I haven’t posted anything here in just about a year. Last September was the last time I wrote anything; however, I’ve been going through some things that have made me feel like I might benefit from writing about them, so here I am. I’ll have to see if I can actually make a go of the whole writing thing over the long-term. In the past I’ve only been able to keep it up for a couple of weeks or a month at the most. Maybe this time will be different. We will see.

So now, down to what’s been going on…

I’ve come to the realization that there’s a part of me that actually feels entitled and narcissistic where Mom and her money are concerned, something I dislike about myself rather a lot, and something I wasn’t aware of ~ at least not to this degree ~ until just the last couple of months.

I think I understand the root of it. When I was younger the only way I could get what I wanted or needed, no matter what it was, be it physical or emotional, I had to do it for myself. I couldn’t depend on my family to get it for me to save my soul. For example, one Christmas or birthday, I can’t remember which, I wanted a specific cookie press from Williams-Sonoma, so I told Mom and Dad about it, hoping they would get it for me.

When the big day arrived and I opened my gifts, Mom started telling me this tale of the trip she and Dad made to Williams-Sonoma to purchase the cookie press I’d asked for. However, the cookie press I ended up with wasn’t the one I asked for, because… And that’s where it gets weird.

Apparently they made the trip to the Williams-Sonoma store to get the cookie press, but when they got there they had a difficult time finding a parking space ~ my stepdad had multiple sclerosis and, even though he was still able to drive, he had a handicap placard because he could only walk short distances.

So they started out on the bottom level of the parking structure (there were four or five levels) and couldn’t find any available handicap spots. Next level, same thing, and so on up to the top. I don’t remember if Dad was using a wheelchair at that point. If he wasn’t I can understand a little better why they didn’t stay, but even then they could have ordered it from the catalogue~at least that’s how it looks to me as I look back.

I might have asked them why they didn’t order it from the catalogue, to which they would have replied that it would have been late if they’d done that. As far as I’m concerned that’s not an excuse because they’ve given me things before that were ordered from catalogues, and that were late for whatever reason, and it was no big deal. They just gave me a box that contained a picture of the item, and said it was coming late, and I was fine with that.

So whenever I feel like this, where I’m complaining about some gift that Mom and Dad gave me when I was younger, I always feel guilty, like I should have been grateful for what I got, like I was lucky to get anything at all. I mean, there are a lot of kids who are so poor that they don’t get anything at all for Christmas.

I think my problem isn’t so much one of ingratitude for the gifts they gave me, but rather, the fact that I could never depend on them for anything. And the issue of the gifts was simply how their lack of dependability was expressed.

And the other root of the entitlement thing is that Mom did nothing to protect me from Harry’s horrors. Nothing whatever. Plus, she abused me herself as well, though not as viciously and violently as Harry did. So I’ve worked hard to forgive her, but I’ve come to realize that it’s a work in progress. I’ve heard it likened to the layers of an onion. The deeper the layer the harder and more painful it gets. Well, I’ve dealt with enough pain in my life that I’m not especially worried about that

So that’s about it for now.