Things My Mother Taught Me

The other night I was having all sorts of trouble sleeping while asleep…

I grind and clench my teeth when I sleep…

if you want your pencils sharpened, your pens destroyed, or to lose a finger… catch me when I’m sleeping and put them in my mouth when I’m not wearing my mouthguard – which is rare these days but now that they’ve stopped making the one I can actually sleep while using…

why do they do that, always discontinue stuff I like, need and use…!?

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fairly certain most exulansis isn’t exulansis but it seems like it is…

and sometimes what seems like it is is more interesting than what is…

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I’ve done this since I was a baby, every night without fail (one thing, at least, at which I don’t fail!), much to the dismay of my mother whose first complaint that I can recall (with my own memory rather than with hers for me…) was about the state in which I left the corners of my security blankets – shredded edges due to strong nibbling teeth, ragged untidy corners which bothered her but which soothed me when I rubbed them against my cheeks, so soft, which she, always the martyr, had to fix and make hard again (extra strong this time!)… so I could nibble them to shreds again (your extra strong will be worn down), to make them so soft…

One of the things my mother taught me – was that anything I could do, she intended to undo and ‘fix’. She was always trying to ‘fix’ me like my security blankets. And in the end she ended up breaking me with all her fixes into a form which became fixed (not as she would have wanted) and impossible for her to fix (as she wanted)… but that didn’t stop her from thinking their was a fix for what was wrong with me.

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one of the free online games – Text Twist – I like to play while taking breaks in between…

the games you like to play (as well as the ones you don’t) are revealing about you…

maybe…

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sometimes this can wake me up without actually making me fully conscious (which is great if you want to lucid dream… lucid dreaming is basically when you wake up in your own dream and can interfere with the dream, thus making it even more confusing by interfering with it),

and something about last night’s troubled sleep (some detail in a dream with which I didn’t interfere) made me realise (semi-consciously) that some of my grinding and clenching is due to looking for satisfaction but not finding it – it’s as though I’m trying to make a connection which just won’t be made (the cog teeth can’t find their perfect fit in the gears, so the machinery grinds to a halt but the system keeps trying to work, wearing out the mettle of the metal, causing fatigue and eventual breakage).

An inner wire is trying to touch another inner wire to carry a message from one to the other, but…

Something is blocking it!

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Another one of my favourite free online games to play – Hexiom Connect

for some reason my brain likes doing this… and likes to do it when other connections in life frustrate it.

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This is the science bit – Something in my brain is an obstacle to other somethings in my brain…

My brain has always been wired a bit skew-whiff… and maybe it knows it and wants to rectify the askew-ness, but that shit ain’t gonna happen no matter how hard it tries!

Why?

I’m sure some expert somewhere could wax lyrical about what’s wrong with me, my brain, and my wiring (if they gave a bleep… or got paid to do so – that ain’t happening!), but can their expertise be viewed as correct? Who decided their brain could pass judgment on other brains in such a manner?

Isn’t anything related to human brains… all about one brain studying others and deciding that it is right, and then bullying a bunch of other brains into agreeing with it that it is right, and that in its rightness it knows how things are and should be… and anything that isn’t in line with its dogma is wrong (and needs fixing, probably at great cost to those with the wrong stuff and great profit to those with the rights to the right stuff?

Bottom line – we’re all making shit up, but some shit gets a seal of approval while other shit gets branded as bunkum? But who decides which is which?

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there is joy in dyslexia which makes it worth having… even though non-dyslexic society wants those with dyslexia to know that you can be fixed (in other words – you shouldn’t enjoy what’s wrong with you!)

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In my childhood the ‘expert’ who decided which is which, what was right, what was wrong, who was a brain and who was not, and so on… was my mother.

My father was considered faulty due to [insert mother science stuff here].

Since half of me was faulty because of father input in being, and mother finding father’s input in me to be a sign of my being ‘just like him’ and therefore half-rubbish… I’m going to skip a bunch of stuff and cut to a random chase…

One of the things my mother taught me – was to hate.

To hate myself, to hate my father, to hate anyone my father pretended to love, to hate her (because someone who is all about hate can’t escape the consequences of their hate spiel even when they disguise themselves behind a facade of – I’m all about love!), to hate the world, to hate all the people in the world, to hate nature, to hate nurture, to hate… well, just hate everything, everyone, and you’ll be safe hating so you don’t have to take risks in not hating…

This is a penny which only dropped recently… really recently like right now!

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my mother never saw her hate as hate…

it was love,

love disappointed, love thwarted, love frustrated, love in pain, love twisted,

love which loved too much,

love not received, given, or shared…

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I’ve only just realised that my mother was my teacher of hate…

I knew some of my hate (particularly self-hate – which was/is my main kind of hate) was inspired by her, but…

While I always knew she was an angry person… and hated…

for some reason I never made the connection between her anger and all the hate which rained and poured in my formative years (usually on top of me because I was the easiest target and empty vessel for it, others were harder to hit with it and hit back…), later on, and continuously whenever she was around…

To be fair to my rather stupid self… much of my time, early and later on, was spent focusing on spin – spinning her story, influence, character and personality into something it wasn’t (and denying my own to do so – my story was irrelevant – and since it was a spin-off of hers, hers was vital and needed attention!).

Yes, mother, you’re a good mother, you’re caring, kind, generous, wise, loving, no one understands you, no one appreciates how wonderful you are, how much you have sacrificed of yours for them…

if it weren’t for them… for us… for him… for me… you could be so much more, free, successful, beautiful, happy… and maybe you’d stop picking on us…

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excerpt via Eric Berne: Games People Play – If It Weren’t For You…

my mother’s favourite free offline game… which she taught me (if it weren’t for her… was one of my usual versions to play).

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but maybe your favourite thing to do is pick on us, that way you won’t pick on yourself, can distract yourself from what’s wrong with you by making everything wrong with us and thus all your wrongs become right…

although picking on us is like picking on yourself because what’s wrong with us is what’s wrong with you (but we won’t make you face that too often as you have a tantrum when we do that… and there are just so many times making you laugh by singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat badly will ward one of your tantrums off).

You’re wonderful… pity the rest of the world is so awful!

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One of the things my mother taught me – is that she’s wonderful, pity I’m so awful!

She did her best to make me better… but I will never be better, I can’t be or she’d have nothing to do… no one to compare herself favourably with… and then there’d be the kind of silence which brings personal reckoning (she hated silence of any kind, especially those).

I’m so tired, exhausted, done for… can I go and be alone now… I realise this is selfish, sorry for being such a terrible child, a burden to you, after all you’ve done for me… yes, I know you could abandon me, you threaten it every time you have a tantrum… sorry, your tantrums aren’t tantrums… yes, I know you almost died so I could live (but who exactly thought it was a good idea to have a child… something something about ‘it’ making you less selfish?…)…

oh, for a moment when you would just forget about me… but when you do it brings with it a foreboding… for forgetting me means you’ve got a new toy person to distract you from me, and that toy will eventually let you down and then you’ll come looking for me with a vengeance… wrong word, sorry, I always use the wrong word… but I daren’t use the right one…

Right now I could explain, excuse, logically analyse, deconstruct and reconstruct, and spin her hate until the perpetrator became an innocent victim of circumstances, life experiences, childhood trauma, unfairness, and the cruelties of living, of others… make it seem like nothing was ever her fault (it’s probably mine)… bring sympathy, empathy and compassion out in full force until you might relate to her and like her (and probably agree with her that I’m the problem)… or at least you’d find it hard to hate her.

But I’m not going to do what I… was trained to do.

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this image represents what I’ve been trained to do…

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One of the things my mother taught me – was to change allegiances to suit whatever story you were telling in the moment.

Betray everyone who was loyal to you (and your most recent story) and then act hurt because they got upset at you for it.

I never learned this lesson…

I mistakenly thought…

but then again she claimed to be loyal to a fault – as many people who are disloyal do, and she claimed never to be able to betray or tell a lie – as many people who betray and lie do. She accused my father of being this way (he was) and said she was the opposite of him (she wasn’t).

I’m bored of seeing why she was the way she was, why she did the things she did, the ins and outs, the ups and downs, the topsy turvy, how the threads got all knotted, and so on and so forth.

I understand…

and I’m fed up of being understanding…

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if you notice the typo…

take a moment to wonder if it is deliberate, a test…

then realise it isn’t and does it matter?

Isn’t psychology, grammar… just like everything else invented by the human brain…

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being understanding has got me into more complications and trouble than not being understanding… especially when it came to my mother.

I had to pay either way, and anyway… because with her it was all about her getting her payment whether you owed her or not – she always thought you owed her, whoever you were! And whatever you paid her was never enough, never good enough for her…

One of the things my mother taught me – don’t be like her because… she’s still an angry bitter hater and it poisons everything and everyone, including you, the angry bitter hater who usually thinks they’re not one.

I’m at that age where I should be realising with horror that I’m just like my mother…

sometimes I notice aspects of her in me, but…

since she stole a lot of me (I won’t explain this – if you know the humdrum conundrum of narcissists you’ll understand this one), those aspects could be mine and not hers.

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nope, but it does make me hungry (if I’m really hungry the fingers would look tasty, hair and all, too)…

this would have made my mother froth at the mouth… and go into a long lecture about how wrong it all is!

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Figuring out what is mine and what is not mine has been a free offline puzzle I’ve been working on for decades…

sometimes it’s easier to sort out than at other times, because disentangling ourselves from others is not always possible… but occasionally the lines are clearly drawn (yet we paint over them anyway).

Once in a while I’m struck by sudden – why am I doing this, feeling this, being this way… it’s just not me, so why is it me!?

One of the things my mother taught me – was to be anxious all the time about everything and everyone…. and then hate everything and everyone because of it…

whatever I was… thinking, doing, feeling, being… was a mistake which had happened, was about to happen, would happen soon…

I could prevent it but I would fail to do so and the other shoe would drop crushing any minute happy… happy was never allowed!

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I suppose she also taught me some other things… but since I never finish anything I start (according to her), I’ll just leave it right here and now as it is…

What say you?

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