Marching to the beat of a different mandolin

I've been having a somewhat prolonged cry this morning. It started when I opened the dresser drawer in my old bedroom to stash some things for when I'm here over Xmas, and I found my doll, Dear Baby. Mom had put her in there to keep the kids from playing with her at Thanksgiving, because they can be rough and she's a very special doll to me. I slept with her every night until I was into high school. Something about seeing her in that drawer just made me ache, and I picked her up and held her and just cried, for I don't know what. My parents had already left for various obligations, so Toby and I were here packing up on our own. Crying led to more crying and I just haven't stopped for about an hour.

I'm thinking about my parents, and how much I love them and all that they mean to me, and it reminds me of a story my mom told me once. She was 28 years old, driving home from work or some errand, and she got to thinking about her dad and how much he meant to her. She was so overcome with emotion that she had to pull over to collect herself. When she arrived home, my dad gave her the news that her dad had passed away. And that story has really affected me. Every time I think about my parents, I wonder if I'm having the same kind of psychic experience my mom had when her dad died, and I just worry so hard. I kind of wish my mom hadn't ever told me that story.

I know they'll be gone one day whether I worry about it or not, and worrying only makes the present worse, but it's hard to logic one's way out of emotions. Thinking about how hard it will be is itself very hard.

Toby and I are off shortly, arriving in Portland late this evening. He'll go to C's house since he hasn't seen her in a while, so I'll have the next two nights on my own. I have some real estate work to do, and I have a kitten to pick up tomorrow morning. I won't be achingly lonely, but it does feel like having these fears is exacerbated by knowing I'll be alone tonight. I don't have feelings of jealousy toward C, or wish he wouldn't spend time with her when he does; I just always prefer to be with him than not. It's really nice to like someone that powerfully and positively. 

The weekend has been a lot of fun, but I'm at a frustrating impasse with my parents right now that is killing my attitude.  There are two of them, and three cars in the driveway.  This is not difficult math.  But every time I want to go somewhere, be it the store or the gym or the doctor, I have to get permission and go through 20 questions before I can take a set of keys.  Whatever, this is fine, really -- they're their cars, and what with my brother's recent accident, I can understand their caution.  But as long as I give some reasonable answer, I feel I should be given permission.  

I want to go hiking with a friend out of town tomorrow.  It's my friend's only day off while I'm in VA, so I asked my folks if I could take a car for the day.  Mom said no, that it will be too cold for hiking, so I can't go.  What?  First of all, the high is 50.  Second of all, what?  I'm 27 years old.  I should be able to play outside when I want.  So I tell her I promise I'll bundle up, and if it's really too cold we'll go to a movie or something, but may I please take a car?  Well, no, can't take her car because she has things to do.  No biggie, there are two more, can I take one of them?  She says to ask Dad.  So I asked him a few minutes ago, and his reaction, while not wholly unexpected, was incredibly frustrating.  Before I can even get through my question, he starts yelling, "I'm getting sick and tired of you expecting us to change our schedules so you can run around whenever you want."  
"Dad, I'm not asking you to change your schedule.  There are three cars.  I'll take whichever one you're not using."
"No you won't!  I don't want that truck going up and down the road!" (whatever that means?)
That effectively ended that conversation.  Mom and I left the room, and she told me she was sorry. 
"Sorry for what?  May I just take your car, please?"
"Meg, I just can't cope with that right now."
"Cope with what?"
"I can't take the truck to a country club!"

GAH.  It seriously looks like I'm going to have to take a cab to a rental car company tomorrow if I want to drive anywhere.  While a perfectly functional car sits unused in our driveway.  All because my dad doesn't want the truck "going up and down the road" and my mom can't be seen at a country club in a truck.

It's just hard to feel like an adult when I live under my parents' roof.  I appreciate that they've taken me in, and been supportive in so many ways, but holy shit I need to get out before I go irreversibly nuts.  Props to me, I didn't get confrontational here.  I recognized that this was a situation where my parents were both in foul, illogical moods, and no amount of arguing (logically or temper tantrum-y) would change the situation.  Ultimately, I'm sure they'll let me take a car tomorrow, because it's not a big deal and they really don't care.  Why they're putting up a fight about it now, I really don't know, but we go through these kinds of things a lot.  I'm pretty sure that come tomorrow, they'll hand me the keys to one of the cars like none of this ever happened.  So I don't need to get all bent out of shape about it.  But...grr.  It is pretty fucking annoying.

When my dad lost his mind at me this afternoon, I just checked out of the situation.  I know this is how I used to explode at  people, and it really is completely out of nowhere.  (I always felt provoked, and I'm sure he feels that I provoked him today, but that is largely imagined and entirely unpredictable.)  The more I see it in him, the more I worry that I was like that even more than I realized.  To have one eruption like that is terrifying enough, but when they're the norm?  Shit.  I don't ever want to get mad like that ever again.  It's no way to live.  It's no way to treat others.  My therapist says I'm very lucky to realize this about myself in my 20s, that so many people deal with these issues (or rather, ignore them) for their whole lives, but I still have a whole life in front of me -- I haven't ruined every relationship I'll ever have; I'll live most of my life as the better version of myself.  So yeah, it is good that I'm facing these parts of me now, in my youth...but I still regret that it took me this long.  And my dad is 70 years old, and he's been in therapy and on medication for most of his life -- this is him toned down -- and I know I'd be miserable if I lived like he does.  And I wouldn't have anyone around me, either.  I'll never understand how my mother sticks by my dad.  I'm glad she does, because I love him and without her, he'd really lose his mind, and she's strong enough that his temper hasn't destroyed her...but I feel sorry for them both that this is the best life they can get for themselves, because it's such a huge struggle.

I know I was on a path for a life like that.  People wonder how I can be so open about my therapy and my depression and everything -- my feeling is, why be ashamed of therapy?  I'm not ashamed of my mental health issues.  I'm ashamed of the person I was before therapy.  I want people to know that I'm not the psychopathic bitch I so frequently seemed to be.  I like what therapy does for me and I like the person I am when I'm medicated and sane.  I'm proud of myself for the work that I'm doing and the way I'm changing, and I don't think there's any good reason to be secretive about it.  

My life is still full of what ifs and what nexts and wtfs, but I can handle it now.  Whatever the answers to those questions, I'll deal with them and move forward, and be okay.  Maybe not always, but I'll always be able to recover, and end up okay.  I'm so glad I finally believe that.

Peace.