the cards you're dealt

Tonight I was hungry pretty early so I reheated the small amount of leftover pasta from last night. Then I was hungry again a few hours later so I heated a frozen pizza. My mom's mother made comments about it and then proceeded to make little digs at me while she worshipped my brother. I could hear both of my grandmothers saying how moody I'd been all day. And maybe I have but with good reason. All day she poked at me and poked at me, constantly making me feel horrible. And yes, I give her the power to do so; I know that I do. At one point, I left the room and laid on my brother's bed and cried and cried. No wonder my mother is f'ed up. People always want to know where insecurity resides; why one feels "not good enough." For me, it is because I grew up always being told that my family wasn't quite right. That it didn't live up to other people's (like my mom's mother) expectations. My mother's depression made us all damaged goods. We were the fuck ups and we all knew it.

One Thanksgiving the ice machine got clogged because so many people were using it. My brother and I were working on fixing it. When we got it unjammed a ton of ice fell on the floor. I was picking it up and Me-Ma walked in. "I knew one of you must be in here, making a mess." That's how she handled us my entire life. And there's a part of me, that's still that girl. She continually asks about the work I'm doing in terms of, "when will you be done?" and "How much money will you make?" That is who she is. And while not reacting, trying to stay positive about these things would be useful; It is nearly impossible. I fall into her traps every time. It shouldn't matter to me because it won't matter what I do, it won't be good enough. I will never be good enough. Not for her.

But I can be good enough for me. And I have to remember that.