The Emotional Rollercoaster

I thought we had a good conversation tonight; she's taking her meds again. Well, actually, she said she's got meds that are actually working for her for the first time in several years. The meds always work at first, until she drinks.
That's probably what happened tonight. I'm so glad I didn't have to hear the sound of the ice cubes in her glass. Would I have said the same things? Should I have picked up the phone when she called me back merely a couple of hours later? Am I in for another sleepless night? …

I realize that I am going to sound like a bad person when I say that … I will never be comfortable around her. Because I never know when she's going to snap. That being said, tonight was another classic example. I am the one who's not healing here. I can never truly heal or move beyond the past as long as I have to worry about the kind of relationship we have. Because the problem is, when she's nice, when she tells me that she's different, I want to believe her. I slowly get used to the idea of her being different; I soak it up because a part of me really does believe it's possible.

So I gradually start to think that it's true. I start to invest more of my time and my heart into helping her be that different person she is so desperate to be. But then, she suddenly reverts back to the same old routine and I'm left regretting even talking to her.

She called me to ask my advice on something and I wish she hadn't. I've been her personal counselor for my whole life. She's taught me more things about myself than I've ever probably helped her discover about herself. She's never really treated me like a daughter, more like the person who's around for her own person amusement and to make herself feel better when she messes up. She always makes it mostly about herself.

I gave her my advice—leave it alone—especially with a person with whom she's already got a strained relationship. Leave it alone. Be the bigger person and just walk away. Don't respond to someone's outburst of anger. Just let it go. We talked for over two hours about life, past issues, and depression. Her self-actualized statements almost had me fooled into believing that this medicine was getting her somewhere. She agreed that being the bigger, better person, and ending what really could be considered a lame petty disagreement, was the best option.

We talked and laughed and joked about things that happened in my past and I really got to confront her with some of the behavior I'm glad she's changed-at least on the surface. But underneath, she is still just as fragile and unpredictable as she ever was.

After hanging up the phone with her, I felt pretty good. We had an awesome conversation that lasted over two hours. It was the first time in probably … well over 10 months where I didn't end the conversation frustrated or upset let alone spent so much time on the phone.

I felt good. Now THIS was a person I wanted to believe in. This was the person I wanted to call my Mom. This was the person I was proud of, the one who took a disease and flipped it upside down.

So she called me back just as I was about to slip into bed tonight, hoping to catch up on my sleep. When I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong. Had she been crying? Or was it merely that her words were slurring together? I used to be so good at telling the difference …

She had e-mailed the person and put a whole bunch of unknowing (or uncaring?) accusatory statements all pointing to a past she can't let go of. She didn't walk away, she escalated the problem and I could foresee it blowing up in her face. Where was the person I'd talked to earlier? The one who agreed to just walk away, to leave things alone, to write a letter and then WAIT before she sent it just in case of this very scenario?

"Please tell me you didn't send that …" I could only choke out halfway through. She had. Well, she asked my opinion right? What had happened in two hours? Had the drink gotten to her sensibility?

All of a sudden, our difference in opinion, suddenly became out me. Suddenly, I'm not supportive enough of her, I'm not giving her what she wants. But the thing is, I'm not her peer; I'm not her counselor; I'm not her mother. I'm her daughter. But she wants me to be her friend. She wants more than that. She wants me to support her in any endeavor, even if I disagree. But we are different people, and this is a game I don't want to play.

But it's too late to get off the roller coaster. She starts raising her voice and yelling at me in that all too-familiar tone, reminiscent of nights during her depression-induced rants. Here were are, over ten years later, doing the same dance. Hasn't she changed? Maybe not.

We have to end the conversation with me hanging up. Like a kid throwing a temper tantrum, I have to resort to such … pathetic means of telling her I'm done. She talked about killing herself … again, so I picked up the phone and called her right back. All she needed was a break in the conversation to calm her down a bit. That's when she started using things I told her when I believed her "changed" against me. Persona things I had told her were now suddenly being thrown in my face.

Suddenly, I was on the roller coaster again, and there was only one way to get off. I hung up again. I waited a few minutes, took a few deep breaths, and then called her back. "Don't EVER do that to me again." I tell her in a voice she knows not to mess with. Wow, where's that voice during other times when I need it? "You will not speak to me that way." I insist. Clearly, she has crossed the invisible boundaries I have had to put on our relationship.

The conversation proceeds and I know she feels guilty. That's why she is telling me nice things now like "I'm so sorry." And "You're really wonderful …" and blah blah blah. I've heard it all before. I want to believe she's really sorry, but I've been burnt too many times and now all the "I'm sorry's" don't really affect me anymore.

I get off the phone, following her insistence that I try and give her a hug over the phone (she needs the hug?) and was finally able to let her go. She had calmed down. Good. Maybe she won't kill herself tonight. Finally I can get off this roller coaster ride because I'm starting to feel sick. Sick in my heart extending to my soul.

But I wonder where that person went? Was it my imagination or was she ever there to begin with? In order to reach out to someone, to get close to them, you have to reveal things about yourself, open yourself up and be real, and risk getting hurt. It's the same with a mom who can't control herself. But the truth is, I think a part of me dies every time this happens. I am afraid for the day when it won't hurt me anymore because then I may hang up on her, walk away, and never look back.