Boundaries

I don't understand why it's so difficult for people, ok families, to understand what it means to have boundaries. I've been going through a lot lately, and trying to learn what makes me happy and who makes me happy is harder than I thought. I have narrowed the field somewhat, and for the most part distanced myself from my dad, who I blame for many of my deep-rooted issues. He has heard my request and complied to some degree, and not called me. He has continued to email me, and even though not as frequently, he still does. I changed my email and wound up giving it to him since he promised to behave. I specifically asked him not to mention my son and his problems because I am the parent. His father and I have it under control to the best of our abilities. This evening he sent me an email again including his 'best wishes' for my son, and then dropping in some information about my looking for low cost housing I had only discussed with my mother and brother. My mother denies having talked to him about it, which leaves my brother. I became enraged that my plans had been discussed and consider it a breach of trust. I hadn't asked my brother specifically NOT to tell my dad, but I expected him to just get it. I told my mother I would no longer be sharing my plans with my brother if he was going to discuss it with my dad. If he doesn't have the information to give, he doesn't have to feel like he's withholding anything if asked. My mother could not understand why this was bothering me so much. She went on and on tell me that it's only natural for family that is concerned to want to know what's going on because they're worried about me. I didn't expect her to understand where I was coming from and I told her that. She was looking at me with 'that' look that I can't stand, one of frustration and pity. I told her I was getting up and walking away because I did not wish to discuss this anymore. I was not going to be able to make her understand my position or feelings, nor was I going to be able to understand hers. I came into my room, sat down on my toddler bed and began to write while listening to my 'rain' music.

On a happier note, I had a lovely lunch with a fantabulous man. He's adorable, big brown eyes, a little squishy like I am, but very masculine. We ate and talked for over an hour, kissed in the parking lot, and made plans to see each other this weekend. The hardest thing for me with regards to men and dating has been using restraint and luring them in, rather than pouncing and dragging them into my chick cave, (which doesn't actually exist at this moment.) I've allowed him to call or text me, not the other way around. And it's worked! I think I may have learned something about myself after all. And that ultimately makes me happy.

Depression

I've recently been diagnosed with Depression. Although it really didn't take me off guard, it was a bit scary to hear it coming from a doctor's mouth. There is still such a stigma about any kind of mental disorder. What I found in 1 day of group therapy, was that there are tons of people with this issue. I learned that it is a disease just like diabetes or alcoholism. It needs treatment with medication and therapy to manage. I was a bit skeptical about the group therapy scene. I have enough problems let alone sit an listen to other whackjobs babble about theirs. But on the contrary, I found it fascinating and interesting listening to other people. I also found that I actually could see a similarity between one of the people talking and my son. It was like listening to her was like listening to my son. I could see 'his' perspective manifesting through her. Seeing people nodding in approval and acceptance while I was talking was also wonderful. I'll be going for the next 3 weeks and I'm interested to see how things progress. The scary unknown part of what lies ahead is still there, but I already feel stronger and more empowered to be able to make decisions that are good for me. That's huge.

My mother approached me with an empty Frosted Flakes box the other day 37 minutes after I woke up. "You should fold the empty cereal box in half and smooth it down before putting it into the trash can. That way it takes up less space and I won't have to empty the trash as often." I stared blankly at her. "Are you listening to me? Do you know what I'm talking about?" Sure. I'll go one step further and remove the wax bag inside the box, too. That must take up some room, right? Oh, and I am to remember to put the lid down on the toilet before flushing so the germs don't leap up and my toothbrush across the room. This task I think I've mastered by flushing while still sitting on the toilet. At least the germs can go back where they came from this way. Go to the light, little germs...er, or is it go to the dark...I don't know.

Are they my mother's rules or idiosyncrasies? I don't know. Maybe they're a combination of both. All I know is that living back at home at 42 is much different than living at home at 12. Were these odd practices always in place and I just to young to notice? I do remember being able to lay on the couch for hours, even sleep on it watching the entire Saturday morning line-up of Bugs Bunny and Zoom, yet now, sleeping on the couch is not allowed as it will leave an indentation on the cushion. Maybe that last one is due to my body mass increasing or something.

Maybe I should try to learn from this instead of be bothered by every request. The question is, what exactly is it I should be trying to learn? That is yet to be determined.