Processes

I thought I'd use one of Abraham's processes to help me deal with all the negative feelings I'm having around my mom right now.

This is where I started: I had a drunken breakdown Saturday night. I recommend eating a full meal before starting on wine, by the way, and drinking a full glass of water for every glass of wine you drink. I did neither Saturday. And if you're concerned about access to water, bring your own.

I sobbed all over said girlfriend (she is truly a saint), about how I hated that she was going through such a rough time, how I was frustrated at a friend who hadn't told me I'd hurt her feelings (even though she knows I sometimes need these things spelled out to me), and mostly, how I felt every time my mom left another voicemail.

Jessica (saint/girlfriend) suggested I write a letter to my mom, since my main complaint is that she seems to think that I embarked upon my life of sin with little to no forethought. Perhaps if I explained my reasoning to her, she might not get it, but at least I'd have the satisfaction of knowing I'd tried. Even if I don't send the letter to her, it might do me some good to get all my feelings out.

I think it's a pretty good idea in theory, but, honestly, it makes my stomach hurt. I've written these sorts of letters before, and they've taken me from despair to rage, which is a good three steps up the emotional scale, but I tend to get a little stuck in rage. I'm already in a rage about my mom, and if I think about potentially actually sending the letter to her, I have to edit out most of my emotions. Again, stomach hurt. Also, in the past when I've tried to reason with Mom about religion, her response is almost invariably shock and horror that I should ever question any of it. More stomach hurt.

So I watched The Law of Attraction in Action yesterday, as I recovered from my hangover. (I appreciate the lack of vomit in said recovery, by the way.) Abraham spoke of a process in which you start with where you are (rage) and state where you want to end up (hopefulness or above), and keep making statements to bridge that gap.

So where I am--really furious with my mom. Where I want to be . . . honestly, where I really want to be is in a place where my mom is happy for me. I am happy in my life; she seems to be blinded by her prejudice to my happiness. I don't think that's a fair goal, though; mostly because it involves changing her perception of reality (which is her problem), but also because it seems unattainable.

A more achievable goal, I think, would be to just not care. And, generally speaking, I don't. Repeated telephone messages, though, have gotten to me. Where is that goal on the emotional scale? Somewhere between boredom and contentment?

Perhaps a better goal would be to not care how many messages I get. Or, more ambitious yet, to be able to answer the phone calmly when she calls. (This morning's message, by the way, was wondering whether I'd thought about my AIDS risk that she pointed out last week.)

What is it about her that makes me feel separated from who I truly am? I think it's mostly that she reminds me of where I came from: fear, ignorance and prejudice, which I have worked hard to get past. It's also that I feel that I'm less important to her than her religion, a religion that I see as full of flaws.

But I know who I truly am. I am god in Faithy's body. I gotta keep reminding myself of that--in just typing it, I feel calmer and more in control.

Another separating point--she is so out of control with her anxiety that it feels contagious. I know that it won't affect me unless I let it.

Again, feeling a little better.

In order to be able to talk to her, though, I think I need to remember things about her that I appreciate. The more I see her as fearful and ignorant, the more I bring that out in her.

She is, at least, sincere. She honestly believes that I'm going to catch AIDS and die, then burn in hell eternally. Who can blame her for being a worry wart about that, if she really believes it's true?

She's pretty smart, too. She loves reading, and even while she fears the onset of Alzheimer's (which her mother died with), she is constantly in the middle of some novel or other. Usually a Christian novel nowadays, but still, that counts for something.

This is going to sound negative, but it is something I appreciate: she's a vivid object lesson in the Law of Attraction. Homophobic with a gay daughter; obsessing over her health and mind and manifesting endless doctor's appointments and diagnoses; she is one of the main reasons I have decided to focus on the positive in my life, because I see where focusing on the negative has gotten her.

I remember an incident in my childhood; I accused her of gossiping about someone, and I couldn't understand why, if gossiping was so bad, she continued to repeat stories. At first she angrily said she wasn't gossiping, then later she came to me crying, apologized for speaking ill of whoever it was, and thanked me for pointing it out to her. She didn't stop the habit, by a long shot, but it showed me that grown-ups could see their own faults. That was news.

She and my father both (my father more, really) encouraged me to view religious teaching seriously and critically, which I believe led me to eventually reject all of it. "Eat the meat and spit out the bones," was the axiom repeated at our church, which I have taken as my attitude toward learning anything new.

She encouraged scholarship, in a way. She never encouraged me to become an engineer, or to follow any other masculine-sounding pursuit, but she and my father sent me through college twice on their meager budget.

Music was important in our household, and while our tastes are vastly different (she's a big fan of John Philip Sousa), it's a love that's abided for me. And we're both great fans of musicals; I wonder if she realizes exactly how gay musicals are.

She makes an awesome blueberry cobbler.

And so now I'm feeling better--maybe not hopeful or optimistic, but at least content--maybe I could write that letter.