- 22. September 2009: Happy Birthday to me
- 18. September 2009: Frank's Comments on Into the Belly
- 6. September 2009: Into the Belly of the Beast
- 8. August 2009: My Evil Step-Father
- 3. May 2009: Original Sin
- 15. April 2009: The Great Fear: A poem & journal entry from Carole w/comments added.
- 26. March 2009: Pizza Night!
- 15. March 2009: Misperception
- 15. March 2009: Dear J.
- 11. March 2009: We are all Suffering
Blogroll
The Parasite Princess
Condition 2 weeks - strep throat pneumonia - grief based -
anger based - remorse
love ? myself
forgive myself
Why do you put a question mark there? Every time there is a question.
Basically I am cut off from my feelings. love is unknown to me.
at the core. So now I go back to Mom. over the years I have examined my
relationship with her and at times have felt forgiveness. but Now that I am
in this condition I am wondering about how isolated she was - unable to love.
almost like a parasite with my Dad as the host - My sister was the prize
I was forlorn, neglected, unwanted. an embarrassment - no good -
Non Compos Mentis -
I guessed at what I was supposed to be and somehow went on no feelings -
no attachments. numb. I had animals at the farm and briefly one small dog.
Boots -
Skipping ahead - I am going with this parasite idea - I needed definition -
a host a cause I wanted to get away from my family my role my non-existance
I met F. - who was very much like my father
Was I my mother the parasite princess?
Could be
I feel violated by my poor choices - why F., why R., why my poor choice in teachers?
And what about R.R.?
Gennyfer here: F. refers to Franks & my father R. refers to Mary’s father. No idea who R. R. was.
4 Responses to “The Parasite Princess”
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26. February 2009 at 20:35
It’s interesting to me that I would never even think of posting someone’s personal journal on the Web. But here we are. I remember when first started talking about “crazymom” when we were going through her things; I wondered how it would work. The thing is that while some of her writing’s actually sound crazy, others, when they stand alone do not. The thought of trying to explain why these thing are so off the wall seemed overwhelming to me at the time. But now that the ball is rolling we will see how far it goes.
The parasite princess…wow! The irony is that she didn’t love her children; not in the maternal way, maybe in some base human way but not like her parents loved her. It just fries my ass when she talks about my grand-parents this way. At the same time I understand that she was emotionally disturbed and these thing were how she felt. However understanding a feeling and feeling it are two different things; it hurts either way. When I read her writing I feel a little sad and angry. Sad, because she was always looking for her answer in the wrong places. Angry for so many reasons. Maybe you don’t understand, but if you do let me know. If you know what its like to love your mother so much and hope the reason she doesn’t love you back is that she just can’t but really you know that’s not true let me know.
1. March 2009 at 19:43
This was written two seasons before she died. Frank selected this piece as a start for sharing her journals. It’s an interesting choice for me because I went through a point in the two years since her death where I wanted to let this Crazymom.com idea go and this illustrates why. I was ranting at one point to my husband about how hard it was for me to watch her amass this anger and hatred for her parents. I was angry that she had seemed to constantly reach back in to her past to create events that would explain her shattered mind to herself. Yet she never faced, in the present, the abuse she handed down to her own children. She apologized for various things but never in a way where the recipient of the apology felt that she even cam close to understanding the scope of the damage she had done.
I told my husband that I was afraid doing this site would make me like her. Dwelling in the past and ignoring the present. I announced to him, thinking he would be relieved, that I was not going to do the site. How healthy is this really? To my surprise he was very firmly against this. He assures me that I am not the same kind of person and will not fall in to the same sort of traps she did and in any case if I did he’d let me know, he’d pull me back out. He believes that my siblings and I are on the right track. That sharing these painful, bizarre memories may help someone else struggling with the same kinds of things. Here we are starting with this entry. The Parasite Princess. Hmmm…
My grandparents were such key figures of stability for me, anchors in our stormy childhoods. I am hampered in responding to her comment about my grandfather being very much like my father because I knew my grandfather very well but hardly know my father. Yet I really don’t see the comparison. My grandmother being compared to a parasite. There is nothing in this statement that does not offend me. Nothing. My grandfather was the warmer more emotional of them. It was his lap that was sought out when we visited and though I am not certain why this was my grandmother had some serious back issues that left her hunchbacked in a wheel chair in later life. I think she may have been in a lot of pain which may have made her seem more distant. But these were the people to which my mother turned for assistance over and over in her life. They knew she was off in some way and made sure she did not end up homeless or worse.
My mother’s anger at them grew out of her inability to acknowledge the ways in which she let her own children down and the stories she heard from the students she had in her last two jobs, one teaching teen parents parenting skills and the last teaching GED classes to students recovering from drug problems. She certainly had issues with her parents over the years but she had a good deal of love and respect for them until she co-opted some of these people’s sad stories.
My mother was ill, lonely, and wanted to fit in. She lied. Perhaps she was a parasite as she herself wondered. I don’t think so. She was a tortured soul, very out of touch with reality. She said her mother was unable to love but I think she was incapable of recognizing this feeling whether in giving or receiving. My mother had a great deal of love shown to her in her childhood and her life. It is sad that even with this she felt so alone.
I’d love to hear from you, who reads these words. What strikes you when reading her words or ours? Any insights you’d care to share?
10. March 2009 at 22:30
Before I share my sense of Carole and her situation, I am compelled to firmly state that I do not KNOW her truth but I can share what I experience when I read her words.
For me it is not a question of blame or even of logical proof. It is a question of trying to understand her point of view at the time that she wrote this particular journal entry. When writing in a journal I try to write for my own understanding. She seems to be trying to understand her situation and she obviously sees that something about her life is not quite right. She also sees that she does not feel love or intimacy. The rest of her exploration of possible reasons is only secondary to me.
It is interesting for me to note that I too have felt the inability to Love in myself. Rather I might say that I do not seem to love as I wish I could. Much more love seems possible and I see only shadows of this possibility.