My mother was a crazy, violent drunk, prone to manic episodes and unpredictable rages. Coming home as a kid, I never knew how I would find her. Drunk and passed out, needing to be put to bed, or pacing around, screaming at the walls.
I had to be hypervigilant. I learned very early to read the room, placate, or become invisible, or tiptoe around her. I learned when she needed attention and flattery, and when she needed to be left alone.
I got good at this. To survive.
Even when I grew up and moved out, I still couldn’t get away from her. She’d call me day and night to rant and rave.
She died when I was 42, and I felt nothing but relief.
I no longer had to deal with her moods, unpredictability, or lies. My whole life unclenched. I felt something I had never felt before: happiness. I would never have to put up with her again.
This past Election Day, I stayed up late watching returns. I didn’t think things would go the way they did. I had my fingers crossed we’d get the House. I couldn’t even bring myself to hope for the Senate, too.
I knew returns would come in slowly, and we probably wouldn’t know for sure until the next day on some races, but suddenly the Dems started winning in places they had no business winning. I refilled my wine glass and snuggled in for the long haul.
Every time a new winner was announced, even the news people would gasp a little and giggle.
What the hell was happening? And the margins!
The next day, running on only 4 hours’ sleep, I walked around feeling unclenched and happy, just like I felt the day my mother died. My nervous system, locked in hypervigilance mode for the past two years, had suddenly switched off.
I realized I didn’t have to be hypervigilant anymore. I didn’t have to watch Trump (via the news) to make sure he wasn’t doing crazy, violent, manic shit like drilling in Yosemite or bombing Iran. It would be much better if he were dead, sure, but at least now the House and the Senate can babysit him, not me. The toddler with the loaded gun who has been allowed to terrorize the world is now (somewhat) confined.
The grown-ups are home.
Thank god.
I’m sorry you had to go through that, Kath. My mother was also a drunk, but a morose one, except when she was arguing with my father. Life with her was very difficult.
She died by suicide when I was 13, and it was a huge relief – like waking up from a nightmare. My biggest problem was dealing with the adults who smothered me with sympathy, when I was happier than I had been in years.
Anyway, I know what you mean about the results of the midterms. Free at last! 🙂
LikeLike