Psychobitch Meltdown, Revisited
"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was." ~ Anne Sexton
My therapist told me that I wasn't really a psychobitch and that, in fact, I wasn't even mean to him. Hmm....what a surprise. She pointed out that I'm always so reasonable that Hubby never has to take responsibility for the things he doesn't do for me.
Being jealous and acting on that jealousy reminds me too much of my father. He was constantly sure that whichever woman he happened to be fucking was or wanted to be fucking someone else. That was always a wonderful opportunity to indulge his need for violence. Of course, I'm not jealous of everyone; just this one person. I'm never violent. So why is this so problemmatic? Because I've spent my life trying desperately to eradicate any similarity between my father and me. I've even jettisoned good qualities in my relentless quest to differentiate myself from him.
My therapist constantly reminds me that I'm not like my father. Why doesn't this make me feel any better?
America held hostage day 1547
Bushism of the day:
"Listen, I want to thank leaders of the - in the faith - faith-based and community-based community for being here."
— (The White House, "President Meets with Representatives from National Voluntary Organizations," Sept. 6, 2005.)
