Therapy 

My friend Crystal is always trying to therapy me. But I think I’m getting ready to go see a therapist for real. I am having major issues with my mom. Not obvious issues. It’s all in my head. Well, in my stomach. She has a head injury. I think she got it about 25 years ago. And for some reason, I feel some kind of guilt for it and I have no boundaries (if that’s the right word) when it comes to her. My siblings have boundaries. Hell, they will ignore her for weeks at a time. I answer 85% of her phone calls. Even if she calls me 47 times in a day. What’s 85% of 47? Forty times? I’m not good at math, but that sounds about right. I literally have driven the three miles from my house to hers, at the drop of a hat, to take her some milk, to take her garbage out, and to check the mail. And I don’t know why I care to do it. Maybe because she has three other kids she could call….even though they probably wouldn’t answer. Maybe because it pisses me off that she thinks because I sit at my computer most of the day that I don’t have a “real” job?  Maybe because I have other things to do? But even when I don’t, I am irritated, but when I get frustrated and snap on her, I feel guilty. And when I say “how high” every time she says “jump,” even when it’s for something stupid as fuck, I resent her. Or maybe it’s myself. I’m not sure, but I get this ball of rage down in the pit of my stomach that can only be the beginning of an ulcer. Or a Homicide charge. Just kidding. I would never kill my mom. I’d drive my car off into the river with her gallon of milk before I’d hurt her. And probably even before I’d not do whatever trivial thing she called me to do. Anyway, I don’t know why I’m so angry at her (or the world lately) and I’m convinced that it has something to do with my childhood or her accident. I don’t really know but I feel like I should maybe get to the bottom of it and go see a crazy doctor, because I hate feeling angry more than I hate seeing her number for the 100th time in a day. Maybe it’s just because I’m stressed about life. Maybe I just needed to get it off my chest. But now I’ll worry all day that she’s read this and that I’ve hurt her feelings, even though she very rarely reads my blogs, unless I ask her to, which is par for the course for my family. Well, my immediate family. But it’s fine, because I guess if they read this, they’d be calling me and telling me to take it down and I never take anything down once it’s posted. or at least I try not to. I did take my murdery boyfriend blog down after I wrote it, but that was more for my protection and anonymity than anything else. Anyway… maybe I’ll get therapy. Maybe a therapist would just tell me that I’m an asshole. Only time will tell. But for now, I will sleep off my irritation.