The second entry of The Book of 2019. in The Book of 2019

Thoughts. Reminders. Truths. Knowledge already acquired. Remembering, Forgetting.
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Saying “Good enough.” and believing it.
Making the best of things.
Focusing on what I actually have and not focusing on what I don’t have.
Doing the best I can.
Being my Self.
Taking some credit.
Admitting my strength and resiliency and having the ability to “overcome” obstacles.
(My old therapist, Natalie, said to me one day, wide-eyed: “Susan! Look at what you’ve overcome!” and I was dumbstruck and incredulous. And highly irritated because just… fuck that word. Overcome! If I’ve overcome so much why do I want to die so badly, Natalie?)
There is only now.
This is all there is.
You only go around once.
Stop looking back, you’re not going that way.
Fear less.
Fearless.
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Less clenching and more grieving.
Less swallowing it (my throat feels like it’s literally closing over) and more crying.
Go ahead and cry, you’ll feel better.
Release.
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Moments of genuinely missing my mom (finally).
Her comments are scattered all over my FB memories.
She loved me and was very proud of me.
Just because someone didn’t love you the way you needed to be loved doesn’t mean they didn’t love you with everything they had.
And moments of missing Drew, too. I love them and I am very proud of them. I am trying to love them the way they need to be loved.
All three of us are made of the same blood and bone and stardust.
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Jake is at the rock-bottom of everything. They’ve been barely-hovering there for over a year. My heart is in permanent-lurch. If I believed in god, I’d be on my knees, praying, 24 hours a day.
pleasepleaseplease.
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A recent visit with Sean didn’t go so well. Granted, I was already in “the pit of despair” when he arrived. But he speaks in abstract theories and formulas. They turn into monologues - tangents of frustration that nobody can understand him - that he is miles ahead of everyone. He might be right. He’s scary-smart.
(And he’s a good egg, a decent person who wants to teach people his ideas and make a contribution. And he remembers that being humble brings more peace - which is something he learned in treatment and AA and NA and from Peter.)
But as the years go by, he sounds more and more… delusional. Maybe he’s actually not that smart. Maybe he isn’t miles ahead of everyone. Maybe he’s just crazy. I’ve often thought he might be schizophrenic but he doesn’t quite meet all the criteria.
Genius/madness.

When I look at my kids, I see them as toddlers, wearing adorable striped overalls, wobbling around, drunk on awe, vulnerable as tiny kittens.
But now they are adults with adult problems.
How can that be?!
In my mind’s eye, they are still just babies. This vision of their baby-ness never leaves me. I see them in my sleep.
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Me: “On a scale of one-to-ten - one being ‘perfectly fine’ and ten being ‘needs to be in a straightjacket’ - how do you think I’m doing?”
(Some days [many days] I can’t get a clear view of reality, so I rely on his version of it.)
Peter: “Maybe a four?”
Me: “Really?”
Peter: “Yes, really.”

And then, he takes care of me.
A major theme of my childhood is that I was never taken care of - I’ve felt invisble, forgotten, ignored, neglected, not worthy of love or affection or tenderness. And then, as an adult, that theme played itself out with Peter, too. For most of our relationship he was another child I had to take care of. I set my own needs aside so that he’d be okay. I’ve always been the caretaker, never the taken-care-of.
But now. He’s attentive and tender and friendly and kind and loving and complimentary and funny and encouraging and unselfish and, and, and, and, and. He’s here. He’s present. He finally showed up for me. We’ve been together for 32 years. I still have regular episodes of feeling an astonishing ambivalence toward him because I sustained a lot of damage in our relationship. But I also get teary-eyed when I think of us - what we’ve been through together, what we’ve survived, what we’ve shared. He’s been my whole life. He’s never stopped loving me. Not even once. Things are so much different now.
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Life grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Many things are beyond my control.
Admitting I am powerless is not defeat, it’s a relief.
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Okay.
It’s grey and gloomy and miserably cold but we’re going out anyway. I think we’ll walk up to the The 1976 Olympic Park.

Last updated November 18, 2019