I asked my mom the other day, what it was like for her and my dad after I was born. Like, were they happy after I was born (other than that pesky 8 months I cried non stop from severe colic) and did my birth bring them closer together as a couple…shit like that. Keeping in mind that I was planned and expected and all that happy 1970s shit. Mom said her and my pops were super happy with it each other and my lovely little self brought them all this joy and Hallmark feelings.
While it made me feel nice to know I grew up (at least until the divorce) in such a positive environment, it made me feel all the worse for NOT feeling anything remotely like that. Not once. Not at all. Since Lionel’s birth. Now, a lot of this stuff I might be talking about is pretty rough and makes it seem like I regret Lionel being here. I think that sometimes the ONLY thing in my life that doesnt feel like a cloud of bloody diarrhea is my son. So, get that idea out of your head if its in there. Just everything else makes me want to saw into my rib cage with a butcher knife, is all.
I dont want touched.
I dont want hugs. Kisses. Actually, kisses especially sicken me. Anything moist. I think Id be ok rubbing sandpaper across my asshole to get out of kissing. And what I would do instead of FUCKING…dont get me started. Cleaning cat pans orally comes to mind. Anyway…
Cuddling? NO. Backrubs? Eh. They always seem to creep into side boob area. I think the only non child human contact i still tolerate and sometimes enjoy is footrubs. I’ll let complete strangers touch my feet (and have on several occasions- you know how cats get when you scritch that one perfect spot? Thats me with my feet). Notice that feet are the furthest reaches from the rest of the body? Hmm.
Then there’s easy shit like ‘hanging out’. How about at a concert or a bar? Im good. There are people to talk to and its loud and I dont have to force small talk or god forbid ACTUAL CONVERSATION. But, alone? That’s when the cuddling happens and I have to hold perfectly still and do breath awareness exercises so I dont start screaming or sidearm someone in the face.
What is wrong with me? I feel like a block of ice. I feel like…well, I feel like I dont feel anything but anger, disgust and utter contempt. Im very close to hating the father of my child. Who just so happens to be nice to me and our baby. The voice inside my head is screaming RUN RUN RUN. Not run away from the baby but run away from everything else.
Part of me wants to jump up and quantify. “Oh Rob is amazing! This is all because Im fucking insane and have hormones and a history of Mental/Emotional problems” I dont know what it is. I only know its here and its getting exponentially worse.
I read somewhere about some women having issues with their ‘mates’ after childbirth due to resentment over what their signifigant other ‘did’ to them via sperm. Ya know, shit like destroying every semblance of their previous life and lifestyle, their body feeling like no mans land or post WWII Japan complete with bomb craters and toxic pools of radioactive water. Its got to be subconscious but it seems at least slightly legit. I cant find men with mustaches attractive (my father has a luxuriant perfectly groomed handlebar) and bearded men give me the skeeves (my abusive stepdad grew his out every winter. Fucking lumberjack looking psychopath). Or maybe its resentment over being the sole caregiver at home in my mother’s house while he works and does all the stuff he did before I got knocked up. I feel like I should be able to look past such things but apparently my subconscious cant…
I guess Im lucky to have someone who physically as well as verbally demonstrates their attraction to me despite the toll this has taken on my body. But, I simply dont care. I actually wish I was repellant to him so i wouldnt have to fend off unwanted affections (friendly or extra friendly). It doesnt matter to me the father of my child still likes looking at me. I find myself wretched. I can give you a list of 40 things I hate about my physical appearance since the baby if I put my mind to it. Little things like my neck wattle, my huge upper arms, my flat yet still prodigious ass and my nipples that now are shaped like gel caps when they get hard, like angry cartoon eyes. I know for a fact if my metabolism wasnt such absolute shit I would just take up a full blown eating disorder but I have found that starving myself doesnt work anymore and I need at least a minimum of energy to do mom things. Thus, I must eat and take my frustrations out in the gym. Where I tell myself You are a fat disgusting fuck. No one is ever going to want to see you in lingerie ever again. Harder, you pig. You got yourself into this condition. Its your fault you look this way. Self hate is a great motivator.
Sometimes I think the only normal experiences I have emotionally are with the baby. I smile at him and he makes me laugh and were silly together. And that’s where it ends. Whatever I had left in my heart after the deaths and my husband leaving and all the people i lost on the way, Lionel gets it. And he gets ALL of it.
It seems to me that I had the baby. Im having no more. As a woman and as a person Im in my final act. It will probably be a long final act but what else is there? Im doing this all by myself. I AM the 1950s housewife. I feel like a milkweed pod after all the puffs flew away.
Female octopuses after laying their little clusters of eggs in a cave or crevice, stay with their brood of a bazillion little eggies. Gently blowing clean water across them and keeping them clean and safe. Never once leaving to eat or tend to anything else. As the eggs hatch and the cutest little baby octopus come out to be…well, to be mostly eaten by predators. :sad face: the mom-topus dies of starvation.
Im not saying thats me, but I cant help but identify. I feel very single of mind in being momma octopus but I cant help mourning my life and whatever I might have been had i not pissed a positive sign on all those tests. And stop before you start with the ‘you have plenty of time’ shit. I kind of dont. Not to go to art school or anything signifigant education wise.
As usual I am off topic. I dont know what my deal is. THere is this thing in Borderline Personality called ‘Splitting’ where your loved ones are either ‘all good’ or ‘all bad’ and there is no in between. The one book i have about the disorder is even called. I hate you Dont leave me. Well, I dont care if Im alone. I just dont care. I dont think romance and love and all that shit is my future. And I dont give a shit. it all just kind of grosses me out and feel phony to me at this point. People posting crap about their ‘perfect amazing’ husbands and showing pictures of jewelry and gifts they received from them…I get mildly nauseated. Like listening to little kids talk about how awesome Jesus is. Nod my head. That’s nice sweetie…run along and play. I dont even want it. Its not that im envious or jealous…I dont want it. i dont want to snuggle and rub noses and slurp the same piece of pasta until Im smashed against the other person. I want to take care of my kid, work on art, go to punk shows, dance, cook yummy food and read books. That’s it. I want to be alone.
While it made me feel nice to know I grew up (at least until the divorce) in such a positive environment, it made me feel all the worse for NOT feeling anything remotely like that. Not once. Not at all. Since Lionel’s birth. Now, a lot of this stuff I might be talking about is pretty rough and makes it seem like I regret Lionel being here. I think that sometimes the ONLY thing in my life that doesnt feel like a cloud of bloody diarrhea is my son. So, get that idea out of your head if its in there. Just everything else makes me want to saw into my rib cage with a butcher knife, is all.
I dont want touched.
I dont want hugs. Kisses. Actually, kisses especially sicken me. Anything moist. I think Id be ok rubbing sandpaper across my asshole to get out of kissing. And what I would do instead of FUCKING…dont get me started. Cleaning cat pans orally comes to mind. Anyway…
Cuddling? NO. Backrubs? Eh. They always seem to creep into side boob area. I think the only non child human contact i still tolerate and sometimes enjoy is footrubs. I’ll let complete strangers touch my feet (and have on several occasions- you know how cats get when you scritch that one perfect spot? Thats me with my feet). Notice that feet are the furthest reaches from the rest of the body? Hmm.
Then there’s easy shit like ‘hanging out’. How about at a concert or a bar? Im good. There are people to talk to and its loud and I dont have to force small talk or god forbid ACTUAL CONVERSATION. But, alone? That’s when the cuddling happens and I have to hold perfectly still and do breath awareness exercises so I dont start screaming or sidearm someone in the face.
What is wrong with me? I feel like a block of ice. I feel like…well, I feel like I dont feel anything but anger, disgust and utter contempt. Im very close to hating the father of my child. Who just so happens to be nice to me and our baby. The voice inside my head is screaming RUN RUN RUN. Not run away from the baby but run away from everything else.
Part of me wants to jump up and quantify. “Oh Rob is amazing! This is all because Im fucking insane and have hormones and a history of Mental/Emotional problems” I dont know what it is. I only know its here and its getting exponentially worse.
I read somewhere about some women having issues with their ‘mates’ after childbirth due to resentment over what their signifigant other ‘did’ to them via sperm. Ya know, shit like destroying every semblance of their previous life and lifestyle, their body feeling like no mans land or post WWII Japan complete with bomb craters and toxic pools of radioactive water. Its got to be subconscious but it seems at least slightly legit. I cant find men with mustaches attractive (my father has a luxuriant perfectly groomed handlebar) and bearded men give me the skeeves (my abusive stepdad grew his out every winter. Fucking lumberjack looking psychopath). Or maybe its resentment over being the sole caregiver at home in my mother’s house while he works and does all the stuff he did before I got knocked up. I feel like I should be able to look past such things but apparently my subconscious cant…
I guess Im lucky to have someone who physically as well as verbally demonstrates their attraction to me despite the toll this has taken on my body. But, I simply dont care. I actually wish I was repellant to him so i wouldnt have to fend off unwanted affections (friendly or extra friendly). It doesnt matter to me the father of my child still likes looking at me. I find myself wretched. I can give you a list of 40 things I hate about my physical appearance since the baby if I put my mind to it. Little things like my neck wattle, my huge upper arms, my flat yet still prodigious ass and my nipples that now are shaped like gel caps when they get hard, like angry cartoon eyes. I know for a fact if my metabolism wasnt such absolute shit I would just take up a full blown eating disorder but I have found that starving myself doesnt work anymore and I need at least a minimum of energy to do mom things. Thus, I must eat and take my frustrations out in the gym. Where I tell myself You are a fat disgusting fuck. No one is ever going to want to see you in lingerie ever again. Harder, you pig. You got yourself into this condition. Its your fault you look this way. Self hate is a great motivator.
Sometimes I think the only normal experiences I have emotionally are with the baby. I smile at him and he makes me laugh and were silly together. And that’s where it ends. Whatever I had left in my heart after the deaths and my husband leaving and all the people i lost on the way, Lionel gets it. And he gets ALL of it.
It seems to me that I had the baby. Im having no more. As a woman and as a person Im in my final act. It will probably be a long final act but what else is there? Im doing this all by myself. I AM the 1950s housewife. I feel like a milkweed pod after all the puffs flew away.
Female octopuses after laying their little clusters of eggs in a cave or crevice, stay with their brood of a bazillion little eggies. Gently blowing clean water across them and keeping them clean and safe. Never once leaving to eat or tend to anything else. As the eggs hatch and the cutest little baby octopus come out to be…well, to be mostly eaten by predators. :sad face: the mom-topus dies of starvation.
Im not saying thats me, but I cant help but identify. I feel very single of mind in being momma octopus but I cant help mourning my life and whatever I might have been had i not pissed a positive sign on all those tests. And stop before you start with the ‘you have plenty of time’ shit. I kind of dont. Not to go to art school or anything signifigant education wise.
As usual I am off topic. I dont know what my deal is. THere is this thing in Borderline Personality called ‘Splitting’ where your loved ones are either ‘all good’ or ‘all bad’ and there is no in between. The one book i have about the disorder is even called. I hate you Dont leave me. Well, I dont care if Im alone. I just dont care. I dont think romance and love and all that shit is my future. And I dont give a shit. it all just kind of grosses me out and feel phony to me at this point. People posting crap about their ‘perfect amazing’ husbands and showing pictures of jewelry and gifts they received from them…I get mildly nauseated. Like listening to little kids talk about how awesome Jesus is. Nod my head. That’s nice sweetie…run along and play. I dont even want it. Its not that im envious or jealous…I dont want it. i dont want to snuggle and rub noses and slurp the same piece of pasta until Im smashed against the other person. I want to take care of my kid, work on art, go to punk shows, dance, cook yummy food and read books. That’s it. I want to be alone.
