14,785 Days Alive
2,221 Days Straight on Duolingo
4 Hours Spent at the Big Gay Holiday Market
1 Hug from a Stranger
Trigger warning: discussion of parental demise.
I actually fought with myself on whether or not to post this one. I’ve decided to post it, but heavily trimmed of most of the anger I originally had spewing in this.
My coworker/trainer, Rose, and I went to the Big Gay Holiday Market here in Madison this evening! I had a budget of the $25 Visa gift card I had in my wallet. It was a blast!
I tried to ask for a hug from the people at the Free Mom Hugs booth. I got one but she was younger than me and… I dunno. I literally don’t remember the last time my mother hugged me before she died in 2023. Maybe when I was 21 or so?
I know there is a set of photos that exists of her and I, sitting squished together at the Photo Booth that was in Navy Pier. But again, I was 21 in this photos. There are ones in color of the four of us all haphazardly smooshed into the same Photo Booth. Mom, me, and both of my youngest brothers. It’s a mess, but a bittersweet memory that I can smile about, even if my eyes burn a little from unshed tears.
Daddy was another story, so very similar. The last time I saw him alive was in 2016. I just wanted parents who loved me. I didn’t get that, not in the ways I needed. And it makes me sad. It’s not my fault that mom ran off with me and after the third or fourth time, Daddy stopped chasing after her. It’s not my fault that mom was an addict, mentally ill, fantastically unstable, and tried to build whatever stability she could by having so many children. It is not my fault she kicked me out at sixteen. It’s not my fault Daddy chose his sexual gratification opportunities over my being housed or safe.
It is my fault that I can’t seem to let it go just yet. It is my fault that my last words to her were “I’m sorry you feel that way” in response to her vitriolic rant. It is my fault I kept reaching out, over and over and over again, hoping that this time would be different. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing, actually? That I still had hope she would be something other than an abuser and user and addict. She loved me as best she could. I do know that. But I know that she hated me as well; she made sure I knew that.
Anyway, on to slightly happier topics.
I was social today after work! I’m going to absolutely pay for it tomorrow in pain, but I did have fun. I found out about a lot of awesome local indie shop owners, met some cool authors, and saw a LOT of furries. Like… a lot. I also got a photo with Santa. And then I chatted with Mrs. Claus about her products (crocheted pocket-sized pals), the evils of blanket yarn, and the hitch that is the gauge swatch. It really was cool. And hanging out with Rose was really nice. She’s a super cool person.
I tried to get a Free Mom Hug. It… I waited until the end of the evening because I knew I might get emotional about it? And I didn’t want to walk around a convention center with red from crying eyes. She was slight of frame, looked more than slightly younger than me; honestly, bird boned and looked like someone I would tutor during college. I asked if they were still giving out hugs, seeing as it was near the end of the night market. She said yes and offered a hug enthusiastically. I felt like if I hugged her too hard, I might hurt her. Her hug was quick and light, like a goose feather drifting over the grass on a windy day.
I left, somehow feeling worse. I’ve dug out my weighted blanket again. I need my soul crushed back into my body. I’m feeling untethered and like I’m filled with tiny, sharp shards of glass. I hate it.
I’m going to lay down. I doubt I will get sleep, but at least I’ll try.
Take your meds, folks.
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