I’m pretty vulnerable in the battle of love versus hate.
It’s all too easy to allow disdain to overshadow happiness.
I once was blinded by rainbows. Now the rain clouds block the colors.
I don’t wonder if I’m the only one. Frankly, I don’t care. I just know I wish it didn’t happen.
I love my child; I hate the woman who birthed me.
My child makes me happy every day; I hate the woman who birthed me.
There’s nothing about which to be sad; I hate the woman who birthed me.
It’s an internal battle I fight every day. If I had shoes for dancing, I’d polish them for my mother’s funeral and pray to use them before they gathered dust.
Everyone thinks she’s a saint. No one sees my side. I’m living a fairy tale, but she’s the wicked witch. Except she’s not vulnerable to water. Or apples. Or glass slippers.
Nothing can stop her.
That’s what I am. She will not go away.
But everything – I mean everything – else in my life is perfect.
Oh, how I wish she would depart from my world. I long for happiness that isn’t cracked. I long for happiness to be all I see. I long for a life without her.
I am a diabetic. Type I … the “bad” kind. If anything out of the ordinary happens in my world, the quantity of sugar from the food I eat that remains in my blood and passes through my kidneys goes too high or too low. If it goes low enough, I’ll lose consciousness instantly, have a seizure, lose oxygen to my brain and endure brain damage or death. But at least that fate would happen quickly. If my blood sugar goes too high and stays there, my death would be long, drawn out and include years of blindness, life without limbs and kidney failure, not to mention a host of other undesirables associated with poor circulation.
The stress and torment of being trapped hasn’t doubled my blood sugars. It hasn’t tripled or even quadrupled them. I’ve seen numbers five times the normal range … and numbers even higher, since my glucometer will just read “high.”
This isn’t the scariest part for me.
The scariest is the day after a series of high blood sugars. Since the stress has triggered my liver into emptying glycogen into my blood (which causes the high blood sugars), it causes my glucose levels the next day to crash because there’s nothing left to keep it up. So levels in the 20s and 30s are becoming relatively commonplace. They are a quarter of what they should be.
I’ve been told my joy and anguish are independent of each other, which is a good thing because that means I’m not miserable. I’m delighted around my daughter and my son. I’m ecstatic around their mother, the love of my life. I’m optimistic, satisfied, successful and ambitious at work. I am the bright spot in many persons’ day.
I don’t know if I’ll survive my mother.
I have to take responsibility for this at some point. It is my body; it is my life. Persons depend on me.
Enter the battle of love versus hate.
Can I overcome my resentment? Is it possible to concentrate on my love and disregard my hate? Considering the dilemma alone makes me feel inadequate.
I cannot stop an obese woman with her husband’s wallet from obtaining and devouring what she wants like a whale swallowing fish … except when it comes to my happiness. I control that. I will control that.
I will count my blessings. I will not be distracted by her wickedness.
I will do what it takes to overcome her evil.