When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Life has been hectic. My new way of coping is to stay super busy so I don't have to think about being super stressed. I knew I was neglecting my blog because I didn't want to deal.

But knowing "not wanting to deal" has lead me to be confined to my bed, isolating from friends and eating a lot of string cheese, I thought I'd just journal like crazy and get it off my chest.

I went to one of my favorite Mexican places, Sunday, journal in hand. I ordered a margarita. Margaritas always make me tell the truth. Not always a good thing, like the time by BF and I had them and I ended up telling him I fake my orgasms. That was not a fun night.

Anyway, all the stuff I had to write about this Sunday was about family and the ability of my family to drive me bat shit crazy. I'll publish that entry one day. It's gut wrenchingly honest about how upset I am with my parents.

My Mom is either off her meds or no one is regulating them. She's the one who went to several different doctors to get all sorts of anti-depressents prescribed to her after my cousin died. She then concocted her own tiny meth-like lab in her house where she combined them in all sorts of varying degrees until it backfired an landed her in the emergency room.

That was a fun two months.

After one margarita the steam was pouring out of my ears. Why won't my Dad step up and do anything about this? Why am I the bad guy in all this? Why when I talk to my Dad about her erratic behavior am I called... wait, for it - "too sensitive?"

The things my mother says... they are not the things a mentally well person says to her daughters. Nevermind, that if she is acting this way with me, she is acting this way with everyone. My sister told me four months ago she was cutting off her relationship with my mother. I begged her not to. Why? I guess... I hate conflict. I would much rather ignore conflict. Can't we just all get along? Haven't we all gone through enough?

But the price of silence, of just going along with it, is really heavy. It's not making my Mom better and it's really affecting me and my sisters. There were a lot of reasons I broke up with my therapist. One was I just wanted to deal with my cousin's death more.

But when my friend C, a patient of my therapist, told me my therapist cried in a session with C because something they were talking about made her (my therapist) think of her son's suicide, I felt kinda reluctant to bring up David's death.

So I just paid out of pocket and went there and didn't say anything at all. I have taken politeness to a whole new level.

The other reason - she told me I would be more healthy if I didn't have a relationship with my mother.

I was not ready for that. I'm not ready for that now. Which is why, when I came to that conclusion at the Mexican restaurant, I ordered another margarita. Only, it was too strong. And I had to drive. But I'm thrifty and I had already paid for it. So... I went out to my car and grabbed a cup that I was carrying around for water. And I marched back into the restaurant, dumped my margarita in the cup and then tipped my waiter well for looking the other way and left.

I didn't come to any other conclusions about my family that day. Except that margaritas on a hot, frustrating day are delicious.


This blog is dedicated to waiters that look the other way.

When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life