becoming infinite

always learning. always growing. always lifting heavy things.

meet me halfway.

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(i wrote this while i was home between fall and spring semesters, about two weeks before my mom died. i just found it and wanted to post it here.)

my mother and i had a very strained relationship from the time i first went into treatment (spring 2002) until my recovery really took hold (spring 2009). we’re very much the same person, in all of the wrong ways. we’re both high-strung, excitable, easily frustrated.

when i was in renfrew and then columbia, she was playing ‘the biggest loser’ at work, eating a piece of cheese for dinner while i scowled through full meals. i remember her getting angry with my dad because he brought home a beautiful cake for her birthday; she wouldn’t eat it, and i got furious and stormed out of the house.

when i left for hartt, i went home as little as was acceptable – thanksgiving, christmas, easter, spring break. i lived in hartford for three summers.

we would butt heads over everything, anything. i hated how she never heard anything i said the first time; she got upset because of my short fuse. we would go entire days barely speaking because we had nothing to speak about.

over the past few years, we have slowly repaired our relationship. i wouldn’t say she’s changed, really; i’ve just become more patient, less guarded. and not being maniacal within the dredges of my eating disorder has helped.

we joke. we laugh. we e-mail back and forth every day, usually more than once. we go out shopping and to lunch when i’m home.

tonight my mom brewed a pot of coffee after dinner. as it was brewing, i was in the kitchen putting my grapes away, and while i was there i put out two mugs and a spoon before heading back to the living room. my mom came in and made her coffee once the pot was done brewing; about five minutes later i went out to the kitchen to make mine, and the half & half was out on the counter.

maybe she just forgot to put it in the fridge. but the thought that she had left it out for me made my eyes tear up.

all of those years of putting up walls. we’re finally mending, healing, and going half and half.


Author: jenn

impossible to define; indefinitely impossible. maybe i'll add more here later.

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