July 31st was my birthday. The Big Five-O. Yikes!

Like most people I am not eager to grow old, especially when physically I feel like I am turning 90 not 50 due to fibromyalgia. I spent a lonely birthday because I had to cancel plans with some friends because I was not up to going out.

It was lonelier still because I am once again on the outs with my sister and her family. It isn’t all her fault, but I apologized for my behavior while she did not. After wooing me back last year by apologizing for an incident where she threw me out of her house without even telling me what she was upset about, she then decided to take that apology back. How does that even make sense? She told me that she realized that it was just a simple misunderstanding.  Now she says it was because I yelled at her, which is not true in the least. While I do tend to have a hot temper, I very purposely stayed calm because my nephew was there. It goes to show that even when I do everything that I am asked to do, it is never good enough.

No that last statement is wrong. I AM NEVER GOOD ENOUGH.  At least according to her and her husband.

My therapist has spent a good deal of time trying to convince me that just because I make mistakes does not mean that I AM A MISTAKE.

I am a smart lady. I know that. At least intellectually. But the problem is that my emotions tell me different.

It isn’t just my bipolar disorder that is the problem. It comes from a lifetime of being told what a screw-up I am. And certainly I HAVE screwed up many things. I am grown-up enough to admit that.

But rejection and lack of forgiveness sends me into a tailspin. I question my self-worth because I depend on others to tell me that I am okay.

It is ironic that I go to the one person who is not able to tell me that, for whatever reason. Because I confuse her with mommy. Because in many ways, she is just like my mother was. But even my mother eventually changed her attitude towards me, although to be honest I was too immature at the time to see that. She is passed on now, and I regret that.

My sister was told that she was better than me by our mother. There was hardly a day that went by where she did not say to me “Why can’t you be like your sister?” The question baffled me. I was ME, how could I be HER?

My mother was unrealistic. My sister was three years older than me so in terms of maturity I was never going to catch up. The other problem was that everybody thought I was a great kid, except for my mother. My teachers loved me and I got A’s most of the time. I never got in trouble at school, not even once

To my mother I was the worst kid in the world, and although I certainly did deserve punishment from time to time, it was excessive.

Oddly enough considering our rocky relationship, my sister is in fact the only one in the family who acknowledges that that our mother played favorites. She in fact needed no pressure from me at all to admit that. In fact she has told me that she feels bad about that.

My sister was not great to me as a kid, but I don’t blame her. This was a dynamic set up by our mother.  But ironically my sister treats me even worse as an adult. Because on some level, she still believes that she is better than me.

I was never good enough. When I was young, I played with my sister’s Barbie doll and broke it. I was too young to realize that Barbie’s legs could not splay apart to sit on a model horse.

My mother declared that I would not get a Barbie of my own until I learned to take care of my toys. Ironically I was not in the habit of breaking any toys, whether they were my sister’s or mine. I did bathe in the bathtub a cloth doll that had a crying mechanism, and she never cried again. But everyone laughed that one off.

That Barbie doll became a symbol of my mother’s approval and I waited year after year for it. I never got it.

Lest people think that she did not know how much I wanted it, she did after many years of waiting buy me a knock-off doll called “Tricky Micky”.  She was “tricky” all right. She was held together by rubber bands on the inside. She broke.

Granted I am sure my mother did not know how cheaply made this doll was, but she never bothered to buy me a better doll.

It was a not so subtle message: “You will never be good enough for the real thing.”

This sounds so trivial compared to stories of horrific physical abuse that many children have gone through and yet I have heard from many that they preferred the physical abuse to the emotional abuse. And this, along with the other constant verbal put downs I got from my mother, qualifies.  The message was that even the most trivial of mistakes can never be forgiven.

I AM A MISTAKE. Not that I make mistakes that can be forgiven.

As an adult people have suggested that I buy myself a Barbie doll now. I have resisted because I am not a child anymore so what would I do with a toy?

But this year I remembered that there are Barbies that are not made for play. Collector’s dolls. So I half-heartedly went on-line to look. WOW! There are literally HUNDREDS of dolls ranging from around $20 to hundreds of dollars. And they are beautiful!

So I bought one for myself. To tell myself that no matter how much I screw up, IT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I AM UNFORGIVABLE AND WORTHLESS BEYOND REPAIR. It also does not mean that my mistakes are somehow any worse than other people’s mistakes.

I haven’t murdered anyone. I have never stolen anything. That does not mean that I am proud of everything I have done, but quite frankly my sister is far from being a saint and at times has done some pretty crappy things herself. SHE IS NOT BETTER THAN ME.

Forgive me for the long rant. But I need from time to time to hear myself say that I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYONE’S PROBLEMS!

I was not responsible for my mother’s problems. She did not have a mental illness but that does not mean she didn’t have problems. I used to think it was just me because she only got mad at me, no one else. Actually she probably was mad at a lot of people, but took it out on me.

So I bought my Irish Princess Barbie doll and I have it sitting right in front of me to remind me that I am okay. I make mistakes but I can be forgiven and if no one gives that to me then I can give it to myself.  And my inner child adores her.

Wanna see???? Do you?? Huh??Huh??

Here you go!!!

 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

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