salvation

Rescue me
[rescue me, it's hard to believe]
Your love has given me hope
Rescue me
[rescue me, it's hard to believe]
I'm drowning, baby throw out your rope...
~Madonna (remember? hahaha)

Yesterday brought some clarity on two things that are the same: I keep wanting and wanting someone to rescue me. That's how I destroy things. I want someone to save me. And I've found it hard to stop wanting that.

As instructed by the group therapist in my program, I've written on a post-it, "I am an adult. I'm ok on my own. I can care for myself. Trying to get others to rescue me is only destructive." This goes on the bathroom mirror (with, like, ten other post-its from the program, lol).

Then in talking with Loopy I realized something else: this is the reason Mom is so difficult, so painful for me to talk to: this is exactly how she is.

She wants everyone to rescue her, ease her discomfort, fix her problems, make her feel good.

So when talking to her, she always wants something from me. It's like a giant vacuum cleaner trying to suck something out of me. Unpleasant.

That's why I want her to ask how I'm doing - I want her to care - yet when she does ask, I don't want to tell her - since she's not asking out of caring but out of a self-centered purpose (to be a "good mother.")

And here's the rub: if you want so much to be rescued and saved, then you have to stay stuck, you have to stay infantile, you have to stay rescue-able.

This feels like I'm stretching at something that needs to tear open.

Just a quick word of total gratitude to those of you who read and comment, or read and don't comment. Thank you. Words can't express how much it means to me to be able to write here and, at least sometimes, have readers. Thank you, my beloved friends.