Family Time Part 2

I was still a little raw after writing my last post when I left my apartment. I wasn’t upset, but I was definitely on edge.

How does the MTA seem to know exactly when to fuck you over? The goddamn R train wasn’t running to Manhattan. Maybe I became illiterate when I checked their website and completely missed the advisory or the dicks didn’t have it posted; either way I was FUCKING LIVID. Like I will push someone off the fucking platform and/or punch their skull in with my flip-flop livid. I was the angriest fucking person in the world during my walk from Steinway Station to Broadway Station. Somehow I managed to get even more pissed off when I transferred to the Q at 57th Street and the “express” train didn’t leave the station for 14 fucking minutes. When I finally did get to Chinatown I stopped wanting to kill everyone and decided to try to kill myself instead because I figured purgatory can’t be any worse than walking through the crowds down Canal St. on a Saturday afternoon.

SOMEHOW I made it to the restaurant without bloodshed. Thankfully I had a great time at dinner (Hop Lee is delicious). My cousins are very loving, welcoming, and funny people; I’m really glad I went and I’m definitely looking forward to seeing everyone again at our annual 4th of July party.

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My mom was very open to everything I said. She listened and she shared her own feelings about what happened. She was a little defensive at times, but I understood why. This wasn’t a fluff conversation; if she didn’t get defensive at all I probably would have checked her pulse.

The whole reason I brought this up to her is because I believe that if I want to find true love then I need to love myself and love everything in my life: family, friends, work, home, everything. To do this I needed to start by confronting my mom and admitting to myself that after all these years, I love her very much.

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I sort of don’t want to admit what happened next, but I will because chances are, I’ll be writing about this a lot.

The day after our amazing heart to heart my mom called:

Mom: “…How long have you been on the pill?”

Me: “12 years. Why?”

Mom: “You ever think about going off of it?”

Me: “Eh, maybe for money, but if I can’t afford the pill I certainly can’t afford kids. Why?”

Mom: “Weeelll…I didn’t want to say it since we had such a nice talk yesterday…”

Me: “Mmm hmmm…”

Mom: “Your hair is really thinning. Do you think it’s because of the pill?”

Me: “Wait, what?”

Mom: “Your hair. It’s really thin. It used to be so full when you were a kid and I know it’s been thin for a while now, but it REALLY looks thin. Is it falling out?”

Me: [silence]

She tried to dig herself out for about three minutes then ended with, “Are we okay?” I said yep, hung up, and cried for about a half hour. What the fuck??

My hair did seem to be falling out a lot the past year or so, but I assumed it was because it was darker and I could actually see the strands now. I didn’t think it was a noticeable problem. Of course now I am completely obsessed with my hair, which will probably make it fall out even faster.

I still can’t believe she said it the day after our talk. What an asshole. Oh and get this, after dinner tonight my dad said, “Are you doing something different with your hair? It looks so thin.” I replied, “I heard.” and changed the subject.

I refuse to let this cloud the effort and progress I’m making to better myself and my relationship with my mother, but it’s hard. Just when I thought I was getting somewhere, something gets in my way. Maybe that’s why the MTA pissed me off so much today. I was so angry that I knew it really had nothing to do with the train, it had to do with my mom. It would be nice if I could rely on both of them to help me reach my destination.