Just an update to indicate that the vaccine related acute hepatitis seems to be resolving itself; however my LFTs aren't going all the way back down to what was "my" normal. Follow up with the liver specialist was at the beginning of October, and things seem to be trending back to normal.
He came to the same conclusion I did that it was the vaccine, because had it been my supplements or my Rx meds, I would have had this issue long before now. He chided me and said, "When the time comes for your booster, don't hesitate. Better for you to possibly endure another round of acute hepatitis than for you to potentially get sick with COVID.
Needless to say, I didn't need any convincing.
I was debating putting this next detail on the Dysfunction Junction blog, as it's related to mom, but it's also related to my mental well being, so I'm going to peck it out here (as if anyone except myself reads my blog).
There are a LOT of things I am stuck with in the aftermath of mom dying. Lots of unpleasant memories, unpleasant emotions about those memories, a lot of unresolved shit.
I'm at the stage of my grieving process to view mom dying as the final, unending abandonment after a half century of feeling as if she emotionally abandoned me, not to mention rejected me or my efforts or my feelings or concerns. I'm also at the point of gaslighting myself, doubting my own memories, doubting my own certainty that what I lived with and lived through was in fact REAL and not a string of cognitive distortions and negativity bias.
All this on top of this COVID pandemic, which has YET to end, and the pandemic has brought a lot of other things to the surface, things which I thought I worked past and grew out of, things like feeling insecure, unsafe, and vulnerable. I am pretty sure just beneath the surface of all the other things I am feeling these days (outrage, disgust, and disappointment), I'm also sure feeling insecure, unsafe, and vulnerable are right under the surface.
Unlike my dad, who has made his presence known or felt to me after he died, my mom seems to be MIA. I had a glimmer of a feeling she came to me and said she was sorry she had to leave, but it was just a glimmer, a whisper.
I don't believe in heaven, and actually the idea of being reunited with people who abused me, and who didn't keep me safe, and who didn't give me a foundation of self worth and self esteem, it terrifies me. Thinking of a black void of nothingness is better than an eternity of further torment. Unless, of course, eternity means we are reunited with our loved ones, healed and whole by some greater universal source or power.
Today on my way from my car to my office building, I got it in my head that the only way I am going to hear the things mom should have said to me is for me to say those things to myself. Perhaps I'll have to say these things repeatedly until I manage to undo all the entrenched neural shit that's programmed in my brain & consciousness.
I started by saying my formal first name, and:
I'm sorry I hurt you.
I'm sorry I did not know how cruel I was.
I'm sorry I did not do more to keep you safe.
I'm sorry I did not believe you.
I'm sorry I sided with others.
I'm sorry I shamed you.
I'm sorry I demanded more from you than I was willing to give in return.
I'm sorry I interfered with your relationships.
I'm sorry I did to you what my father did to me.
I'm sorry I did not show you I valued you.
I'm sorry I did not do more to take care of myself.
I'm sorry I expected you to make me happy.
I'm sorry I was jealous of you.
I'm sorry for every hateful word I said to you.
I'm sorry for every hateful thing I said ABOUT you to others.
I'm sorry I had to leave so quick.
I'm sorry our last good bye was just a regular ol' goodbye, and not something more profound.
As conflicted as our relationship was, she was still my mother. I always said I had normal impulses for someone who wasn't always "normal." But she was my mother. I understood how or why she was the way she was; what I did not understand was how or why she didn't do more to improve things, for herself, for me, for our relationship.
And, well, she was my mother, and I want to believe that mothers know the true nature of their children. And even if I didn't always feel it or believe it at the time, my mother understood me, too.
(Yet another blog post which concludes with me sobbing at my desk at work.)
