My Therapy
By: KK
Copyright @2001

Why do I write? Therapy.

My friend Lil Jap had one more of her brilliant ideas and suggested that I explain why I write. It has always been in my blood. It is something that I have known my entire life that I was meant to do. I am not a "text book" writer. I write from my heart and soul. I write the truth and sometimes the truth hurts others and sometimes it hurts me. I write brazenly, sarcastically and honestly. My form of writing does not suit everyone's taste, but then again Shakespeare doesn't suit my tastes either. I put my feelings out there for everyone to see and judge. I am honest to myself and to others. People do not have to agree with me, accept me or change for me. It has taken me thirty-four years to realize that I do not need to agree with, accept or change for anyone else either.

My mother put me in therapy when I was five years old. Not herself, me. Ever since then I have been taught and made to believe that I have problems and issues. Enough people told me that so I started to believe it. Then I stepped back and admitted that I do have issues. I had to decide what those issues were and what was I going to do about them? If I did not try to work on what I felt were my issues then I would drown from all the negativity and self-pity.

My main issue...my mother. How do I escape and remove myself from a controlling relationship? How do I get over my need for her acceptance and love? How do I not dwell on our past and try to have a reasonable, trusting relationship with her? How do I try not to make the same mistakes that I feel she made? How do I try and take the favorable things she taught me and incorporate them into my life?

My mother and I have been up and down with our level of trust, relationship and contact. I did not verbally stand up to my mother until I was twenty-two years old. She confronted me about sharing a car with my sister and claimed that I was abusing the situation. The Exorcist was released, twenty-two years of rage, anger and hurt came spewing out of my mouth. I was crying, hyperventilating and screaming in her face. All I remember is calling her a bitch and that I was tired of her treating me like a child. I was regurgitating years of hurt that I had never been allowed to convey to her for fear of being punished. She raised her hand to hit me, I stood firm and looked her straight in the eye and calmly said, "go ahead and hit me, I'll lay your ass out right here and now." She recoiled, left the room and did not speak to me for three days. At that moment I was in control. I felt free and cleansed. After that incident the roles switched forever. She was now the child and I was the mother. Another issue I did not know how to handle. At first I basked in the fact that I had finally stood up to my mother. Now years later I find her helpless attitude pathetic and sad. I haven't decided if I prefer her control or her act of helplessness.

It has only been the last couple of years that I have finally gotten over the need to have her acceptance and love. When she flat out ignored my children and repeated history by treating them the way she had always treated me, I knew that she would never change. It was now time to for my husband and I to make decisions for the best interest of our kids. I maintained a guarded relationship with her for a few years. I was able to control my remarks to her regarding her blatant disrespect and lack of concern for my husband and children. I could handle treatment of me, but I was very protective over my family. One trait of my mother's was that she would hold grudges against people and even when I was young I swore I would never hold grudges. This partially solved my issue of dwelling on the past. But, I still felt that I needed an explanation as to why she raised and treated me so much differently than my sister. I have never received that explanation and have finally accepted that I won't ever hear it. Why would someone admit to or apologize for something they feel they never did?

The day I gave birth to my son is when I was slapped in the face with the question of how was I going to not make the mistakes I felt she made and at the same time give him the strength and independence that she taught me? It was my first conflict as a mother myself. I do believe in spanking, but a single swat on the butt was what I considered a spanking. After my daughter was born I crossed the line once with each child. Both were toddlers and had pushed my patience over the edge. I spanked them, through a diaper, with at least 5-6 slaps. I had physically lost my temper and I realized it immediately. I was mortified at my behavior, cried all night, apologized and hugged my children continuously and swore that I would never physically harm my children again. I learned to recognize when I was about to lose my temper and I would leave the room and calm down. It took several years for me to teach myself to recognize when I was about to lose it. I have screamed, slapped hands, swatted a few butts and grounded my kids like most Mom's. But on that day I realized how ugly I was to my children and it has not happened since. I had overcome another issue.

I have always respected the fact that my mother raised us with manners and respect for others. Although her way of raising me was full of contradictions, I was able to recognize the basics of what she was trying to teach. Bad manners and disrespect towards any adult was not tolerated. Everyone was addressed as Sir or Ma'am. Table manners, please, thank you and 'children were to be seen and not heard' were demanded. She did not wait on us hand and foot. We had chores, responsibilities and our grades had better be kept up. I have the same rules for my children, but at a more respectable level.

Because of all of these issues and some other minor ones I have been poked, prodded and forced, by friends and family to seek therapy to "cure" me. I have spent thousands on psychotherapists, marriage counselors and even a hypno-therapist. I have been diagnosed as being bi-polar, hormonal and I even tried to have myself hypnotized to find out if there was a Schizophrenic in my past life that everyone else saw but me.

Several things finally occurred to me. Stop spending money on total strangers telling me what they think is wrong with me. Stop listening to the free, un-solicited advice from people who can't handle or admit their own problems and realize that at least I have the balls to admit, embrace and work on my dysfunctional self!!

Writing is my outlet. Someday, it will be my paycheck...my life is too much for day time television, you can't make this shit up!

 

Readers Respond

11.09.02

I had to write you to tell you that i finally found a person that is just
like me!!!!!!! i did not think there was a person out there in this messed
up world that had the same thought process as myself. I have to give you a
on-line pat on the back and if there was an award for your sense of humor
and gutlessness i would make sure that you received it promptly!!! please
keep up the good work and if you need any help from a fellow sarcastic,
humorous woman please, please dont hesitate to ask. thanks for the laughs
and the feeling of not being alone on how we think of things!!!!! Your new
friend from Connecticut, Renee.

07.31.02

April 9, 1961: I woke up on a sunny, warm, nice day, Easter vacation: and
I thought I had gone straight to hell. I have it written in my "journal of
life experiences". Depression. Bi-polar.... I don't know . I had
everything going for me: top of my junior class; a girlfriend: blond hair,
blue eyed, IQ of 180, and big tits, and she was really into me. Its been a
long time. I've been to shrinks, psychiatrists, friends, counselors. To
this day: I write; I write a lot. Writing goes to the soul. It clears the
mind. Keep writing. It works. (Janet died a multi-millionaire 3 years ago:
undetected colon cancer that turned to liver cancer.{she could have
survived with an early-on colonoscopy; her death wish: take advantage of
the tests that are available))

05.19.02

I read some of your essays, and I started getting this eerie feeling, like
I had read this stuff before. Then it hit me - you write like I do! And
then there's this: " I need someone to leave me alone when necessary and
to dote on me when requested. I am incredibly picky and difficult." Oh,
geeze. THAT sounds familiar. If you leave out the kids and the stripping,
we could be cloned. Cept I'm cuter, but that's probably because I don't
have that hard, brittle veneer strippers acquire (I can pass for normal.)
I'd say "congratulations" on the writing, since you're really good, but
then I guess that would look a little vain. But then you did say you were
selfish, and who am I to argue with a clone? Good job. Just branch out a
little, and you could do this (WRITE, WRITE, not strip!) professionally.