Baby sis
Tess admitted to me that she is using again.
I told her I knew when I called her the other day that she was high, but I chose not to say anything.
I can't condemn her for it. She's self-abusive, but so am I...we just do it differently. I just wish she'd choose a way that had fewer repercussions. Her son is 12 now, he knows what is going on. She told me she sat him down and talked with him about it, she isn't hiding it, but it still pains her to know that her son must feel the same way about her that she felt about our parents when they were 'using.'
She talked about all the reasons she has to find her center again, to get and stay sober. So many blessings, including three I've always known I would never have: An adoring husband and two children.
"Do you still see yourself alone when you are 50?" she asked me.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself 10 or 15 years from now. I imagined solitude, yes, but shared. I imagined being whole, and loving, and being loved. "Maybe not," I answered.
She asked how therapy was going, and I told her that between my therapist and my friends, I am coming along. We discussed the characteristics we have in common, the obsessiveness with details, our aversion to chaos and asymmetry, perfectionism, emotional withholding/unavailability, reluctance to have expectations of others or trust in them, and our shared tendancy to lock ourselves in a room and shut out the world. The Need For Downtime.
She mentioned that a huge source of stress for her is maintaining contact with Dad because of her son. Dad is almost obsessed with him, and calls quite often. After he attacked both her and Tamar within 18 months of each other, she wanted to just waste him from her life, like Tammy did, and call herself an orphan. But she can't. She makes excuses instead, About how he is not well, he's on all that pain medication, he still uses occasionally, etc.
Unfortunately, talking to her reminded me of the bad dreams I had last Monday, when I started coming down ill. The last one jolted me right out of bed...the one about Dad. For some reason, I dreamed he had attacked all three of us. Everyone was screaming and I got angry. Dad yanked on one of us and the others stepped in and he fell down, pulling Tam and Tess with him, still hitting them. I tried to get in there to separate them, but legs and arms were flying, and I knew if I got too close I would get sucked into it. So, I stood over them, shaking with rage, and tried to calm down. When I made up my mind what to do I went cold. I made myself breathe, and then I spoke as calmly as I could, which was difficult because I had to raise my voice to be heard over my sisters' screams. I said, "Stop right now, or I will make you regret the day I was born!" I said it three times, each time louder than the other, and when he did not release them after the third time, I leaned down and punched him in the groin as hard as I could. I woke up immediately afterwards, my legs swinging over the side of the bed, and my heart pounding. That was a very bad dream.
I told her I knew when I called her the other day that she was high, but I chose not to say anything.
I can't condemn her for it. She's self-abusive, but so am I...we just do it differently. I just wish she'd choose a way that had fewer repercussions. Her son is 12 now, he knows what is going on. She told me she sat him down and talked with him about it, she isn't hiding it, but it still pains her to know that her son must feel the same way about her that she felt about our parents when they were 'using.'
She talked about all the reasons she has to find her center again, to get and stay sober. So many blessings, including three I've always known I would never have: An adoring husband and two children.
"Do you still see yourself alone when you are 50?" she asked me.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself 10 or 15 years from now. I imagined solitude, yes, but shared. I imagined being whole, and loving, and being loved. "Maybe not," I answered.
She asked how therapy was going, and I told her that between my therapist and my friends, I am coming along. We discussed the characteristics we have in common, the obsessiveness with details, our aversion to chaos and asymmetry, perfectionism, emotional withholding/unavailability, reluctance to have expectations of others or trust in them, and our shared tendancy to lock ourselves in a room and shut out the world. The Need For Downtime.
She mentioned that a huge source of stress for her is maintaining contact with Dad because of her son. Dad is almost obsessed with him, and calls quite often. After he attacked both her and Tamar within 18 months of each other, she wanted to just waste him from her life, like Tammy did, and call herself an orphan. But she can't. She makes excuses instead, About how he is not well, he's on all that pain medication, he still uses occasionally, etc.
Unfortunately, talking to her reminded me of the bad dreams I had last Monday, when I started coming down ill. The last one jolted me right out of bed...the one about Dad. For some reason, I dreamed he had attacked all three of us. Everyone was screaming and I got angry. Dad yanked on one of us and the others stepped in and he fell down, pulling Tam and Tess with him, still hitting them. I tried to get in there to separate them, but legs and arms were flying, and I knew if I got too close I would get sucked into it. So, I stood over them, shaking with rage, and tried to calm down. When I made up my mind what to do I went cold. I made myself breathe, and then I spoke as calmly as I could, which was difficult because I had to raise my voice to be heard over my sisters' screams. I said, "Stop right now, or I will make you regret the day I was born!" I said it three times, each time louder than the other, and when he did not release them after the third time, I leaned down and punched him in the groin as hard as I could. I woke up immediately afterwards, my legs swinging over the side of the bed, and my heart pounding. That was a very bad dream.
posted by KR | 1/26/2005 11:09:00 PM
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