A Scary Place

My mother said to me last night, "Maybe I went a little too far with your brother."

As I'm sure we all know, the behaviors of are mothers were a vital shaper of all aspects of our lives, not the least of with the eading disorders we now deal with.

My parents were rather similar to Marya's parents in Wasted as far as roles go. Rather than the stereotypical reverse, my father was the needy emotional nurturing one, and my mother was the cold practical diciplinarian. Thankfully my parents did not suffer the same extremes of emotion as the H's, at least not in front of me.

There was a time when I felt very misunderstood by my mother, not exactly unloved, but certainly detatched. Part of it was that I didn't understand her. She didn't explain herself - she thought I was too young - and so seemed cold and emotionally distant to me. (The other part of it was that I was right: she didn't understand me, because I hadn't been diagnosed with ADD yet.)

Now that we're closer, I've learned the reasons behind a lot of her behavior. I don't blame my mother for anything she did, but I know a lot of it has impacted me negatively all my life. The reason was almost always that she want to help me and keep me safe. Instead, she's made me neurotic and self-defeating.

My mother is paranoid of Strangers and Bad Things Happening. She knows it. She, of course, got it from her mother who she claims was "much worse". To this day, I hear:

- Don't walk down isolated roads
- Don't walk near bushes
- Don't walk around alone at night
- Don't walk around alone in the woods
- Don't walk around alone on the bike path
- Don't walk around alone at all

She claims that as a teenager she was followed around town by creeps, falshed by men in bushes. She thinks that people are "looking at her" when she goes for walks. She thinks rapists live in the woods on dirt roads. She thinks that I'll get mugged, get lost, get injured, burn the house down, poke an eye out with that thing. The world is a very scary place, and she's not sure if I can handle it.

So my mother, my step-father and my brother are going to New York City for vacation this month.

My brother is scared to death.

He thinks there are thugs, gang memebers, muggers, around every corner. He's picturing it as a series of dark alleyways, with skulking men in trenchcoats, waiting to stick you and steal your wallet.

He's 13. He should be excited about this trip. Museums, resturaunts, culture. Experiencing something new. Instead, he's terrified. He's talking about buying a taser.

It hurts me to see this. I know how these things have crippled me, and I don't want to see it happen to him. While I'm not paranoid about rapists in the bushes, there has still been a lingering affect on my self-perception - the world is too much for me to handle.