This is not political.  It's personal.  Sometimes, the twain shall meet.

Since moving in with my mother, last September, I've found that I'm not all I'm cracked up to be.  I thought I had my act together, and that it was my mother who was the fragmented soul.

Alas.

My mother was diagnosed with depression-based dementia, last summer.  I was diagnosed with "unemployed and broke".  So we decided I should move in with her, up in PA.  We needed each other.

I think I wrote about this. 

Anyway, I'm happy to report that my mother's "dementia" which was keeping her from being able to drive a car, form a coherent sentence, and keep her from overseeing her own general wellbeing (as in, remembering to eat dinner), was basically due to the fact that she was suffering the worst of her depression after having suffered the worst of her depression several years back -- right after losing her husband.

Depression sinks in, not just once but twice.  But since moving in with Mom, I've seen a sea-change in her, and her psychiatrist and neurologist both think that she's not suffering from dementia, after all.  Yay!

The woman I thought was house-bound is now driving herself to AA meetings and the bank and the store. 

And I had nothing to do with it. 

It was in her, all this time.  Having someone in the house, yes, it's helped her.  But she's done all of this on her own, for the most part.  I can't and won't take any responsibility.

She's just....happier. 

But, I have to admit that, during those first few months after I moved in...things were scarier.  She and I fought tooth and nail.  Literally.  Our cats got on better than we did.  They, at least, only hissed.

It got so bad that I decided to spend $25 a week on a therapist.

Can I tell you, this money is worth its weight in gold?  NOT for the enlightening I will give you all, my denizens, LOL...

But seriously, it feels so good to be able to be honest with an objective person.

You (who know me, anyway) know that I left an abusive relationship several years ago.  You also know I was let go of my job a few years ago.  I have been adrift and I act like it. 

Through my current therapist, I am not learning how to solve you all.

Alas.

I am learning how to recognize in me the many roles that I play, in trying to keep myself seem somewhat normal.

Here I thought I loved you all, and was very hurt to discover that you all did not love me the same way.  Now I understand why I have been not such a good friend to one and all of you.

It's because it's okay for me to set boundaries, and not just let you all mold me into what you want me to be.  Yay!

Because I can't be what you want me to be.  I can only be me.  And sometimes I royally fuck up. 

My therapist is teaching me to get through that stuff, but in the meantime, I just want to say that I, as always, am a work in progress who is trying to remain progressive.

My heart is with the Dems.  My issues stem from trying to deal with my Republican family and stop labeling them as such.  I.E., I'm a wishy washy fool when it comes to politics but, hey, you've got my damn back.

My therapist tells me that it's okay to argue with my family and to continue to stand strong for myself.  My inner critics (ranging from my grandparents to my fool of an ex-boyfriend who drove that 4x4 at 90mph) tell me otherwise. 

Me, I'm just trying to get through this coming week before I attend my first-ever Dem Party meeting in my new county next Thursday.  AND try to learn the choral music I'm expected to have down pat by May.

Shall I leave you all with this?  It's one of the songs I sing Tenor in.  Yeh, lol, me a Tenor. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W86a2o3uaLs

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I'm not here to marry Camus or lust after Artie, or be friends for life with any of you women-folk. 

I'm just me.  Myself.  And I.

I'm under construction, as I think we all are. 

Thanks for listening.