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I have more or less cut off contact with my mom. it is too painful to be at the receiving end not only from her but from others who are laying blame on my shoulders as though i set out to prove her diagnosis. prove being the operative word. I did set out to figure out what was wrong with her, and it was the doctors who diagnosed. i am a weak person, i do not fair well under pressure, people mocking me, people undermining me, people who are dishonest, people who make false accusations, and since I decided to remove myself, my blood pressure has dropped from 150/94 to 130/78. so i guess there is some good in this decision.

i wonder sometimes if my mom had post partum depression when i was born, it would explain so much about the fraught quality of our lifelong interactions. i always said she hates me, but maybe its not that so much as she just never bonded with me. she tells this story about how i was in my crib crying for my da and my ba and how my dad smacked my butt when he got home and said there is your da and put a bottle in my mouth and said here is your ba. Its always been a story about what a pain in the ass i was, but really its a story about how she didn’t pick me up and cuddle me when i needed someone.

i am though feeling a certain complacency about it, the serenity this decision has created in me is an unusual feeling, i have never had peace in my heart in regards to my mom, too many overheard conversations calling me a bitch, a fucking bitch, too many triangulations where i was the weak link, too many things in my life damaged from my own mental healthy in regards to this lifelong struggle.

it could just be the cymbalta.

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