Does not have to be so repulsive.

The computer is an escape from my problems, and it keeps me from getting bored.   It has provided a lot of distractions.  When I am not occupied I always turn to thoughts of my son.  Our problems started a long time ago, and escalated beyond my control.  The last time I saw him was three and a half years ago, and he is not speaking to me.  His birthday is November third, and last year I got depressed.  I tried to think of some way to get to him, and I decided to send some pictures in care of his father.  I hoped I would hear something back.  About a month later I wanted to send a box of jeans for his wife, but I lost the address.  I wasn't sure I could remember it right and decided to send a Christmas card to see if it came back.  I wrote a quick letter and addressed the last issues we fought about.  The letter seemed perfectly fine to me, but I did not hear from him.  I called him to give him my new phone number. He was angry and said he didn't want it.  I hung up.  I didn't know what I did wrong, and I kind of lost my mind.  I tried to fix it by writing another letter.  A few days later I wrote another letter, and then another and another.   When they started coming back to me, I was relieved, and I haven't tried to contact him since.  I have had a lot of time to reflect on the situation.  The first letter went horribly wrong.  It could be taken in an angry way, and it sounded like different people wrote it.  I was doing exactly what I said I would not do. This wasn't the first time, but it was the worst.   I blamed his father for my son thinking I was crazy.  We always argued about me being on medication and in therapy.  I used to call him when I was manic, and he always hung up on me.  I would crash, and I could not remember what happened.  Almost seven years ago I was so bad they gave me shock treatments, and that messed with my memory.  I became aware three and a half years ago, and I have pieced things together.  I became more aware as I went along and faced the truth about myself and my life, especially with my son.  It is no wonder he thinks I am crazy.  

I was manic the first year and a half of my marriage, and I became depressed after I had my son.  I was never treated for that depression., and I went through some personality changes, which I seem to do every three years.  I started off being the perfect mom, but when he turned five things started to change. I decided to get a divorce.  I fell in love with a man who broke my heart., but I never even kissed him.  It is a long complicated story, but my son and I quit talking. Everything went wrong, and I just got sicker and sicker.  He left me when he was fourteen.  He was a good baby and a good kid, but I have rarely seen that little boy in him since.  He never seemed to want to talk to me when I called, and he rarely came by to see me.  One night in May he took me to meet his fiancé, and he was my little boy for a little while.  He was just beaming with happiness.  I made a decision not to call him, and he never called me.  I called him for his address to send him a Christmas card, but he could not talk to me  When he did not call me back in a day, I freaked and I wrote him a letter trying to assure him, but I only upset him and his father. I ended up getting uninvited to his wedding.  His father didn't want to pay for my meal.  It was April and he came by to get an over abundance of Christmas presents I had for him.  We talked some about movies.  He told me he didn't know me and his stepmom was more like his mother.  He got around to medication and therapy.  I did convince him medication was okay, but he wasn't convinced about therapy. I told him I didn't want to talk about it.  He decided to leave and asked me if I was okay.  I lied and said yes.  I tried to call to see him when he got back from his honeymoon, but he never wanted to talk to me.  When I became aware three and a half years ago, I realized his father was the main reason he was against medication and therapy.  I believed he was the reason my son thought I was crazy.  I was super manic at the time, but I was angry.  I wrote a letter to my son and his father, and they got them the night his grandmother died.  I called him and he kept hanging up on me, and I kept calling him back, but they were yelling and criticizing  me.  I could not stick up for myself.  He quit taking my calls, and I wrote some letters.  I gave up and convinced myself to call and leave messages at different times, but he never answered.  I gave up and waited until his birthday last year.  I was desperate to see him, and I was compelled to keep trying to fix it.  I made one impulsive decision after another, and I drove him further and further away. 

When I could see the truth I realized how much I had hurt him being the way I was.  He just wanted me to be his mom, but he never knew what he would get from me.  He would always just surprise me when he came by, and I was caught off guard.  He would ask me some questions about serious things, but did not let me really answer.  We have had a lot of misunderstandings along the way.   I can't help, but feel the regrets.  I am responsible for my relationship with my son.  It is nobody's fault.  He can't help, but be who he is, and I can't help, but be who I am.  We were stuck in a paradox.  I was the one who had to change.  Before I could change I had to know the truth about myself.  It has been extremely painful, but it has been worth every bit to get this far.

My therapist is going to call him to see if he will come in and talk to me the last week of December.  He will either come or he won't, and no amount of anxiety is going to help me get through it.  I like to pretend I am well, but I have a long way to where I want to be.  My niece moved in, and she is going to help me clean and organize.  We have added a new life to the house. 

Impulses are meant to protect us, and it is usually an emotional response.  Impulses can also be inspirational and compulsion can be a powerful force.  Who knows what an impulse has sparked.  Van Gogh cut off his ear on an impulse,  but had the compulsion to paint.  My mind has grown exponentially, and I am not ready stop.  I found tragedy, but I have also found some peace.  When you think about it life starts with an impulse and might end on one too.  ~tm :)

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