Words of Me

Becky shared this word today. Atelophopbia which is a noun that means the fear of imperfection. This is my word. I am always afraid. I am constantly feeling inferior to almost everyone. I am not elegant and lovely and tall and buxom or smart and witty and clever and confident.  I am short and much more than chubby, moderately well-read, not much fun, and negative as a dead battery. (actually, dead batteries don’t have anything. So I’m more like one of those magnets that you try to affix to something and discover it can only work one way. Stupid things) I got an email from a friend back in Oregon. He’d seen my family blog and the photos below were in it. He said how one of them was uncomplimentary and I looked puffy and tired. Gee, I wonder which one? LOL  (Now, I feel even more shitty.)


Yeah, I do negative better on myself than when allowing others to do it for me. It is a type of rejection. Rejections is something I am totally familiar with, but not something I deal with well. I’m learning, though. I’ve become a much stronger person than I was a year ago this month. I’ve had to learn to do things by myself and I can. It may take a while, but I manage. In my marriage, I’m often put aside for other things. It is normal. I do it, too. I often make cookies and read at night when The Craftsman wants to watch TV. I’ll go for a walk when he’s just sat down instead of asking before he gets comfy in his chair. I’ll not hang out up at the shop while he’s working because I’d rather stay at the house. (I can read just as well up there) It is something the two of us do to each other. He tells me he gives me all the time he can, which makes sense. He is only at the house a couple of hours from 6-10 or 1030 pm, before he’s too tired for much more than tv and sleep. I need to make sure I fit in his schedule better.

I know I do some things well, not many, but a few. Unfortunately, the things I do well are unmarketable. I am an aging stay at home mom with a liberal arts college degree in silly courses, and a terrific volunteer who has nothing to go on with. The kids are grown, my spouse and I have nothing in common (or little), caregiving is my whole life, and I’m a doormat. I have to stay where I am, I have two very expensive diseases that I can’t live with ignoring. (literally! I had to fight to keep an appointment for myself. Mom is getting her dentures started at the end of March. Which means I can’t leave til those are done. If then.) I must learn to be content in following other lives or with stolen moments where I’m on the edges of those lives. Hoping I don’t fuck them up somehow, because I don’t belong. Kind of like those games on Sesame Street where one of these things is not like the other. I’m the cotton candy in the organic veggies aisle!!

As a Shadow Girl my life is behind others. I understand this, it has been that way my whole life. I take care of others to make them feel better. It is what I’m made of. I had to laugh. My sister called today and she told me I needed to take care of myself because, ‘She couldn’t do all this with mom by herself.’ (WTF??? We haven’t seen her since Christmas!! She works less than 10 miles from mom, she calls every so often and is constantly sick or busy with her family) The Craftsman tells me he’ll do things better when I return. Almost every night, very late, in his ‘I’m tired, I’m sorry I didn’t call, Goodnight, love.’ texts, he adds ‘I love you.’ I know he’s busy, but he is thinking of me. (Speaking of which, it is now 1230 am there and I’ve not heard from him yet. He’s probably doing something.)

I had to stop reading the Anne book about the librarian abducted by aliens, because it is a fairy tale sort of soft porn love story. I can’t see fairy tales (even if I did schedule part of one for Wednesday’s post!), I’m not that kind of material. I’m more PB and jelly on white bread than succulent finger snacks with wine.  So, I decided to read the YA book about horses for King Arthur instead. Love and support among animals is even nil in my world, but it is much easier to read. Thankfully, it will be March soon. Redwall books are on the agenda. (Strider and I got to meet Brian Jacques—pronounced Jakes and not like the name of the French guy on that really old TV show who made everyone realise there was an exciting world under the ocean!) He’s a good March read because there is always a harvest going on and cooking and baking and feasts and they are great fun!

Darkness lurks often. Especially after a really bad time with mom. We don’t love each other. It might be easier if we did. We tolerate each other. I provide a means to keeping her alive, in spite of the fact she’s doing as much of what she wants anyway. I’m useful. I also found out tonight that mom thinks my sister only wants her money. I told her she’ll get half of everything, as it is written in her will. She got really mad. It seems she loaned 10 grand to the kid for something and they’ve not paid it back. She’s given a lot of money to them for all kinds of things. She doesn’t think it is fair Jake should have it all and I get nothing. I honestly don’t care. I did want to be able to get a place up here with what might be left. However, there won’t be much and that makes me very happy. The less finances after a death, the less there is for people to fight over. I did tell mum if she didn’t like the will, she could change it. Nope, she’d rather bitch about the past.

I keep thinking how I’ll get everything taken care of after mom is gone and then vanish myself. I honestly don’t think many would notice. And I don’t care. I’m not really interested in anything anymore. Why should I be? It doesn’t matter. I used to think it did, but it doesn’t. It would be such a relief to not be afraid anymore. To not be in the way.  To not be in charge. To not be worried about being pretty or good enough. To not have to be a bother. To not need to make sure everyone else was ok. To not be a financial drain medically. (note: I’d have to make sure there was some sort of closure. Just to vanish is stupid. My ex brother in law did that and nothing can be done til a couple more years pass, I think. Although, if he showed up, I might just off him myself!!!) One of my friends said we need to go on an Inside Passage cruise (which I’ve always wanted to do) and be taken care of. I laughed. I’d probably not be allowed in the very front of the ship to watch the waves. Besides, I couldn’t afford to do it. I’d feel guilty every time I needed to tip someone because it wouldn’t be enough and I’d be sure to mess something up somewhere.

The circle of atelophopbia. I’m sure it will roll over soon. It generally does.

9 thoughts on “Words of Me

  1. I hope things start going better. I understand the feelings. As soon as my mom is gone (could be 20 years) and my son is an adult (he’s 12), I want to disappear as well. Backpacking across Europe staying in hostels. Wanna come?

    Liked by 1 person

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