My mother and her fiancée met on an online dating site six months ago (January of 2010). Her fiancée had just become a widow, after his wife died from cancer in November. My mom had been divorced from my father for a year and a half. They went on a date, then another, then another. My mother is an obsessive Christian, and claims that, ‘God’s calling was for them to get married.’ My mom’s fiancée proposed to her at the end of February.
At first I didn’t know how to deal with it. Not only would I have new family members in my life with the adjective ‘step’ in front of them, but they would be moving into our house. For awhile, I was pretty sure I was ok with the transition. But then there were those days when I would think about it, and slump down into a depressed state. I’d lay on my bed and cry into my pillow for an hour or two, then put on cover-up so when I went out of my room, you couldn’t see that my eyes were swelled up and puffy.
Now, it’s getting worse. My mom is getting married in two days, and I’m supposed to be the maid of honor. A couple months ago, my mother made me and her other bridesmaids go to David’s Bridal. She picked out the same dress for us to wear; a long, blue dress decorated with beads and rhinestones by the waist. I didn’t like how it fit me, but it fit, and I couldn’t just tell my mother that I hated it.
Today, the wedding party all went to the tailors to get their outfits fitted. I stripped down into the stupid shift my mom was making all the bridesmaids wear under the dress. My mom started zipping me up, but when she got to a part of my back a couple inches from the shoulders, she stopped. The zipper wouldn’t budge. The dress felt so tight, that it seemed like it wanted to suck the life right out of me.
I held my breath, and my mom tried again. Still, the zipper didn’t budge. It took three people to make the zipper move just a little bit. The dress wasn’t going to get any bigger though.
The tailor started taking measurements and I started to feel slightly insecure. She made comments to my mom about my weight. Suggestions about skipping meals or avoiding carbs pierced my heart. My eyes started watering.
I’m not fat, but I’m not skinny. When I went to the doctors a couple days ago, one of the nurses calculated my BMI and told me I had an average weight for my height. But standing, in that dress, in front of fifteen other people watching people try to zip up my dress; well, it’s humiliating to say the least. I felt like the fattest person on earth; bloated, with fat rolls lining my arms and legs.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the tailor was finished with her work. I went back into a changing room, changed into my t-shirt and shorts, and grabbed my purse. By this point, I was pretty sure I was going to cry. Everyone looked so happy around me, so alive, so free. I felt like a zombie trapped in a person’s body, begging to be let out of chokehold.
I needed to run away. My thoughts weren’t making sense, so I told my mom I was going to walk home. She didn’t care. She was too caught up in her beautiful, perfect, dress.
Immediately after running out of the store, I began to cry. Not hard at first. It was more like a soft whimper that you could probably only hear if your head was right next to mine. But I knew if wasn’t going to be too long until I did burst into tears. Like dynamite, when I’m crying I begin to sizzle, but it doesn’t take long for me to really explode.
There’s a park about two blocks from my house. No one really goes there, but I don’t know why. I find it to be a very pretty park. No one was there today. I ran to the swings, below a huge oak tree, and rested my head on one of the chains. That’s when I really started crying hard.
I got on one of the swings and catapulted into the air. No one was around, so no judgment, no prejudice. No one had to ask me about what I was crying about. I could cry until I was completely covered in salt water, and no one would know.
Thoughts flew through my head. I didn’t like my parents together, but yet again, I liked my mom single. She wasn’t as mean single. Today, she was a full-on Bridezilla bitch. We used to have regular conversations. When we were riding to the tailor’s, her voice was louder than the whole crowd at a Jonas Brothers concert.
Nothing has ever been the same since about two months ago. I was crying in my room and mom actually heard me for once. She came in, and without thinking, I told her about most of my feelings. It felt like she didn’t care about me anymore. She never had any free time to talk to me. She was always spending time with her fiancée.
The answer I got back made me cry even harder. She told me that, ‘I care about you, but I love ______ more than you. Jesus says that you’re supposed to love your spouse over your children.’
More thoughts came. I cried even harder. I probably sounded like a mix between a train engine and an opera singer, but I didn’t care. I was still alone in the park.
Then I realized my mom is a conqueror. I think she has a list of things she has to achieve in her mind in order to be the perfect woman. Each conquest only makes her want more. Pretty house? Check. Daughter that she makes obey each and every one of her commands? Check. Husband? Check. Perfect job? Check. She’s the most controlling person I know.
I don’t know how long I was swinging, but I suddenly saw an old lady and her dog start walking down the street that the park was on. I stopped swinging and began walking back home. I stilled cried a little, but the aftershock of what I was thinking got to me.
You’re too fat/You can’t do this/You’re too scared/Just throw up your food already/Your mom hates you.
Suddenly, I imagined a list. Scrawled on loose-leaf paper in small script was the following question and answers.
What are you going to do now?
A. Scream?
B. Cry?
C. Die?
Now, writing this, I don’t really know what I’m going to do when the wedding comes.
Die? I don’t think so. I’ve already created a bucket list of sorts that lists everything I want to do before I die. I’m going to write a script for a movie. I’m going to write a novel AND have it end up on the New York Time’s Bestseller Lists.
But Scream and Cry? I honestly don’t know. I’ve been told that if you have enough strength you can survive anything. I don’t know if I can survive this though.
I don’t want to die, but I think I’d rather die then go through this wedding.
Somehow...
