Today was not a very good day. Neither was last night, or any part of yesterday, or part of the night before. I need to vent somewhere, so I am coming back to my blog, where I still feel I can relieve myself of these nasty bottled-up feelings that disturb my rest as well as my daily work.
I am under a lot of stress at home, to the point that the uneasy feeling in my heart has returned, and minor sounds startle me out of my sleep with my heart pounding so hard it seems as though it might burst out of my chest. Last night I put my fingers to my lips after one such incident, and I could feel the throbbing of my lips on my fingertips, or perhaps it was the throbbing of my fingertips on my lips, as the blood flooded through me with each heartbeat. It was very frightening, it always is.
I pressed my little Gryphon Hatchling plush to my chest, as I usually do, as if that will quiet my heart's desperate beats. It does help, sort of. I squeeze that poor little Gryphon so tightly that sometimes I fear I will end up tearing it to pieces.
My mother and I are having a "fight". We've had them before, as people who live with each other for almost 30 years are bound to do. However, it has never happened before that we go an entire day without exchanging a word. Our fight began the night before her day off, and during the next day, which is usually pleasant and full of conversation, we must have exchanged a total of ten words between the two of us --nothing but the indispensable.
The night of the day before yesterday I was having a pleasant text conversation with my best friend. It suddenly came to a screeching halt when a word I wrote was taken in the wrong context (due in part to my native tongue being Spanish, I believe, and in part because my friend was under a lot of stress and I was unaware or rather clueless about it.) This trifle of a word, said in a very endearing way but taken in a way that I did not expect or imagine, almost brought three years of friendship to an end on the spot, and ended up with both my friend and I in tears.
It was all over in a matter of minutes, but left me in pain that stings even until now. Aside from my mother and a couple other dear people, this friend --my very best friend-- is everything to me. Were I to lose his friendship, especially when taking into account the relationship I lost earlier this year, I would be crushed in a way I cannot very well describe but which would probably be somewhat like having someone die. It would be difficult to go on. So, while feelings have been smoothed over, the fear that I might have lost him so easily still haunts me.
I was explaining to my mother what was happening. At one point, I told her that things were mostly okay now, but I was still trying to convince my friend that indeed we were still friends, because, like me, he'd gotten quite desperate about the repercussions of our first fight ever. My mother chuckled. I don't know why she did. Earnestly, I told her, "It's not funny." It wasn't. I was trying not to cry. I guess she didn't notice.
When I said this, she got angry with me, saying that if I was in a foul mood I shouldn't even speak to her in the first place. With that, she left the room, leaving me stunned by this outburst. I did cry then, too worn out by the anguish I'd experienced moments ago, and the very hot anger I experienced toward her at that moment.
These exchanges between my mother and me do not happen often, but when they do happen, it is to be understood that they are always
my fault, for I never, ever receive an apology from her. I must always be the one to wave the "peace" flag.
That night I'd had enough. Having composed myself, I went and told my mother how insensitive it was of her to chuckle when I am telling her, near tears, that I am struggling to salvage a three year friendship which she knows means the world to me, and then to yell at me when I tell her that it's not funny.
I don't remember what she said, because for once in my life I yelled louder, and did not stop when she tried to talk. I always do, but this time I wanted to have my say. I reminded her how she often did this and never apologized, and said that I knew she wouldn't do it this time, either. She retorted that she had nothing to apologize for; I interjected some sarcastic remark, and then she said she "wouldn't do it anyway" as I was not letting her talk. I spat another sarcastic remark, quite venomously, and went back to the bedroom.
We did not speak the rest of the night. I thought somehow this would settle itself the next day, but it was spent without speaking to each other, and besides some "Hello's" the same was the case today; my mom has been home almost five hours, and we are still not speaking.
I feel sick with all this. My heart won't give me peace and my breathing problems have returned. I have good news to share with my mom that on a regular day I would have phoned her at work to tell her. It feels very strange to talk so little over the course of almost two days. I feel lonely, exhausted, angry and sad.
I can't allow myself to be the bigger person and apologize first, if only for my yelling, which isn't something I like to do, or that indeed I ever even have the guts to do. I want her to understand that this hurts me every time it happens, and I don't forget it. I forgive it, but I don't forget it. I can't. You can't force yourself to forget such things, little things, but painful ones. They accumulate.
My mom is all the family I have in this country, and she is my best friend in a way different from my "other" best friend. We have a relationship that most mothers and their daughters can only DREAM of having, we are so close to each other. That is why this is tearing me apart.
We all make mistakes, and I've made so many, and hurt her too, I'm sure, but I always apologize. This time I need her to do it, or I can't go back to normal.
We probably will, however, and this event will be another nasty, thick little drop into that very, very small cup of resentment I carry with me and on rare occasions make the mistake of peering into. That is the truth, guilty as I feel by writing it (alas, while I carry a tiny cup of resentment, I carry a much deeper vessel of guilt!)
That is all I had to say, and I don't feel much better by saying it, but at least I've killed some time, and the unpleasant silence that hangs in the air here as been temporarily broken by the sound of my typing.
-Marina
