Mark's Pages

December 28, 2004:

I have no recollection of her ever supporting the things that are important to me.

I have exactly one memory of her expressing something positive about my work. "That's a nice song...", she said, in a tone of surprise. Surprise, not support. More typically the comments are dismissive non sequiturs. "I was really happy that some children enjoyed some things I'd written." Exasperated: "What you don't understand is that kids like anything if it's repeated enough."

Spontaneous derision isn't adequate. She goes out of her way to inform me of the negative comments she makes to the people around her. Says her generous girlfriend, "You gotta admit, he's a hecka good writer." Comes the acerbic response: "He's had enough practice." Then she calls me up to tell me what she said, as though she's proud of an achievement.

The psychology that interests me is that of my own denial. I elevated that relationship to one in which the normal rules of conduct didn't apply. The reason was that I felt that of everyone I'd ever known she uniquely understood and supported the parts of my life that mattered most. Now I challenge that elevation as the same self-delusion I witness in others. So that I accepted years of abusive behavior with excuse-phrases: "She's had bad role-models."

Strip away the gloss of denial and what you confront are behaviors exactly like those of my father, and hers. She goes through life struggling to make people feel bad about themselves. That's the routine, but if you achieve some small success no matter how petty then learn to duck, 'cause the trashcan's gonna come flying.