katekat: (emotion-bruised)
[personal profile] katekat
It's not as if she slurs. You'd think those slips of tongue would be the obvious signs. Those tell tales would be the ones that tip her hand. But she doesn't slur, and so that's not what tells me. It's some other sense, some daughter-bond that isn't ever supposed to be activated. Some painful awareness that tells me she's just a little too mercurial.

There was a reason I stopped calling at night. I'd just forgotten it. A reason I moved further away, let bonds of love hang loosely.

It twists my gut with anger, that bastard form of fear. Because I know the multitude of reasons. I've proffered the excuses, the forgive and forget reasons why. But ultimately no excuse is excuse enough to make my heart slow down, to keep my voice steady, to make it all alright.

She conflates me with herself, and I shudder at the vehemence in my voice, when I try to remind her that I am not her other self, not her second half, not her ... not her. I know I'm breaking something when I do that. When I draw her up short with my own certainty. It's guilt and shame and fear combined that makes me do it, and a desperate longing to be different, to be other, to be my own.

She calls me a writer and 'I'm a critic' is what I return. How can the fundamental me be so obvious and so obscured to her? The great American novel will never be mine. I'll never seek to wrest the great American soul into some definable shape, with words and wilted longings. It's not her domain either, but she thinks it is. How can she forget that what I love is the subtle weaving, the theory and practice, the walk on a tightrope between scorn and wonder? That's me.

And I set the phone down, the call made, the pit of my stomach churning, and wonder, who is she?

Date: 2005-04-10 06:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] psychoadept.livejournal.com
*hugs* That doesn't sound like fun at all. Lovely post, though...

Date: 2005-04-10 06:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] psychoadept.livejournal.com
Yeah, I know that feeling. I think it's working, though, at least for you.

Date: 2005-04-10 06:11 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] psychoadept.livejournal.com
I know. I didn't really mean internally, 'cause only you can judge that. But I know from experience how much it can help just to say something.

Date: 2005-04-10 06:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] phendog.livejournal.com
Powerful stuff. Dare I ask?

Date: 2005-04-10 03:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] psychoadept.livejournal.com
Why did I think you have a sister?

Date: 2005-04-10 05:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] malnpudl.livejournal.com
Oh, ouch.

Gorgeous, powerful writing, though.

Art from pain... but yeah, still with the pain, eh?

Date: 2005-04-10 07:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] beadattitude.livejournal.com
I don't know what's worse - phone calls like these, or good phone calls that make you forget the bad phone calls and then a bad phone call. ::hugs you::

I'm sorry. Your post was beautiful, though.

I'm sorry, Kate

Date: 2005-04-10 08:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gray-ghost.livejournal.com
Parents can be hell, sometimes =( I still haven't figured out who my parents are. Sometimes I think I'm adopted.

You're nothing like your mom though. Not that your mom isn't wonderful when she's not drinking, but the two of you are nothing a like.

Date: 2005-04-11 12:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dara-starscream.livejournal.com
And you dont' know if loving her makes it better or worse.

(hugs you)

Why is it nice normal emotionally healthy families seem to be exceptions rather than rules? And if they are exceptions, why do we consider them "normal"?

(pets your hair)
-BJ

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