A need to get away...

Although we had asked my parents for space, I had no confidence that they would give it to us. My mom had sent an angry and confusing letter. It was very hard to interpret, but what I felt was a strong sense of shame, entitlement (she felt entitled to my space, myself, my children), and no comprehension or respect at all of my boundaries. 

One aspect I found very disturbing -- and quite confusing -- was that she mentioned the scenario of meeting in the grocery store, and my awkwardly trying to ignore her, and scoot past her. This was exactly the scenario I had imagined in my dream, months earlier. I had spent hours obsessing over this image: it was like a PTSD image, that I had on repeat in my mind. How did my mom have the same image/dreams as myself? 

Then she related a dream. This dream was very different than any dream I have had. However, the fact that she was also having symbolic dreams about our relationship also troubled me. Just how linked are we? Mother...just let me go...

Thinking of this made me think of other strange and disturbing thoughts I have had of late concerning my mother. Would she just wander the halls of the only grocery store in town for four days until we came to buy something? And then she would corner us?

As for my father? All I know is that he keeps trying to call, but refuses to leave messages. Then, he gives me a very short, extremely friendly e-mail. "All is well! All is well!" He was communicating. "Restore contact with us. All is well!" Except all was not well. All would be well if I re-established contact on their terms. Let it slide that he had lost his temper, that he had said ugly things to my brother about his daughters sexual orientation. All would be well if I gave him access to my kids, despite very serious misgivings. But I was not willing to do that. I wasn't willing to do any of that. I needed more space, and I didn't want him anywhere near my kids. I couldn't sort it out at that point, but I just knew...I could not have him near us. Near any of us. 

The front door of our rental home has a partially stained-glass window. I am looking at it now, as I write. Over and over, like a movie in my mind, I imagined him coming to the door, knocking loudly. I can imagine him standing there, with his biggest welcoming smile on his face. We asked for space, but he was "just in the neighbourhood." I would deny him entry. Then things would get ugly. I imagined the door open a crack. Would I have my phone out? Would I record it? Would he try to push through that crack? Once in, what? Would I try to push him? Would I call the police? Would he get physical? In some of the scenarios...which I fully knew at the time, and now, were stress and anxiety-induced simulations which got more and more out of hand...in some of the scenarios he pulled a knife on me. I let him cut me (not mortally) so that then, finally, I would have some concrete reason to send him out of my life. 

I know my thoughts were unhealthy and unrealistic. At least I think they are. I had never seen my dad physically fight anyone: other than us kids, that is. But he has had restraining orders out on him. One day he came home to tell me - with mirth mixed with incredulity in his eyes — of how the police stood, one in front, one slightly behind as they delivered the order and assessed the situation at his place of work. If I am delusional, I am not the only one to have had these delusions. 

When he is mad...he is in a rage. Verbal? Yes. But it is hard to describe the INTENSITY of it. How do I know it won’t become physical? And at what point does verbal abuse become grounds for police intervention?

I obsessed over and over about what to do with my parents in town. I just did not feel safe. Finally, my wife asked if I would just feel more comfortable out of town. I jumped at the idea. Without telling anybody, we booked an Air-bnb in a nearby city. It was a costly trip in every way: in gas, in time, in health. But we just needed to get out. We left town for exactly as many days as they were here.