It is strange that it is Mother's Day tomorrow.  Well, no, it is not strange, because Mother's Day happens every year, obviously.  It's just that this is the first Mother's Day in over ten years that I will have the opportunity to celebrate the occasion with my real mother.  For the whole of that motherless period, a mother is all I wanted, but now we are reunited and, despite the fact that I hate the commercialisation of such occasions, we should be able to enjoy the day together.  My mum's actually away so I am taking the opportunity to transform her garden and give her a whopping great, hopefully lovely, surprise.

I was browsing through quotes, as I do, and this one struck me: 'There is nothing to suggest that mothering cannot be shared by several people.' H R Schaffer.  I am lucky enough to have a couple of incredibly significant mother-figures in my life, without whom, I very much doubt I would be here today.  They are the most loving, kind, funny, generous, selfless, fantastic of people, that if I sung their praises all day, all week, all year, it would still not do them justice.  They have taught me so many valuable lessons, lessons which I will cherish and bear in mind for the rest of my life so that I can be care-free and happy, so that I can live.  And this is when another quote struck me: 'The art of mothering is to teach the art of living to children.'  Elaine Heffner.  I have never been taught, how to live, only to be subservient, to show deference, to be obedient, to be a clones, and thus, now, I am an obsequeious, painfully shy, worthless, seemingly arrogant being, always trying to please, and always failing.  Not good.

But my friends are helping to wean me out of this being.  I cannot wait to break out of this suffocating cocoon and emerge, a butterfly, soaring high and happy between silken sheets of blue skies under a golden-warm, nectar-sweet sun. 

Maybe then I will not feel so awkward calling my real mother 'Mum' or 'Mam' or 'Mummy' or anything mother-related after all these years of not being able to do so.  I have been so fixated on the idea that my mother would be the answer to all my problems.  But now I need to be realistic.  It is nice to have my mother back, it eases the guilt a tad, but by no means significantly.  I just cannot seem to shift this guilt which insists on weighing me down.  It is at times exhausting and I am so grateful I have two significant mother-figures to keep me going and I am so incredibly eternally grateful for all the support they are showing me, for always being there for me, and for always putting up with me, no matter how low I am.

Thus Mother's Day: I now think about it as not merely a day to celebrate love for a mother, but also think of all those out there who should absolutely not go forgotten, who act as mother-figures - a fairy godmother perhaps, or a fantastic friend.

I hate this turbulent, roller-coastering up and down, up and down.  One minute, I am my joyously happy self with my friends and, especially with one close friend, can forget, more or less, everything.  But then suddenly from this peak, out of the blue, the roller coaster decides to take arbitrary corkscrew turns, first throwing me about in frustration, then plummeting down, down, my happiness has fallen out of the ride, lower and lower until I have reached a trough, an inexplicable black oblivion.  Feeling at rock bottom for no reason that I can think of.

And this rock bottom is horrendous.  I cannot even describe it.  First of all, the deep sadness is random, as in, there is absolutely no reason for me to be like this...but I am, and I cannot, wish as hard as I can, make that roller coaster change path and rise up, up and up, hauling with it my mood.  So I remain stuck, trapped on this roller coaster ride of misery which absolutely terrifies me beyond belief.

I complain, and yet I deserve it.  After eveything I have done.  After the misery I have caused to more than an array of people, and people for whom I care about at that.  This is totally my own fault.  I have made people miserable, I have then, uninentionally, pushed people away, I have caused havoc and made myself a complete nuisance to othes.  Now I am overcome with guilt which leaves me bearing the weight of misery on my shoulders.  I daren't complain any more for I unquestionnably deserve this comeuppance, this emotion trapped inside me causing turmoil. 

So when people tell you it's better not to bottle up, it's better to talk about things, I never believe it.  And it always comes back and bites me on the bum.  It's not that I'm being stubborn.  It's that I actually cannot bring myself to speak of my own accord.  I do not know how to talk about things, or what to talk about, or where to start.  I hate the idea that I'm moaning.  I hate the idea that I'm inconveniencing someone whilst talking about myself because I'm so worthless.  And I hate what I talk about because hearing it out loud makes it more concrete, more real and makes me sound more crazy.

Sometimes it has to be let it out though.  Otherwise, these feelings build up inside, and you cannot help but find yourself immersed from the inside out in an inescapable state of sheer melancholy.  You find yourself so scared that you feel this fear taking over your whole self. No longer mere butterflies fluttering tauntingly in your stomach, but flapping manically, rising up through your whole body, leaving you in a state of breathless panic.  Try as you might, you cannot quell it, nor can you find a reason for this fear, which scares you even more, leaving you feeling even more frightened.  You find yourself so sad, that you are launched into a hollow pit of darkness, and the harder you search, the further away you are from finding a light.  Again, you cannot find a reason for this deep state of melancholy which renders you feeling so pathetic and thus even more sad.  You cry over absolutely nothing, which, for someone who has learnt not to cry, is terrifying.  You are losing control, again, terrifying.  You have all these feeling torturing you, and yet you are empty, you are numb and just feel dead inside.  You just want to be held tight, safe, and never be let go of.  You want to run away, to escape from this being.  You want someone to just make it better.

But you know that is not going to happen.  You know you are going to have to confront it all and that is what terrifies you the most.  So you keep bottling.

Don't you just hate it when someone puts a spanner in the works?  Especially when that someone was a person you were close to - close to by blood and close to by friendship. But that is all now shattered, like a mirror disintegrated into a trillion tiny shards, impossible to piece together, lost.  Thinking about this loss makes me sad - sad for the loss of the good times, sad for the loss of a friend and sad for the loss of a brother.  Then again, what is the use of living in the past, in a dream world?  I need to just remember those good times, cherish them, hold on to those happy memories, and move on, grateful that I have experienced happiness in my life, unlike many people.

That doesn't mean I'm not angry for the time being.  It's all just a game, a pitiful petty little game that they think they can win.  And they will try anything to win, even the most manipulative, coniving tricks, like sending their own son to dish the dirt on his sister, their own daughter.  The harder they try to win their game, the more and more they push me away.  Why are they so blind to this?  They don't seem to realise they're playing on their own.  Their actions have served as a catalyst creating an erruption, an explosion which, little do they realise, is harming them just as much as it is harming everyone they are trying to harm.

I realise this post is rather cryptical...I guess it's just me trying to sort things out in my head, thinking aloud...

Funny isn't it, how you can make youself think things like...new month, new start.  Today for example, 1st March - St David's Day.  Or...new hair, new you.  Again, today, for example, I have now transformed into a blonde with a fringe in my quest for finding a different person in myself.  You have all these ideals you wish to fulfil in order to better yourself as a person, and you feel excitingly positive concerning the good you expect to ensue with your new frame of mind.  Everything is going to be humdingity alright.

And then boom!  Something happens.  Hits you like an arrow on target, smack bang central, pushing your Negative On button and shatters your picture of perfection into a plethora of painful shards, which cut you, deep.  You blame the way you now feel, (drained, exhausted, hurting like hell, disappointed, rejected, controlled, lost, confused, worthless, and quite frankly, pissed off) on the way you have been treated.  You can bottle it up or rant and rave all you like about this...but then how will it help? 

At the end of the day, you are in charge of your own emotions.  I heard someone say, a few weeks ago, that people do not make you feel a certain emotion, you make yourself feel that emotion.  Whilst I don't totally agree with this, (I mean, if a person hasn't done something to make you feel angry, or sad, then you would have no reason to be angry or sad, so people do make you feel certain emotions).  I see it as people can make you feel certain emotions, but then it is down to you how you deal with it.  For example, if someone makes you feel so worthless that it prevents you from getting on with your life, then that person is partly to blame, but then at the same time, so are you partly to blame for allowing them to make you feel so worthless that you are prevented from, and prevent yourself from getting on with your life.  Deal with it.

But then it's so much easier said than done isn't it?