love me instead of genuinely loving me. Even if that's not true, that's how I feel his love.

It's difficult growing up and feeling completely unwanted. But I have found ways to deal with it. My mother feels the same way but in different light. She thinks others want to hurt her.

I can almost see her being locked away again. Maybe, a few years down the road, I'll be in the adjacent padded room.

7:14 p.m.

currently: grr

*listening to Schiller, "Dream of You"*

I'm going to beat somebody's ass to a bloody pulp. Hmm. I was reading over my bank statement and there was a huge sum of money missing. I continued reading, and--lo and behold--there's a mysterious withdrawal..... of $1500. I rushed my ass down to the bank and said, rather hysterically, "What the fuck is this?" So, they're trying to find out. I have to go back tomorrow to see if the info has been returned. Either way, I want them to fix it or someone will find him/herself locked in the vault with a nest of wasps. Grrrrr. Could be fraud... grrrr... KILL KILL BLOOD!

Toni had a similar incident a few weeks ago. Someone used her ID to buy porn site passwords. >_<

Oi... $1500... GRAWWWL HULK SMASH!

*veins pop on forehead*

On another note, I thank you for your generous oral sex donations. You should know that I'm keeping a list, and I look forward to cashing in. I've scored 23 so far. Eheh.

Okay, so I have absolutely decided on my next tattoo. And I think I've chosen the establishment that gets to do the honors. Now, it's just a question of when. And who's going to take me? I get weak as a kitten when I lose even a little blood, so someone must escort me. (nope, I can't donate blood... low iron and blood sugar, which is really too bad since my city/state is in dire need of blood right now. They're having such a shortage that all elective surgeries have been cancelled. Suck.)

Well, kids, I'm going to go stress out about my bank situation. It's hard to think of anything else, and I'm a worry wart.

1:56 p.m.

currently: hey, bartender...

*listening to, well, nothing actually*

Mm. You lose too much these days if you stop to think.

In four years, you would think that we had changed. You would think that we're more intellectual, more experienced--and we are--but get us together again and it's the same song and dance. And it was good. Spilled a little alcohol into the mix...er... a lot of alcohol into the mix, and the night passed quickly; it was full of conversation and memories.

Got home around 3. Had some totally fuct up dreams. I some part of my brain, the party continued (and it ended up at my house, where a few of us crashed in my bed). In another part, I plucked a cyst out of my head. In another, I was chasing Zillah back into the house.

I woke up around 8am. Wasn't feeling hungover but extremely tired. So, I called into work (I'm evil, I can do that) and went back to sleep. Woke up again just a short while ago. For some reason, I was craving bacon and eggs (mmm healthy). Unfortunately, the fridge offered no eggs, so I'm cooking chicken strips. Just realized I haven't eaten since about this time yesterday ^___^ 'cept for a handful of tortilla chips last night. That explains why I got so slap happy drunk but not sloppy.

Good luck in Tennessee, Wolfy. I'll keep writing to you to check up on you. I am, of course, the mother Overlord (or Overlady?) of all my friends. So, if you scrape your knee (take it as a metaphor), just call me and I'll drive down with a band-aid.

My kids, *sniff* they've grown up so fast.