It’s almost more than 2 weeks since my surgery. I’m doing really, I can do some little things on my own and I drive even if is -20c in Ottawa. I was doing really well in behavior and mood until today. Usually at this time I received my Lupron Depot, the shot that induced me to menopause…so, more shots…Estrogen is back slowly, with it, also moody and blues times are back…again.
I must admit I was very upset when the symptoms were more obvious. I was able to cry, I was able to feel down, just exactly as before surgery. I’m feeling kind of furious, irritate and frustrated. I want things happen fast. The dreams I had days ago mean nothing to me anymore. I sent to hell the concerns about other important things…I’m just want to punch something or somebody. I hate my apartment, I hate to being alone and I don’t have appetite. I went to the shower twice, the second time just for crying. At this point, I hate my life. I hate my estrogen. It reminds me the movie “Southern Comfort”, and I wrote about it before when the guy says the only feminine part of him was killing him, this feeling of loneliness is killing me too.
Of course, when you’re in recovery and alone, people suggested you to grab a bunch of DVD’s and books. Somebody drove me to the library and I picked up an interesting book, almost blow up my mind like Alison Bechdel. Her name is Jeanette Winterson. One the first books she wrote was “Oranges are not the only fruit” which in UK, made a tv series which a great success. I haven’t read this book because …I don’t know, I saw another book of her available and read a critic in a Spaniard newspaper.
The title was appealing “Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?”. Original, isn’t it? Winterson is a lesbian writer icon. I was so much impressed of this book for its biographical content. One of the anecdotes described in the book was when her foster mother (yes, she was adopted and I heard many girls who are adopted are mostly lesbians) when she found out she was lesbian, she called to church for an exorcism. As my mother, her foster mom was crazy about religion. Although, this woman was really a psychotic case, my mom was just schizophrenic, well, they aren’t that far from each other. Apparently in “Oranges…” she gives more details of her daily life. In “Why Be Happy…” is more analyzing the damage of this pseudo relationship between her foster parents, her homosexuality and religion. I know, I know, a very bad combination. It was impressive the way she gets undressed her emotions about this woman, her future girlfriends and her lack of capability to be loved. When you live in a family, that dysfunctional like mine, for so long, there is a moment you can’t imagine, that is unthinkable other way of living is possible. You got your scars on your skin, you got more relationships in the future and without noticing, you sabotage them.
One of the passages that grabbed me from my neck was: “But mother is our first love affair. Her arms. Her eyes. Her breast. Her body. And if we hate her later, we take that rage with us into other lovers. And if we lose her, where do we find her again?” This is simply true. Even she, as Bechdel, they mentioned Winicott and Jung in this special, dark relationship in psychology. Her relationships with women, her ex, her tentative of suicide reminded me so much to my last years, living in the darkness. So hard to get out of that black hole. Right now is very difficult to me to articulate my post. I wanted to attach my mother, my ex, her relationship, her similarities, her parallels and I can’t.
Jeanette with brilliant agility was able to do it in this book. She mentions her redemption, her struggle, her fight for fighting her biological mother and the disappointment.
Just my previous post I wrote how I finally closed my mom’s chapter and my ex’s chapter of my life…what about my own chapter? I know I want to move on, but somehow, I feel I felt in mud pond, moving slowly, dirty, tired, frustrated, every step I do seems not leading me anywhere.
Mom+Ex= Missing person=me. This equation is full of women, women I loved, that betrayed me, that hurt me, punished me physically…of course this was their way to love…with Jeanette Winterson I just realized I don’t know how to love either.