Somehow my mother is simultaneously painfully festive and dreadfully depressing. Seasonal change means it's time for the traditional changing of curtains. From white to red, then purple, yellow, and then back to white. Whenever she does anything domestic, I try to stay away. It's too depressing watching her dust the same spot every week. Like I needed a reminder that everything is hopeless and there is no point of doing anything, because it won't last.
I tried talking with her. Since I am essentially a broken person, I rely on my parents for satisfying my social needs. If I want to see a movie? My dad. Need someone to talk to? Dad. But unfortunately he doesn't live with us, and he is less than welcome. It's actually really sad watching my mom hide in the washing room the few times he comes over.
This means that when I feel the need to share something, she is the natural choice. Why do I forget every time how much I end up regretting it? Usually that happens when she uses vulnerable information to mock/nag me. Or when I try to share something real, as I would have with my dad, were he there. It's hard to explain what she does, but I always feel betrayed.
Yes, I realize I make cynical remarks about a lot of things. That's just my humor, and incidentally, my sister's, too. We like being snarky, that's just what we do. In fact, that's the only time I really talk to my sister. We've had a serious conversation maybe three or four times, and we still didn't talk all that much. But this is who we are. We're damaged.
My mother, on the other hand, likes everything to be correct and cozy. She only likes humor no one could ever find offensive, and she would rather do small talk than have real conversations. But really, one can only talk about knitting quilts for so long. Or, that's what I thought. She's very good at the kind of conversations where I can't pay attention if I try, and there is nothing I can think of saying, so I only nod or say yes or no a couple of times. Really, before my parents split and I went to his family's gatherings without her, I had barely talked to any of my relatives. Really talk.
So, I am once again sitting at the table, asking what she thinks are unnecessary questions. "If you had to choose between being brilliant or being happy, what would you choose?" - Okay, that one was kind of stupid, since I already knew the answer. As I dream of making a difference, making a mark, she doesn't want to be seen at all. Literally, she even refuses to pose for pictures. "If you know what you know now, would you still have married dad?" - No answer, only objections. "Are you happy?" - This is a question my mother does not understand. When I was a kid and complained about being bored, she would say I had to get used to it, because "that's life". No wonder I get depressed.
But now she tells me that my talk makes her depressed. That she has gotten over her "depression period", but I'm making her feel worse. Nothing like ruining your parents' lives. Really, she tells me to expect a boring life, and I'm depressing her? That's almost insulting.
If my mother saw this, she would be horrified. Not of what I just wrote, but that other people might see it. This is what I'm working with, people.