Am I Insane? in Journal

Sometimes I really do wonder.
I know they say that if you can ask that question, you’re not insane. But then I wonder if they say that as a consolation for the insane.
After all, the insane are unreasonable. All you can do is appease them.

So, am I appeased?
The hard and fast answer to that is a deadpan NO. I’m not appeased.

In fact, when I air my grievances, it’s more often that I am stung harder by the people that should love me the most. Which is to say, my parents.
Yesterday, mom came to me and told me that the horse that I adopted, trained from an untouched, unruly 5 year old nightmare to competitive dressage protege, is going back to the rescue.
I can’t really begin to describe the depth of my sadness. Of course I want what is best for my horse. He’ll really always be mine… No one else wanted him. No one else could put the time, blood, sweat and tears into that horse again. The job of starting him from nothing is done. He really is my horse, through and through. I made him. Whoever gets him next, if anyone does get him, will have my horse. They will be using, riding, and enjoying all the work that I did.
Mom told me that she just couldn’t afford to keep him anymore since she wants to board her horse at a place with an arena. Okay. That’s fair, I guess. She wants to enjoy her horse.
I tentatively reminded her that we only got him because she wanted a big horse to ride. I agreed to get him for her, train him to ride for her, train him to load, to bathe, to stand, to do all the things for her. She is convinced that he is dangerous, however, and is scared of him. So.... I ride him. I keep him fit. I show him every once in awhile. I sold my horse in order to have enough time to keep him fit. My Allie. My heart horse.

And, maybe that’s really what I’m sad about.

Maybe I am really sad that I haven’t stopped to consider my own feelings before acquiescing to mom. Because she demands it. She expects it. And she is uncaring about how I might feel.

Thinking back. I remember telling people that I was terrified of my mother. I thought was a normal kind of statement. I thought that was good. Kids should be terrified of their mothers. After all, I was terrified of my mother. And I was alive, wasn’t I?
I am somewhat in awe and disgust that no one ever questioned this. Not even friends who came from better families. People that actually loved their parents; they never asked about that. They never said, ‘Really? That seems awfully stressful, to be terrified of your mom.. Why are you terrified of her?’

I think that it really is true; you can only rise as high as the lowest expectations of those around you.
Pick your friends well. You become them.