Web Cowgirl 衛 思 維 (webcowgirl) wrote,
Web Cowgirl 衛 思 維

Get up. Get out of bed. Drag a ... wait, I haven't got out of bed yet.

Oh, one of those mornings when I understand my mother better.

She died at 53, in 2001. Not my goal, you understand; my goal is to live as long as either of my grandmothers, about 89. Maybe longer. But I don't think dying at 53 was my mom's goal.

Anyway, for all of high school and even junior high, I would come home from school and my mom would still be in bed. I guess it didn't register to me it was abnormal. She'd get up after a while, and make dinner, then sit up late watching tv. I think she'd probably break into some wine after I went to bed, but I don't remember ever seeing this, just the empty bottles in the garbage, which mostly never registered as having an meaning.

Someone convinced me at some point that all of this was due to my mom being an alcoholic. Sure, her yelling at us to keep things down on Saturday mornings was probably a hangover talking, but not this staying in bed until 3. I get it now, this morning, laying in bed until 11, letting myself fall asleep again and again, feeling gravity pulling me down so strong, urging me to stay there on my back, on my side, eyes closed, letting the dreams come and go and time pass, and pass, and pass.

Yeah, it's my mom. And it's not alcoholism, it's depression. I hate how I'm getting to understand her better and better as I get older. I worry that I'm replaying her mistakes, too, but I'm seeing now that so many of them weren't really about having bad taste in boyfriends or a feeling of entitlement (that a man should pay her way through life) but probably so much more about being depressed to the point of near paralysis, and then just finally giving up.
Tags: all about my mother, prisoner and the fugitive, whinging
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