This daily archiving series is about organizing and dating my journal collection, as well as acknowledging the self-directed violence as important therapeutic shadow work. Processing my projections and darkness.
Trying to figure it out.
Today: Journal Start Date October 22, 1993
At this time, I am 31 and J____ is 42. Anna is 8 and Julian is 5.
October 27, 1993
Just sitting down at the desk after “cleansing” the house. Ammoniated the bathroom floor. My PMS has dissipated into menstrual time, thank God. I didn’t mind the thought of getting pregnant. Yet the thought of it also excites panic! Must be more careful! I should not desire having a baby just to prove a point about relaxed motherhood… I should not desire having a baby for the grandparents. We are a complete package now.
On another note, Anna came into the kitchen as I was finishing cleanup and showed me something she discovered about her hands etc. (the typical hand sculptures that I “discovered”, as we all did/do). I love to see Anna staring out the car window talking to “someone” in her imagination or looking at her knees and seeing how they bang together. All the things I did and remember and now I can see them through adult eyes, through my child’s eyes…
October 28, 1993
I must have written a million notes tonight to J____ and finally gave him none of them! I’m sorry I was angry. I think it was fear. I was so worried about him, although at the same time, I knew he was OK. What I am angry about is the lack of privacy – last night I needed him to be here for me and the kids. I seem to be more and more the nagging wife. And then tonight J____ had M____ call me instead of calling me himself. I was humiliated. Now I am the angry wife at home that’s pissed because I didn’t know where he was. The one that serves coffee and tea to his clients and keeps the house clean and feels guilty for having wanted to go to my course on time. I just feel so angry or probably just full of fear.
Note from J____:
“Sometimes I feel so immature… I love you all the time and feel that even when I’m out being stupid, I am still a living breathing expression of our love…”
November 11, 1993
Family dinner at Mom’s (Mormor’s). I came home with the familiar feeling of having been almost eaten alive. On the surface it is all wonderful and I laugh and socialize – but inside I am a stunned mass of flesh with a jelly brain that aches…
Mom was in an anxiety attack kind of mood. Her tensions manifest themselves in strange ways that hurt. I eagerly showed her my knitting and she said the colours look like puke. Julian drew a picture with his felts of a series of dots and mom said, “Is that your mom’s face?” She was feeling extremely nauseous and sickly and so I said, “I’ll make the gravy for the roast. You lie down.” When the gravy was done, she came over and looked at it and said, “Yuck, I think I’m going to throw up.” When Anna went out for a walk with Dad (Morfar), Mom commented that I had dressed Anna to look like an old lady and that Dad might be too embarrassed to go out for a walk with her. Anna was wearing the new jacket Mom had given her because she “hates the big bulky coat Anna has.” (The bulky coat I was so happy about finding and really thought that this article of clothing might be the first that Mom might approve of.)
I need to purge this all out here. I can’t take it too seriously. I know that Mom doesn’t mean any of it and that I probably misinterpret everything everyone says. But that doesn’t eliminate this annoying feeling of having an outward personality so completely different from my inner one.
“Anger is healthy. It burns things up and leaves nutrients. Bitterness is unhealthy. It is a cancer that eats its host.” – Maya Angelou