Pretend I’m in Mexico.

Hi people. I fell down again. Honest to Smoking Baby, I fell down. Again.

This is my knee:I was walking home from my Al-Anon meeting and I stepped on one of those plastic folder things you put in a Trapper Keeper. It was just like the skating incident but slalom. A nice boy poked his head out of the bodega door to ask, “Lady. Are you okay?” (Fucker. It was like when I went back to Italy and the waiter called me Signora instead of Signorina.) The three kids behind me giggled for about three blocks. Not the point of the story. Just thought you’d like to know.

So. I get home tonight (with my broken head, ass and knee, in order of altitude) and I’m in a pensive mood. A and V left today after a four day visit. We spent almost the entire time not speaking about Mom, except for E’s occasional slip up about something crazy Mom did or how we had a wacko family or something. Something about V makes you forget that she’s a kid. She’s acts as if she’s much more mature emotionally than she is and you start to talk around her as if she’s an adult. Then there are times when you’re talking to her about how crazy things have been lately and she’ll break your heart with, “Oh, I’m so used to it by now. I’ve seen it all.”

Sorry. Is that too sullen a thought? I had a friend tell me recently that my blog was too heavy for him. (But without the hip verbiage.) I can’t help it. And I don’t think of my stories as sullen or morose. It’s just what’s going on.

Anyway, I came home tonight after my meeting and I asked E for a night alone. I assured her that it was only because I just needed to process some stuff on my own and I took off. (It’s my first time ever asking for some space in the five years we’ve been together. I am learning so much!)

“Pretend I’m in Mexico. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay! I’ll watch the L Word.”

I do have to admit, I was disappointed in her lack of disapointment.

Anyway. I grabbed a bottle of wine, my laptop and I headed for the loft. I’m at the end of this seven-engine train of family shit and I’m tired. I have gotten through the intervention and the sister visit. I just left an eye opening Al-Anon meeting and I wanna just be alone. With all of you.

You know. I’m writing down all of this stuff you’re reading, and I recognize that when I post here, I’m not making a journal entry. I truly know that I’m writing for an audience (of millions), but there’s still this sense of anonymity that comes from the fact that instead of speaking, I am typing. And it is more anonymous than physically writing because you hit save or send and it’s over. There’s nothing tangible left over to prove it ever happened. And there’s something about that that allows me to write freely about things I would usually never broadcast. Especially considering the fact that there are already members of my family reading on a regular basis, and as soon as that Oprah deal comes through (Oprah, can you hear me? Oprah, can you feel me in the night?), Mom will find out (if not earlier) and there’s a part of me that is terrified of that. But there’s also a part of me that feels that, as Dr. Drew said on Celebrity Rehab, “You are only as sick as your secrets.” And, my people, I am tired of being sick. When I was in Georgia for the latest drama, I opened to my Mom up about things I’ve never confronted her on … and in front of her brother.
It rocked.

Mom later told me, “I remember what you said in the hospital. I can’t believe you would talk to me like that. And in front of B. I am so embarassed.” I, enlightened Princess that I am, replied, “I am sorry that I hurt your feelings, but that doesn’t mean what I said wasn’t true.”

Right on, Princess.

People, I am taking care of myself these days. And, to be honest, it’s a fucking chore. Not only do I have a lot of family baggage to deal with, I am unpracticed at self-love … however. Watch out! I’m on a crash-course and it’s only a matter of time before I’m writing (and performing) cheers for myself.

So, thanks for reading. And, to those friends of mine who are only finding out what’s happening to me through the blog although you’ve called and written, I’m sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed right now but am working it out. I’ll holla at ya when I’ll be more fun to talk to. (Or when I get the cheers ready … Guh-oooohhh PRINCESS!)

Mom Strikes again

So I sit down to write and I forget. I had a specific topic in mind and I forgot. Within 35 seconds. I sat. I opened my file. All the while I knew what I wanted to write about. The email opens and I type, “So I sit down to write”.

And thanks to $150 per session therapy, I know that what I’m doing is called avoidance. What I’m going through is apparently too much for me and I can’t mentally handle it.

It’s obviously, about my mother.And as I write more comes back. Like the part about how when I talked to my sister I was discussing how I thought Mom had actually started this whole thing with a Google on what breast cancer metastasizes to. She found pancreas. Then she found the symptoms of pancreatic cancer. Then she imitated those symptoms and took herself in for testing.

She starves herself so that she has the “losing weight” symptom.

She hurts her back lifting a concrete birdbath, but makes sure everyone knows that back pain is a symptom of pancreatic cancer.

She called me to say that she was having a PET scan to look for pancreatic or liver cancer and that she called only because I requested to be informed of all health-related occurrences.

“I hate to ruin your day, but you said you wanted to know.”

I thanked her for keeping me in the loop and asked when she’d get results.

“December 10.”

“Okay. Call me when you find out.”

So, at 8 PM on December 10, I call her to find out what’s going on since I haven’t heard from her all day.
Mom’s not there. She’s at work.
My sister A is picking up pizza.
V – who answered the phone – is on IM with her friend.

I ask V to have A call when she gets home.
An hour passes. (My hometown is 1 mile square in area.) So, I call back.
V answers again.
Me: Did you forget to tell A?
Her: No. She’s getting out of the shower.

I end up on the phone with A and find out that they got the results in the morning and that everything was fine.

I got off the phone and drank until I threw up.

Shout out to Mary

The following blog post was transferred from

Written by The Princess

Holy shit people. Your Princess is shot.

This time it’s so bad that I had to have an emergency phone therapy session with HRH on my walk to the train this morning.

Here’s what happened:

Yesterday I left work and went to the gym where I unceremoniously recovered my blue gym bag from the then vacated locker. (That poor alleged pot head. What must she have thought?) So cardio then home. On the walk to the bus, HRH and I stop to buy wine. (This plays a big part in the rest of my story.)

At home I reunite with my current obsession … Wii. Just as I finish up with my daily “Strength, Stamina & Balance” test, I get a text from my sister A.

Mama is going to call u on my phone after 9, so b ready! I asked her
2 please call u and fill u in. I will call u later.


Now I spend 30 minutes playing Wii, drinking the aforementioned wine, and anxiously watching the clock tick closer and closer to 9:00.

Item 1 — I’ve been terrified of my mother my whole life. Irrationally so as will be evidenced by a future HRH posting.

Item 2 — I’ve been in therapy for almost two years and virtually every conversation Mary and I have had has been about my mother.

Item 3 — My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple of years ago and went through extensive chemotherapy and radiation. Mary and I have identified this fact as being, among many other things, an inconvenient hindrance to my emotional healing process.

Lately I’ve been having these intense dreams about confronting my mother. We have a lot of issues, Mommy and I, and the confrontation conversation has been a long time coming. Well, dear people, it finally happened last night.

I drilled her on which drugs she’s currently taking, what is going on with her doctors and her health, I told her I thought she was clinically depressed and needed professional help. I brought up her issues with my sister and how she blames her for all of her troubles. Mom says her life can’t get better until she deals with A who is 32 and living at home with Mom and her daughter V (11) who is legally her sister because Mom adopted her years ago in a huge dramatic story that will surely be posted sometime in the future.

I tell my mother that she is in control of her life and that her current situation is the result of decisions she made for her life. I discuss my life openly regarding my domestic partner, Erica, the new home we’re buying, the fact that my family is so separate from my life because Mom doesn’t want me to be out to them.

I mean, this goes on and on for over an hour. I used the word “fuck.”

By the time we lose the connection due to a dead cell battery on her end, I am exhausted and drunk. So, when she calls back, I just don’t answer.

Flash forward to this morning. I am panic-stricken. I listen to her message — “Thanks for the conversation. I love you. Don’t worry abut calling me back.” Phew. Then I start remembering the things I said to her. The way I said them. The fact that I called her out about her smoking, which she vehemently denied. The fact that A is going to be furious with me because I am sure I started several fights between her and Mom. And, you know what people?

I don’t fucking care. The longer the day goes on and the more I think about everything, I realize that this is huge for me. I can’t wait to get to Mary on Tuesday and tell her the good news. I have never been more open or honest or genuine with my mother in my life. Therapy works. I am growing. I had my first adult conversation with my mother … at 36.

So yes, therapy works. Know what else works? Wine.