What is this thing called "love"?

I brought up postpartum depression and my anger at my mother with the therapist I've been seeing since my job loss sent my depression back into the aptosis range.  And she said, smiling,
"But you loved your mother anyway, right?" 

And I said, "No."
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NPR just ran a story on postpartum depression... and I wondered.  I was told a long time ago (when? by my brother?  or my father?) that there was a nurse to take care of me after I was born, because my mother had postpartum depression.  

Is this the cause of my own problems?  No bonding.  Attachment troubles.

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/eqa_attachment_bond.htm
points out:

"Insecurity can be a significant problem in our lives, and it takes root when an infant’s attachment bond fails to provide the child with sufficient structure, recognition, understanding, safety, and mutual accord. These insecurities may lead us to...
...Tune out and turn off—If our parent is unavailable and self-absorbed, we may — as children — get lost in our own inner world, avoiding any close, emotional connections. As adults, we may become physically and emotionally distant in relationships."

This is exactly how my life has run!  This is why, although I have great joy with my Friend, and miss him when he's gone, I don't dare say I love him.

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I spent my childhood forgiving my mother, saying "She's doing the best she can." <http://www.livescience.com/17573-baby-mother-bonds-affect-future-adult-relationships-study-finds.html>  When she finally died I rejoiced, thinking "I don't have to forgive her any more - she's gone, and won't know what I'm doing or saying!  I can be as angry as I need to be!"

-- So I can be angry that she ran over and killed my cat while dragging me to that Girl Scout meeting - and tossed the body in the garbage can.

-- I can be angry about the bedroom remake that blew away everything I cared about... sending me into a fugue state that lasted years.

-- I can be angry that she bought herself a cheap wire music stand for her post-retirement recorder lessons, after refusing to buy me a cheap stand when I was a kid taking violin lessons.

-- I can be angry about the time she insisted on my "teaching" her Sunday School class a melody that I didn't know and couldn't read... one of my most embarrassing memories.

But anger isn't healthy.  And the 5th commandment says I'm supposed to honor my mother.  

So... how do I get past this at last?

Leaking optimism

My optimism is leaking away.  What's causing the leak?  How can I fix it?

They gave me my MS DX back in 1988 (after more than a decade of little symptoms) - and Life went on.

I directed operettas and plays.  I performed.  When performing and directing got harder, I focused on organizing concerts (something I'd already been doing anyway). I taught singing.  I ran an opera workshop.  I edited a newsletter (and was the most powerful force in the organization for years).  I led the music for High Holy Days services. I moved to a different temple, where I finally achieved an adult Bat Mitzvah and sometimes lead Saturday AM services.  Whenever I hit a new limit, I found a new path - and Life went on. 

I'd gotten married before my DX... well, everyone should try it, I guess.  My husband moved out when my legs got bad... well, I've always preferred living alone. I found a boyfriend... this is perfect for both of us: we each have our privacy, but we have someone to turn to.  My relationships are not the cause of my leaking optimism.

I saw early on that I needed more money - so I temped.  I took a full-time job for a while. I worked in an office.  I saw that I needed more rest and less travel, so I worked from home.  I learned new skills, and spent ten years in a career (web design) that didn't exist when I went to college, in a job I loved.

My job ended... what's next?  My doctor talked me into applying for disability... and my optimism started leaking away.

I fell two years ago, and broke my foot.  I slipped last year and cracked my ribs.  My neurologist sent me to a physical therapist, who tells me to do less, move more slowly, and take naps.  "How old are you?"  she says.  "You're 62?  Stop trying to do so much!  Even people your age without MS need more rest!  You're old!" ... and my optimism keeps leaking away.

What positives can I take from my doctors' pin-pricks, that will leave me with some hope?

Disability:  SSDI is paying something... even if finding a new telecommuting job within their limits is hard.  And my former employer's disability program is paying for my health insurance... even if they're making it impossible for me to pursue the career I'd loved for ten years.  So I still have insurance, and a place to live, and food... Keep looking for Life!

Old age:  Are you kidding?  62 is young - I know people in their 80s and 90s who are actively exploring new lives.  Well... maybe if I take more naps, I can still explore Life.

There's a lot I can do on-line.  Here I am, writing a blog post... I'll get back to Facebook soon to see what my friends are doing.  Then I'll check my email to see if anyone has replied yet to my invitation to this year's seder.  And I'll go back to the on-line job boards to see what part-time/flex-time/telecommuting are out there today.

I'll find a band-aid for that leaking optimism, and it will heal.

...something worth living for...

Going to the party was a good idea.

I got to hear a lot of talented, energetic people performing pretty well. A few of them performed excellently.

Some of them performed pieces I used to perform. Most of them performed in the energetic, exuberant, expressive manner that used to be mine.

I used to be a very good performer.

I didn't sing at the party.

If I slit my wrists tonight, how long would it take for anyone to notice?

• Nobody expects to see me tomorrow.
• Jim's birthday is Monday, but there's no reason for him to come over.
• Nobody expects to see me Tuesday.
• Gisela's next lesson is Wednesday at 12:45.

It would be cruel to leave Kitara without food, and disgusting to leave her to eat my body... I'd have to put her out.

It would be cruel to make Gisela find me.

I need to find something to keep me busy.

I need to find something worth living for.

Stair lift

I don't want to be an inspiration.

I don't want to be a good example.

I don't want to be amazing for getting enough donations in barely more than a week to be able to afford a stair lift.

I WANT MY LEGS BACK.

I WANT MY JOB BACK.

I WANT MY VOICE BACK.

I WANT MY LIFE BACK.