Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Saturday, February 10, 2018
My great-aunt died tonight.
Or I guess, technically, not MY great-aunt.
She was my dad's aunt, and since my dad is technically my step-dad, and since I have chosen to limit my interaction with him because he's an abusive narcissist, his side of the family has been pretty scarce in my life for a while.
It's probably not a thing, because they were never super involved in our lives in the first place, but it's definitely been noticeable. Christmas cards, funerals and First Communions, basically - that's been our interaction in the last decade or so. I think it actually has more to do with the fact that they don't spend time with him anymore either, because he's a generally miserable human being, and the byproduct has been that they don't spend any time with any of us. Kind of sucks, but what are you going to do?
But back to the great-aunt: She was scarce, but not in a voluntary way. She was 96 years old, and ill, and infirm, and after a fall a few years ago, afraid to leave her house, basically. The house with stairs. So i don't think I've seen her in person in about five plus years.
Which is too bad, because she was a really sweet person.
Always kind to me, no matter what. She wouldn't have given two shits that I choose not to really communicate with her nephew, because her husband was the same kind of guy, and I think she'd have probably cheered, if she'd known that some of us had gotten sick enough of his bullshit not to interact with him anymore. (Of course, there was also the 'what he says goes' element of her personality, so it's probably more 50/50 on which way that could have gone.)
But I kept in touch the only way I really could... through letters and cards. Every new batch of pictures, I'd make a double or two and send them along to Auntie Lucy, with just a "Hey, thinking of you. Thought you might to see how un-little the littles are getting." Something held over from living with Grandmother and watching her wait for the mail, or the phone to ring, or somebody to just pop in. Even at her worst, when she wouldn't actually be so great during the visits, when there weren't any, she'd still be waiting for some.
It was certainly not difficult to drop Auntie Lucy a card every now and then and let her know she wasn't forgotten. I even sent a card to her daughter once, because she was caring for her at home. Because I've been in her position - or something close to it anyways - just saying "hey, I know this sucks. It's so hard, and you're doing great even if it feels like you're messing it all up. I'm around if you ever need to talk." She never called, but I hope it made her feel a little bit less alone. Because that's a lonely, rough road to walk.
So now, I have to figure out about wakes and a funeral. And rearranging any doctor's appointments and whatever else needs to happen this week. And try not to feel bad about not calling my dad to say I'm sorry she's gone.
I am sorry she's gone, and I'm sorry I heard about it on goddamn Facebook first, but I'm not putting myself in a situation where I need to try and comfort him. That's not my job, not anymore.
And that feels shitty, to be honest: To say, I know my dad will be grieving, and I know that I'm not even going to do more than barely acknowledge it. Because he'll be at the wakes and the funeral and everything else, and I'll have to see him and not make a scene, which means say "I'm so sorry," and not immediately run away when he tries to hug me or something.
Boundaries are hard, even at the easiest of times. They're definitely not going to be easy to hold right now, when everybody is hurting. But I'm not opening anything even a centimeter more than I have to.
Because I deserve to be treated like an adult human with feelings, and he is incapable of that, so: boundaries are there to protect us both, honestly. Because as much as I'd like to vent my spleen, it would just wind up hurting the people around us - my sisters and such - so that's just going to stay safely spleened up, and I'm going to nod along and keep the walls strictly in place.
But I'm sad, tonight, because ... she was a nice lady, and she was always kind to me, and I know her daughters must be hurting, and even that he's hurting. All of those things, and the fact that family is a mess, at all times, even the saddest.
Deep breaths and strong boundaries. Goals for the week.
Wednesday, April 02, 2014
Don't ask me why I watch shows that seem specifically designed to piss me off, ala Dr. Phil & Judge Judy
When I watch a show like Dr. Phil (which: see title) and I see him talking to a person whose behavior is abusive - maybe physically, maybe verbally, maybe emotionally: doesn't matter - and they reach the point in the conversation where Dr. Phil thinks he has broken through to the 'truth' of the matter, that he is making the abuser SEE that they are abusive and that it is unacceptable, and the whole audience sort of breathes a sigh of relief like 'finally: this guy gets what he's doing, he SEES it, and that's going to be good enough," it makes me ... livid? Shake my head? Wonder how a 'clinically trained psychologist' can be taken in by such blatant pandering? All of the above? Yes: all of the above.
Which is my way of saying I have had yet another 3 1/2 hour 'conversation' with my dad about unacceptable behavior. Mine, to his line of thinking; His, to the rest of the world's.
It seems that my short answers and 'pulling faces' is unappreciated by him - to which I responded "too bad." Short answers and resting bitch face are my least offensive options for interacting with you on a daily basis - a thing that is required because you have gone back on your word yet again and haven't left yet. My tightly drawn mouth is a direct result of having to bite my tongue against the things I'd like to say to you, the names I'd like to call you, the disrespect that the bullied part of me wants to heap back onto you in any effort to expel it. (And which I control not for your sake, but for mine, so that I do not become the bully I hate in others.)
"I'm not even sorry for the faces" I said, at the conclusion of our 'talk': "They're the closest thing to self-control I've got towards you, at the moment. And you're just going to have to deal with that."
That was after three and a half hours of frustrating round-and-round, never-ending saga that anyone of my siblings could basically repeat to you right now, if I called them up, despite not having been at this latest one.
It is, in fact, our family's own special version of the ouroboros - the snake eating its tail, for infinity - He is emotionally distant/abusive/threatening, screws up, calls people names, explodes (usually in a huge, terrifying and abusive way)... there is a 'calming down' period, which is to say a living in denial period where people avoid all mention of the latest incident, then eventually, he is 'forced' (by someone's behavior - not going to lie, usually mine) to 'discuss' it, to 'apologize', to seemingly take responsibility while at the same exact time explaining away his bad behavior by a) becoming the victim rather than the perpetrator (which is how he ALWAYS feels, guaranteed: "I was trapped; you don't understand; I grew up with X...") and b) blaming the actual victims ("Those meds that she's on make her unreasonable"; "Nobody appreciates the shit I do do, everybody only talks about how I screw up" - Well, when you're version of doing stuff is 'making sure there is a roof over our heads' and your version of screwing shit up is 'kicking people I supposedly love out of the roof I am putting over their heads' then, yeah: You kinda have to expect that.)
And round and round and round and round (literally ad nauseam) it goes.
Yesterday's discussion started with my 'bad attitude' which - I am pleased to say - I did not once apologize for. It's not a bad attitude to have boundaries, and to react when they're constantly disregarded (parrots the Adult Child of Alcoholics and Psychology Major, in an effort to actually feel that way, instead of just saying it all the time). It's not a bad attitude to be unwilling to risk being hurt again by a person whose only predictable responses are to lash out at the people around him, particularly when he knows he has a temper (but takes no steps to address it, because "I'm 65 years old" a refrain I have literally been listening to since he was 45 years old) and has a drinking problem (but doesn't see it as one or care to curtail it). It's not a bet I am willing to continue anteing up for - and I said that straight out.
I also told him that he's in denial about the way he actually lives as opposed to the person he thinks he is.
I pointed out all of these inconsistencies last night, and at times - like the Dr. Phil guest - he seemed shocked into silence. Into agreement: "I know I'm an asshole" he would say, as if it were news to me. And then, five minutes later there would be the "But what you don't understand is...." and I would sigh and shut it down.
Which I had to say at least 15 different times and at least 15 different ways. And in the end it was still "I don't like you being mad at me" and "We at least need to be civil."
No: I am not civil to people who speak to me in abusive ways. No: I am not civil to people who speak to my mother (sister, brother, friend, stranger on the street, lady on the telephone, aardvark in the zoo) in abusive ways.
No: I do not placate bullies any more. Because I have done so: too many times to count. And it's ridiculous to pretend that that does not play into his cajoling routine, that that is not, in fact, a vital element in our tail-swallowing-snake-swallowing-tail loop. But the fact is that I am determined not to do that anymore, and no amount of bullying on his part (or on the part of my other family members, who continue to make me feel like the unreasonable, bitchy, judgemental one) is going to change that.
I have a right to build boundaries, and have them respected. "It's not fair that you won't at least be civil to me, when I keep asking if you need things or cooking or..."
"No: It's not fair that you continue to ask me questions when I've told you to leave me alone. It's not fair that you use my illnesses (and inability to sometimes preform a task like cooking) as a ransom if I don't behave the way you want me to. It's not fair that I have constant anxiety whenever you are in the house, that I'm always waiting for the next big blow up - those are things that are not fair. Me telling you to show respect to the limitations I've place on our relationship? Is beyond fair. Me, not responding in kind when I have any number of names I could - in all FACTUAL honesty - call you? Is beyond fair. You're getting more from me right now - with all the looks and bitten tongues - then I feel you are entitled to already, so you need to just leave me alone, and let it be."
So: +10,000 points for me, for sticking to the script (and yes, you know I write the script for this sort of thing in my head - if not on paper - at least a million times) and not giving in even when he tried to make me feel uncaring and cold.
But -10,000 points because I know he will do absolutely nothing with anything we talked about yesterday, and I'm just going to have to keep having this conversation until we can finally move out.
*One of the hardest things I do in these 'discussions' is stick to "me statements" because I can't speak for the experiences of all of my siblings with 100% accuracy. But I know damn well that 3/5 of us would say he's been abusive. And the other two would describe abuse while saying "he did it for our own good", which... speaks for itself, in my opinion.
Which is my way of saying I have had yet another 3 1/2 hour 'conversation' with my dad about unacceptable behavior. Mine, to his line of thinking; His, to the rest of the world's.
It seems that my short answers and 'pulling faces' is unappreciated by him - to which I responded "too bad." Short answers and resting bitch face are my least offensive options for interacting with you on a daily basis - a thing that is required because you have gone back on your word yet again and haven't left yet. My tightly drawn mouth is a direct result of having to bite my tongue against the things I'd like to say to you, the names I'd like to call you, the disrespect that the bullied part of me wants to heap back onto you in any effort to expel it. (And which I control not for your sake, but for mine, so that I do not become the bully I hate in others.)
"I'm not even sorry for the faces" I said, at the conclusion of our 'talk': "They're the closest thing to self-control I've got towards you, at the moment. And you're just going to have to deal with that."
That was after three and a half hours of frustrating round-and-round, never-ending saga that anyone of my siblings could basically repeat to you right now, if I called them up, despite not having been at this latest one.
It is, in fact, our family's own special version of the ouroboros - the snake eating its tail, for infinity - He is emotionally distant/abusive/threatening, screws up, calls people names, explodes (usually in a huge, terrifying and abusive way)... there is a 'calming down' period, which is to say a living in denial period where people avoid all mention of the latest incident, then eventually, he is 'forced' (by someone's behavior - not going to lie, usually mine) to 'discuss' it, to 'apologize', to seemingly take responsibility while at the same exact time explaining away his bad behavior by a) becoming the victim rather than the perpetrator (which is how he ALWAYS feels, guaranteed: "I was trapped; you don't understand; I grew up with X...") and b) blaming the actual victims ("Those meds that she's on make her unreasonable"; "Nobody appreciates the shit I do do, everybody only talks about how I screw up" - Well, when you're version of doing stuff is 'making sure there is a roof over our heads' and your version of screwing shit up is 'kicking people I supposedly love out of the roof I am putting over their heads' then, yeah: You kinda have to expect that.)
And round and round and round and round (literally ad nauseam) it goes.
Yesterday's discussion started with my 'bad attitude' which - I am pleased to say - I did not once apologize for. It's not a bad attitude to have boundaries, and to react when they're constantly disregarded (parrots the Adult Child of Alcoholics and Psychology Major, in an effort to actually feel that way, instead of just saying it all the time). It's not a bad attitude to be unwilling to risk being hurt again by a person whose only predictable responses are to lash out at the people around him, particularly when he knows he has a temper (but takes no steps to address it, because "I'm 65 years old" a refrain I have literally been listening to since he was 45 years old) and has a drinking problem (but doesn't see it as one or care to curtail it). It's not a bet I am willing to continue anteing up for - and I said that straight out.
I also told him that he's in denial about the way he actually lives as opposed to the person he thinks he is.
- He thinks he's the person who shows up for people, always no matter what. He's actually the person who made the summer my grandmother was dying 3000% worse by picking fights with my mother and sister, threw my sister out of the house the night of her wake and then didn't even come to the funeral. That's who he actually is.
- He thinks he's the guy who didn't abuse his children because he never made us go hungry or put us to work at the age of 9 (as he was forced to do when his father abandoned his family). And that's partially true - we've always had food on our table, even when it was tuna, white bread and deviled ham. And while we may not always have been grateful for that (I guarantee that I was never grateful for either tuna or deviled ham), I also don't think he deserves a trophy or cookies or a special award for meeting the bare minimum standard for decency. I told him that while he may not have been the guy who left, he certainly was abusive. IS abusive. He's actually the guy who told me I was a "cold hearted bitch, just like my mother" and just recently explained that, had it not been for the "burden of me and my 'disability'"(which he put in goddamn air quotes), he and my mother would not be breaking up. He's actually the guy who made me* afraid to EVER make a mistake because who knew how out of proportion the punishment would be; the guy who doesn't know how old his children or grandchildren are; who thinks his relationships are fine even though he puts no effort into them at all.
- He thinks he's the guy who puts every single dime he earns into other people's needs. He's actually the guy who went out and bought himself a new TV-set for the basement because he "didn't appreciate the cold shoulder" my mother was giving him in the den (even while dodging calls for the past-due mortgage), who goes out and blows ??? money on drinks and food every night, who asked the daughter he "physically can't stand" (and is on a highly resctricted income) for loans so that we could keep the electricity on for Christmas (and won't explain how the money slotted for that bill just disappeared).
I pointed out all of these inconsistencies last night, and at times - like the Dr. Phil guest - he seemed shocked into silence. Into agreement: "I know I'm an asshole" he would say, as if it were news to me. And then, five minutes later there would be the "But what you don't understand is...." and I would sigh and shut it down.
"It's not that I don't understand. It's not even that I don't care - although at this point I would LIKE not to care - it's that it's not excusable. YOUR PROBLEMS ARE NOT SO MUCH WORSE THAN EVERYBODY ELSE'S. YOUR ISSUES DO NOT ENTITLE YOU TO ACT LIKE AN ASSHOLE TO OTHER PEOPLE - ESPECIALLY PEOPLE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO CARE ABOUT. YOUR LIFE IS NOT THAT MUCH MORE STRESSFUL THAN ANYONE ELSE'S, AND THE FACT THAT YOU CONTINUE TO MAKE EXCUSES FOR YOUR BEHAVIOR IS WHY I REFUSE TO INTERACT WITH YOU."
Which I had to say at least 15 different times and at least 15 different ways. And in the end it was still "I don't like you being mad at me" and "We at least need to be civil."
No: I am not civil to people who speak to me in abusive ways. No: I am not civil to people who speak to my mother (sister, brother, friend, stranger on the street, lady on the telephone, aardvark in the zoo) in abusive ways.
No: I do not placate bullies any more. Because I have done so: too many times to count. And it's ridiculous to pretend that that does not play into his cajoling routine, that that is not, in fact, a vital element in our tail-swallowing-snake-swallowing-tail loop. But the fact is that I am determined not to do that anymore, and no amount of bullying on his part (or on the part of my other family members, who continue to make me feel like the unreasonable, bitchy, judgemental one) is going to change that.
I have a right to build boundaries, and have them respected. "It's not fair that you won't at least be civil to me, when I keep asking if you need things or cooking or..."
"No: It's not fair that you continue to ask me questions when I've told you to leave me alone. It's not fair that you use my illnesses (and inability to sometimes preform a task like cooking) as a ransom if I don't behave the way you want me to. It's not fair that I have constant anxiety whenever you are in the house, that I'm always waiting for the next big blow up - those are things that are not fair. Me telling you to show respect to the limitations I've place on our relationship? Is beyond fair. Me, not responding in kind when I have any number of names I could - in all FACTUAL honesty - call you? Is beyond fair. You're getting more from me right now - with all the looks and bitten tongues - then I feel you are entitled to already, so you need to just leave me alone, and let it be."
So: +10,000 points for me, for sticking to the script (and yes, you know I write the script for this sort of thing in my head - if not on paper - at least a million times) and not giving in even when he tried to make me feel uncaring and cold.
But -10,000 points because I know he will do absolutely nothing with anything we talked about yesterday, and I'm just going to have to keep having this conversation until we can finally move out.
*One of the hardest things I do in these 'discussions' is stick to "me statements" because I can't speak for the experiences of all of my siblings with 100% accuracy. But I know damn well that 3/5 of us would say he's been abusive. And the other two would describe abuse while saying "he did it for our own good", which... speaks for itself, in my opinion.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
When creepy shit starts happening, the people who die are the ones who pretend it is not happening and who try to explain the creepy shit away and also the ones who try to convince others that they are crazy for believing in the creepy shit. The people who survive are usually the first ones to say “Hey, creepy shit, I’m not sure I entirely believe in you, but for right now I am going to take you seriously and act like you are real”*
My dad was married to SisterS' mom 37+ years ago, when she was a baby. They were only together five or six years, and he told me once that he knew it was over when, after his mother died, he was in a room crying and she just walked away, went to bed, and went to sleep.
"How could anybody be that heartless," he wondered to me as he was telling the story "if you love somebody, to just see them suffering and walk away, go to sleep?" At the time, I agreed with him - although my step-sister's mom isn't a heartless witch or anything, it made me think about how against a person you'd have to be, how... cold to see somebody in pain and just... walk away.
That was before he taught me that walking away is sometimes the only thing you can do, the safest thing you can do, the only way to protect yourself.
He wouldn't see it that way - he very clearly thinks I am some version of the heartless witch I imagined his ex as all those years ago - but time and experience has taught me differently. And still: I cannot be the completely heartless wench I want to be/probably should be in his case. Too many times when I have been burned, I still feel sorry for him, to see him fall into the hole he has created for himself! No matter that I have just been abused by this person, or if he has just finished berating me for a thing that leaves me with nettles sticking out of my heart, there is a part of me that is afraid of being the one who goes to sleep while someone else is sitting there suffering, and what being that person - in relation to someone who may even deserve it at that particular point in time - means about Me. As a person. If you can turn your back on one person you love, can't you - given the right circumstances - turn your back on any of them? These aren't questions I have answers to... even if I know I'm not the one turning my back, that all the spaces I've put between us are there as protection, as barriers - mostly for my benefit, I admit - so that my heart doesn't keep getting crushed.
I know he is hurting; I know he is using that hurt to hurt other people. I can't bring myself to step in at the 'he is hurting' part, because I'm afraid it will turn into the 'hurting me/other people I love' part. It's learned behavior, I keep telling myself. It's earned behavior. It's not callous punishment or disregard for his feelings, even when I feel the most pissed off at him and think he might deserve one or both of those things - there is always some piece of me that remembers that once, he was a younger man, sitting at a table, grieving the loss of his mother, and his wife turned away. That once he was a little boy whose father disappeared, and reappeared only to create havoc and bring misery. That, in his lifetime, it was reasonable to rage at people and expect it to translate into respect.
That, a long time ago now, when I was the one sitting grieving, and I realized my Daddy was gone, and that he was never going to be the man I needed him to me, I turned to my Dad (who was also not the man I needed him to be) and was told "he can't do any better, and you're just going to have to forgive him for it, because he doesn't get the chance to change it."
And knew in my heart that it was true for both of the men I have called my father.
I know it now, but it doesn't make living with him any easier. I don't know how to forgive ongoing hurts - I didn't then, and I don't now. Our current 'peace-ish' accord - which generally consists of us not talking all that much, and me sitting tensely while my parents 'discuss' things, keeping patrol for raised voices and insults, threats and unacceptable behavior - has been broken. As always, I feel irrevocably, unforgivably broken.
It isn't as if he doesn't know I am doing those things, but it doesn't seem to stop him from raging when he feels it is his right. And, this past weekend, he felt he'd earned the right, yet again.
So I get to (yet again) have the fabulous experience of stepping between my parents to prevent things from getting physical. Of having to explain the situation to (grossly ignorant and so patronizing I wanted to punch them) police officers. Of getting all of my most sensitive buttons pushed - I am not his daughter; I will never have a meaningful relationship because I am a hardhearted, unforgiving bitch; I do not have the right to intrude into their 'discussion' because I am a child, and it is not my business; My mother is a cunt, and I'm just like her; I'm sick and weak and unlovable, and he should know because hasn't he been forced to put a roof over my lazy ass for my entire life, and gotten nothing in return? Of being kicked out of said house because I'm ungrateful and disrespectful and a bitch. (Not that I went anywhere, because... well, I don't really have any other options, but it's the thought that counts.) Of holding it together pretty well in the face of all of that, and then breaking down completely when he started to throw my siblings under the bus as well, because trampling me was not providing him with his desired response.
Of being ignored for every day since, for having the gall to call the cops, to say "That is e-fucking-nough." and "You have no right to treat people this way." And of knowing, eventually, that he'll come in here, with his half-assed apologies, and that I will be expected to forgive and forget. Two things that I have been unable to do - when it comes to him - for at least a decade.
And so, I guess, it'll have to be my right to keep the walls up, to man the barricades.
To be the one who turns away, even if it makes me feel badly about myself.
Because it feels slightly less bad than the other option, which is allow myself to be attacked without standing up for myself, ever. To allow the people I love to be trampled without standing up for them, because he sees it as interfering and disrespectful.
To protect me is to be against him, at this point, and that's what he just can't seem to understand.
I wish I didn't understand it so goddamn well.
---- Captain Awkward's amazing analogy re: abuse and scary movies. Because I'm not going to be a casualty of this horror movie, if I can at all help it ---
"How could anybody be that heartless," he wondered to me as he was telling the story "if you love somebody, to just see them suffering and walk away, go to sleep?" At the time, I agreed with him - although my step-sister's mom isn't a heartless witch or anything, it made me think about how against a person you'd have to be, how... cold to see somebody in pain and just... walk away.
That was before he taught me that walking away is sometimes the only thing you can do, the safest thing you can do, the only way to protect yourself.
He wouldn't see it that way - he very clearly thinks I am some version of the heartless witch I imagined his ex as all those years ago - but time and experience has taught me differently. And still: I cannot be the completely heartless wench I want to be/probably should be in his case. Too many times when I have been burned, I still feel sorry for him, to see him fall into the hole he has created for himself! No matter that I have just been abused by this person, or if he has just finished berating me for a thing that leaves me with nettles sticking out of my heart, there is a part of me that is afraid of being the one who goes to sleep while someone else is sitting there suffering, and what being that person - in relation to someone who may even deserve it at that particular point in time - means about Me. As a person. If you can turn your back on one person you love, can't you - given the right circumstances - turn your back on any of them? These aren't questions I have answers to... even if I know I'm not the one turning my back, that all the spaces I've put between us are there as protection, as barriers - mostly for my benefit, I admit - so that my heart doesn't keep getting crushed.
I know he is hurting; I know he is using that hurt to hurt other people. I can't bring myself to step in at the 'he is hurting' part, because I'm afraid it will turn into the 'hurting me/other people I love' part. It's learned behavior, I keep telling myself. It's earned behavior. It's not callous punishment or disregard for his feelings, even when I feel the most pissed off at him and think he might deserve one or both of those things - there is always some piece of me that remembers that once, he was a younger man, sitting at a table, grieving the loss of his mother, and his wife turned away. That once he was a little boy whose father disappeared, and reappeared only to create havoc and bring misery. That, in his lifetime, it was reasonable to rage at people and expect it to translate into respect.
That, a long time ago now, when I was the one sitting grieving, and I realized my Daddy was gone, and that he was never going to be the man I needed him to me, I turned to my Dad (who was also not the man I needed him to be) and was told "he can't do any better, and you're just going to have to forgive him for it, because he doesn't get the chance to change it."
And knew in my heart that it was true for both of the men I have called my father.
I know it now, but it doesn't make living with him any easier. I don't know how to forgive ongoing hurts - I didn't then, and I don't now. Our current 'peace-ish' accord - which generally consists of us not talking all that much, and me sitting tensely while my parents 'discuss' things, keeping patrol for raised voices and insults, threats and unacceptable behavior - has been broken. As always, I feel irrevocably, unforgivably broken.
It isn't as if he doesn't know I am doing those things, but it doesn't seem to stop him from raging when he feels it is his right. And, this past weekend, he felt he'd earned the right, yet again.
So I get to (yet again) have the fabulous experience of stepping between my parents to prevent things from getting physical. Of having to explain the situation to (grossly ignorant and so patronizing I wanted to punch them) police officers. Of getting all of my most sensitive buttons pushed - I am not his daughter; I will never have a meaningful relationship because I am a hardhearted, unforgiving bitch; I do not have the right to intrude into their 'discussion' because I am a child, and it is not my business; My mother is a cunt, and I'm just like her; I'm sick and weak and unlovable, and he should know because hasn't he been forced to put a roof over my lazy ass for my entire life, and gotten nothing in return? Of being kicked out of said house because I'm ungrateful and disrespectful and a bitch. (Not that I went anywhere, because... well, I don't really have any other options, but it's the thought that counts.) Of holding it together pretty well in the face of all of that, and then breaking down completely when he started to throw my siblings under the bus as well, because trampling me was not providing him with his desired response.
Of being ignored for every day since, for having the gall to call the cops, to say "That is e-fucking-nough." and "You have no right to treat people this way." And of knowing, eventually, that he'll come in here, with his half-assed apologies, and that I will be expected to forgive and forget. Two things that I have been unable to do - when it comes to him - for at least a decade.
And so, I guess, it'll have to be my right to keep the walls up, to man the barricades.
To be the one who turns away, even if it makes me feel badly about myself.
Because it feels slightly less bad than the other option, which is allow myself to be attacked without standing up for myself, ever. To allow the people I love to be trampled without standing up for them, because he sees it as interfering and disrespectful.
To protect me is to be against him, at this point, and that's what he just can't seem to understand.
I wish I didn't understand it so goddamn well.
---- Captain Awkward's amazing analogy re: abuse and scary movies. Because I'm not going to be a casualty of this horror movie, if I can at all help it ---
Friday, November 22, 2013
I am playing cribbage with my parents
which is super weird, because they... don't get along at all. I don't know what's happening, really. We'll have to talk about it more tomorrow, because I have to go kick their butts.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Today's tidbits of wisdom
Might just give you an idea how well I am dealing with all the family drama around here, and the fact that a person who's supposed to be a grown-up thinks it's OK to be selfish, OK to ignore the consequences of his actions, and lives behind a great wall of denial.
First up, some advice that I'm finding so difficult to put into practice, but that's not keeping me from trying, from Danielle La Porte,
Which brings us to some vital truth from Melissa McEwan, of Shakesville:
Next, a lesson from John Green:
Gonna work on not doing myself any more disservices, and I hope you do the same. See you tomorrow, peoples.
First up, some advice that I'm finding so difficult to put into practice, but that's not keeping me from trying, from Danielle La Porte,
"Want to improve your communication skills?
Then communicate.
Our most common communication blunder is not that we’re insensitive, or forceful, or misdirected. It’s that we fail to communicate at all.
We swallow. We hedge. We delay. We punish with silence. We freeze with fear. We open our mind to assumptions but keep our mouths shut. We lock down. We just don’t say anything.
When you grew up in a house like mine, where your opinion was neither asked for nor appreciated by certain people, and where intimidation is still a daily occurrence, that is a lot easier said than done. However, trying to turn myself into an actual adult, who takes responsibility for her own actions and expects others to do the same, I've realized that I can't do it by keeping my mouth shut (however much that is my comfort zone). I'm not too pleased with this realization, people, but I'm doing my best to work through my discomfort and other people's pissy attitudes.Most often, even weak or wobbly communication is far better than shutting down completely. Sincerity and courage go a lot further than “polished” communication skills any day.
Have the conversation. Say how you feel. Ask the question. Bring it up. Stumble with good intentions. Fly with an open heart. Communicate.”
Which brings us to some vital truth from Melissa McEwan, of Shakesville:
No one who has ever said "life is too short" to me has ever meant, "What can I do to make amends for having hurt you and restore trust between us as quickly as possible?"
They have always and only ever meant, "Your boundaries are stupid, and I am super impatient with your attempts to make me respect them, so here is some emotional manipulation to try to coerce you into letting me continue to treat you like shit without consequences."
What I'm saying is: I really hate the expression "life is too short."”
Next, a lesson from John Green:
“The good times and the bad times both will pass. It will pass. It will get easier. But the fact that it will get easier does not mean that it doesn’t hurt now. And when people try to minimize your pain they are doing you a disservice. And when you try to minimize your own pain you’re doing yourself a disservice. Don’t do that. The truth is that it hurts because it’s real. It hurts because it mattered. And that’s an important thing to acknowledge to yourself. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t end, that it won’t get better. Because it will.”
Gonna work on not doing myself any more disservices, and I hope you do the same. See you tomorrow, peoples.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Blueberry Pie & Twizzlers aren't much of a housewarming present, but it's all I"ve got
My sister and brother-in-law are moving out today, and I am not ok
with that. We've lived apart before and would have to again eventually,
at some point anyways, so it's not that so much as how and when it's
happening that is so heartbreaking. It is, in all actuality, going to
turn out to be a positive thing for her, for them: it's a thousand
percent in their favor that they would move out of some place that is
unhealthy & stressful for them, especially at time where they need
things to be as stress free as possible. I'm three thousand percent
behind them, and will continue to try to find ways to make things as
stress-free as I can, even if it means hounding my B-I-L for updates bc I
know my sister doesn't like to be pestered (He doesn't mind).
The problem is that I just can't seem to get past the fact that it's so stressful and unhealthy for them (and me) for No. Damn. Reason. Except that people feel like being assholes. Well, one person in particular, really. Who is so busy playing the victim in his own mind that he can't seem to grasp the fact that hurting other people is the reason no one wants to talk to him. Because he's "being nice now." Like any of us trust that.
-----------
I have avoided talking to the two sisters who grew up with our parents but don't live here, mostly because, since they don't live here, I usually have to hear about a thousand excuses from them about how his behavior isn't really that bad and I should have some compassion for him. And it's not even that I don't have compassion for him: it's that he's trampled it all, as well as pretty much every other feeling I have for him, consistently over a long period of time.
The sisters who don't live here seem to forget a) how much they both hated living here when they did - so much so that one left for 'vacation' full well knowing she wasn't coming back but kept it a secret till she was there so she wouldn't have to tell him in person, and the other moved out as soon as she could manage it. Three times; and b) exactly how he behaves when you are in his life on a regular basis. I suppose if you only have to see him at birthdays, barbecues and/or holidays, or listen to him complain that you never call him anymore once every 5 months or so, then he'd be a lot easier to take. I don't doubt that that is true; I hope it proves true - for his sake as much as mine and SisterJ's.
It's my opinion that he just can't give up feeling like he's supposed to be the boss, even though we're grown adults (not to mention that he wasn't really the boss in our family, he just thought he was because he was stricter). And since he can't be the boss in the way that he thinks he should be - i.e. being able to dictate your 'attitude' or demand the respect he thinks he is 'owed' - he tries to bully people instead.
And, for a long time, we've let him.
That isn't to say one or the other of us - or a group of us - haven't stood up for ourselves at different points, or demanded changes in our relationships... it's just that when you stop being vigilant about your boundaries, certain people (maybe all people? I don't really know) will notice that you're no longer guarding things that 'do not cross' lines as closely as you once were and will begin to inch their way back over again.
And I can't keep letting that happen.
So we've got to figure out a different way to interact with each other, and two things will need to happen (from my perspective) before I could even attempt that. First, he'd have to take real responsibility for his actions - meaning he has to stop thinking it's ok, just because he's stressed out at work, or with other people, to take that out on somebody and start to make changes in his own behavior. And second, I'd have to figure out how to let go of some of my own anger and figure out how change my behavior so that he can't cross those boundaries anymore: to just accept the fact that he doesn't have to be happy about it, I'm going to do what I need to do regardless. (This is more difficult than you'd imagine when you live in his house. And are financially dependent upon him.)
And since I can't make him do the things I think he needs to do, I'm focusing on that second part there. I'm definitely not on-board with forgiving, just yet. Don't know when I could possibly get on-board with that. But trying to figure out how I can live away from here, how I can turn myself into one of the sisters who just sees him every couple of months and deals with that in a more healthy manner? That's what I'm trying to work on right now.
And I know, eventually, it'll be what SisterJ works herself around to, too. She's too big-hearted (even though she'd like to say she's heartless) to not want to figure it out: that's why she's so hurt right now, because she didn't do anything to screw it up in the first place, but it still blew up in her face. So, yeah, I know her leaving is a good thing.
A necessary thing.
And, like I said, in the long run, I have no doubt they'll be much happier there... it's just I don't want to be so far away from her when I know she needs me, and it's not as easy for me as it is for other people to just 'pop' in on her at her new place. (Obstacles, oh how I hate your ever living guts. Chronic Illness-related Obstacles: goes double for you.)
But it sucks donkey balls, and I can't help being pissed off at him for it. He's just going to have to get over that.
The problem is that I just can't seem to get past the fact that it's so stressful and unhealthy for them (and me) for No. Damn. Reason. Except that people feel like being assholes. Well, one person in particular, really. Who is so busy playing the victim in his own mind that he can't seem to grasp the fact that hurting other people is the reason no one wants to talk to him. Because he's "being nice now." Like any of us trust that.
-----------
I have avoided talking to the two sisters who grew up with our parents but don't live here, mostly because, since they don't live here, I usually have to hear about a thousand excuses from them about how his behavior isn't really that bad and I should have some compassion for him. And it's not even that I don't have compassion for him: it's that he's trampled it all, as well as pretty much every other feeling I have for him, consistently over a long period of time.
The sisters who don't live here seem to forget a) how much they both hated living here when they did - so much so that one left for 'vacation' full well knowing she wasn't coming back but kept it a secret till she was there so she wouldn't have to tell him in person, and the other moved out as soon as she could manage it. Three times; and b) exactly how he behaves when you are in his life on a regular basis. I suppose if you only have to see him at birthdays, barbecues and/or holidays, or listen to him complain that you never call him anymore once every 5 months or so, then he'd be a lot easier to take. I don't doubt that that is true; I hope it proves true - for his sake as much as mine and SisterJ's.
It's my opinion that he just can't give up feeling like he's supposed to be the boss, even though we're grown adults (not to mention that he wasn't really the boss in our family, he just thought he was because he was stricter). And since he can't be the boss in the way that he thinks he should be - i.e. being able to dictate your 'attitude' or demand the respect he thinks he is 'owed' - he tries to bully people instead.
And, for a long time, we've let him.
That isn't to say one or the other of us - or a group of us - haven't stood up for ourselves at different points, or demanded changes in our relationships... it's just that when you stop being vigilant about your boundaries, certain people (maybe all people? I don't really know) will notice that you're no longer guarding things that 'do not cross' lines as closely as you once were and will begin to inch their way back over again.
And I can't keep letting that happen.
So we've got to figure out a different way to interact with each other, and two things will need to happen (from my perspective) before I could even attempt that. First, he'd have to take real responsibility for his actions - meaning he has to stop thinking it's ok, just because he's stressed out at work, or with other people, to take that out on somebody and start to make changes in his own behavior. And second, I'd have to figure out how to let go of some of my own anger and figure out how change my behavior so that he can't cross those boundaries anymore: to just accept the fact that he doesn't have to be happy about it, I'm going to do what I need to do regardless. (This is more difficult than you'd imagine when you live in his house. And are financially dependent upon him.)
And since I can't make him do the things I think he needs to do, I'm focusing on that second part there. I'm definitely not on-board with forgiving, just yet. Don't know when I could possibly get on-board with that. But trying to figure out how I can live away from here, how I can turn myself into one of the sisters who just sees him every couple of months and deals with that in a more healthy manner? That's what I'm trying to work on right now.
And I know, eventually, it'll be what SisterJ works herself around to, too. She's too big-hearted (even though she'd like to say she's heartless) to not want to figure it out: that's why she's so hurt right now, because she didn't do anything to screw it up in the first place, but it still blew up in her face. So, yeah, I know her leaving is a good thing.
A necessary thing.
And, like I said, in the long run, I have no doubt they'll be much happier there... it's just I don't want to be so far away from her when I know she needs me, and it's not as easy for me as it is for other people to just 'pop' in on her at her new place. (Obstacles, oh how I hate your ever living guts. Chronic Illness-related Obstacles: goes double for you.)
But it sucks donkey balls, and I can't help being pissed off at him for it. He's just going to have to get over that.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Well, that was fun
So yesterday, my dad called the cops on my sister, her husband, my mother & I.
He called the cops, and told them we were "verbally assaulting him in his own home."
By which he meant, we were telling the fucking truth, in our own homes.
The cop pretty much shrugged his shoulders when he got there - we had done nothing actionable, and it was, in fact his behavior that was out of bounds: I know I never uttered a single curse, and neither did my sister. My mom did, but that was just repeating what he'd said about her, so that doesn't really count. And my brother in law, who is the (I can't emphasize this enough, honestly) most peaceful person ever (like, I've seen him mad may three times in the past 5 years, and even when he's mad, he's still pretty calm) had to go outside and stand in the cold to keep himself from ... I don't even know what.
I know what I wanted to do, which was rage and vomit and punch his face in and break the goddamn wine bottle into a million tiny little pieces and cry and curl up into a ball and pack all my shit immediately and move into the cardboard box that is my only other option and scream in his face and drag him to a psychiatrist and tie him into a chair & force him to watch every episode of Intervention ever. (For the record, I did at least two of those things, but they weren't the fun ones.)
The cops told us "families fight" and told him "if you're an asshole when you drink" (Oh crap, I guess I did curse: I specifically told the cops that he was an asshole when he drinks, but it still doesn't count because I didn't curse at him), "then don't do that anymore." He did not get the outcome he wanted, (which was them making us leave, I guess), and then kept saying how embarrassing it was that it had happened.
It didn't just happen: You called the cops because we weren't backing down (again) about your ridiculous, abusive behavior. You were the one who reacted like an ass because someone dared to question you about your drinking. You were the one who went on the attack. I wasn't embarrassed at all, to be honest. A little let down that I couldn't say "Listen, if he opens his mouth again, I'm going to do something that is worth going to jail for" or "Honestly? He told my mother to go fuck herself, my sister that she was a pill popping control freak, and me that I was a useless piece of shit: please, just take him with you."
I know I've talked about his drinking here before - about my issues with being lucky enough to be blessed with three alcoholic parents, in particular, so if you've been around, you know it's a problem.* I probably don't talk about it as much as I should, because - no matter that I have no fault in it, and there's nothing I can do to stop it - it feels shameful, it feels like I should keep it quiet. And, to be honest, it's a little embarrassing because I can't just move out and put myself in a better environment: I am dependent upon my family, financially.
I also try not to say things that hurt people's feelings here, even though they don't read it. (And hopefully never will.) But the truth is the truth, and I'm sick of pretending that this is not a life or death, you are ruining our family type of deal.
The fight last night was vicious. He has this ability to take out the sharpest arrow in his arsenal, hone it to its finest point, and hit your most vulnerable spot dead center. Tell my mom she's a drunk (although saying "you're a worse alcoholic than I am" probably doesn't make the point you were hoping for); tell my sister that she "moved in and took over", because you know she's overly sensitive about having to live at home; tell me that I "contribute nothing but a bunch of dirty dishes", because you know it wounds me that I can't do things around the house to help out. Make sure you dip all those arrows in as much vile poison as they can hold, before you send them. That's his way.
And then, THEN, he rants and raves about how he has no place in this family, how he wants to be left the fuck alone, how there are no relationships left for him with us, and how that's all our fault.
It probably is my fault that I don't want to give you more ammunition to use against me. Probably is my fault that I can't feel safe enough in my own home to come out to the kitchen if I know you're out there drinking. Definitely is my fault that I've been locking myself in my room at night, because I don't want to be around you, because I know if I go out there I'm not going to be able to hold my tongue, and you're not going to be able to hold your temper, and we wind up right back where we are now: You got to yell and scream and curse and stab at people with your insults, and the rest of us get to wander around dazed and betrayed, stunned that we let ourselves get hurt again. Yeah: that all seems like my fault.
It's definitely my mom's fault if she's "a cold, unfeeling bitch", because everybody wants to be close to someone who makes them feel like shit. It's my sister's fault that she's not willing to "forget about what happened before", even though it was traumatizing to everyone (including you), and you made promises that you never kept. It's definitely my brother-in-law's fault that he had to start shoving all his belongings in an empty laundry basket because god forbid someone should treat him or his wife with love, courtesy or respect, even though they do so much for you.
The thing is, I know, in his mind, that he's the victim in all this. I know that because he stated it very clearly, over and over and over again last night: he was not going to be fucking apologizing for anything he said, if anything he was owed the apology from us. Because we started it, we attacked him, and all he was doing was "cooking, drinking and minding his own fucking business." Never mind that that business included doing the thing you promised us you wouldn't do: we don't have the "right" to hold you accountable for that. Never mind that once someone did call you on your bullshit you started yelling, calling people names, threatening them, using your place as "the moneymaker" to try to bully us into shutting up, trying to throw us out of the house. That's all acceptable behavior, right?
He didn't go to work today (he "didn't sleep well"), and now he's wandering around upstairs pouting, probably/I'm 99.99% sure. That's too damn bad: I don't have any answers for you - you want a place in this family you better figure out a way to fix things, because I am D O N E trying to figure it out for you. Yeah: I love you. Yeah: I'll miss you if you have to go. But you can't stay like this. Or I can't... One of us is going to have to make some real fucking changes. And, as far as I can tell, only one of us has done anything wrong.
And it sure as hell isn't me.
Sticking up for myself, my sister, my mother and my family? Not wrong.
Calling your behavior abusive when it is? Not wrong. (And not "verbal assault" either, asshole.)
Dumping your precious wine down the sink? Probably a little bit wrong, but only because I lost my cool there: should've stayed calmer. The dumping part I'm ok with, because Fuck That Shit.
Ignoring you now, even though I know you're just waiting for me to say something, anything, so you can either walk right in or stomp all over me again? Not wrong.
Let me make this 300000% clear - to myself, and to the sister who needs to hear it, and just happens to read my blog - WE DID NOTHING WRONG. It is not ok to say the things he said, no matter if we started the argument - we didn't say anything out of bounds to him, but he certainly did to us. His bullying is NOT OUR FAULT. THE END.
Of course, it feels like it could be our fault. Her fault for saying something in the first place, she says; my fault for not just walking away and letting it drop, I think. But that's just some textbook Over Developed Sense of Responsibility right there. Over time, everything feels like our fault - when people are happy, when they're not, how they act because of their mood - all of that is not in our control, but it feels like it should be.
Example: Last night's big blow out (which follows our last really big blow out by only 6 months, with about 3 less major ones in between) came immediately following his vacation, last week. That's 9 days of holding your breath, tiptoeing around, hiding yourself in your room (or at work, or in the cellar, or at someone else's house: Hell I even stayed later at the HOSPITAL so I wouldn't have to come home) so that you don't accidentally say something to set him off. He, of course, doesn't see it like that, but the rest of us do. If I'm going to keep a fight from happening I either have to a)pretend that I'm fine with the drinking and drunk him and all that comes along with that (overly affectionate fakeness, pushing food on you repeatedly, an inability to take no for an answer about anything) or b) not be in the same room with him. I chose, for as much as I was able, option b. For nine days. My sister and her husband ate with him more, choosing lite option A and a huge dose of option B (cellar time ALL NIGHT LONG). And my mom, well she usually can't get away with B, and even though she doesn't do a good job of pretending (i.e: we can all tell she's pissed off at him), he doesn't really notice, so that's the way our week went.
It was only after all that shit that my sister came home from work yesterday and called him on his drinking (A bit of an explanation first: following last ginormous traumatizing fight, he swore off drinking. That lasted a week. Since then he has told us that he won't drink at all. Then he changed it to "I won't drink when I'm cooking" Then it was "I won't have more than 1 glass/2 glasses/3 glasses a night" Last night he was at 2.5 glasses when she walked in). And then spent the rest of the night crying, saying she shouldn't have started anything.
She didn't start it, and I want her to get that. (Hi. I know you get it, but you don't feel it. That's ok, too, but just so you know: I know this wasn't your fault.) He can lay the blame at our feet - hers for daring to say something, mine for not shutting my mouth when he wanted me to, my mom's for not sticking up for him "while I was being assaulted" - but we all know the truth about where it goes. This is his fault, and that's all there is too it.
Another sister and I were talking recently, about babies. About how much we want them and don't have them, and are scared it may never happen for us. (Which, let's not talk about that right now) And she said something about never letting her kids sleep over, out of fear of what his moods would be like, and it sort of killed me (because I love my niece and nephews so much and would hate not to be able to spend time with any of them), and at the same time I understood perfectly. I want a baby more than anything, but I would never bring it into this house the way it is right now. Never.
So don't give me all this shit about how you just can just "cook, and drink, and mind my own fucking business", because it is my business. Because I love you, and because I love them, and because, god damn it I'm trying really fucking hard to love myself. And I can't love a person who lets other people walk all over them - or her family. So, I know you're going to do as you please (who knows it better than me**), but it's not going to be crushing me anymore. It's not going to be hurling abuse at the people I love anymore. And if that means that I've lost two fathers to alcohol, I'm going to say that that really sucks. And I'm going to be horribly sad. But I'm not going to lose myself just so you can be a happy drunk.
*And I'd just like to say that my Mom, whose own issues with alcohol have been pretty intense and troubling, has been sober for almost four months now, and I couldn't be prouder of her. Yes, it was a decision she made based on medical necessity, but I think every addict's decision to get sober is medically necessary, and she's working really hard on it, which is amazing.
**My biological father slipped into his alcoholism sometime before I 9, and our relationship was rocky from that point on. Eventually, 11 years ago this July, it took his life.
He called the cops, and told them we were "verbally assaulting him in his own home."
By which he meant, we were telling the fucking truth, in our own homes.
The cop pretty much shrugged his shoulders when he got there - we had done nothing actionable, and it was, in fact his behavior that was out of bounds: I know I never uttered a single curse, and neither did my sister. My mom did, but that was just repeating what he'd said about her, so that doesn't really count. And my brother in law, who is the (I can't emphasize this enough, honestly) most peaceful person ever (like, I've seen him mad may three times in the past 5 years, and even when he's mad, he's still pretty calm) had to go outside and stand in the cold to keep himself from ... I don't even know what.
I know what I wanted to do, which was rage and vomit and punch his face in and break the goddamn wine bottle into a million tiny little pieces and cry and curl up into a ball and pack all my shit immediately and move into the cardboard box that is my only other option and scream in his face and drag him to a psychiatrist and tie him into a chair & force him to watch every episode of Intervention ever. (For the record, I did at least two of those things, but they weren't the fun ones.)
The cops told us "families fight" and told him "if you're an asshole when you drink" (Oh crap, I guess I did curse: I specifically told the cops that he was an asshole when he drinks, but it still doesn't count because I didn't curse at him), "then don't do that anymore." He did not get the outcome he wanted, (which was them making us leave, I guess), and then kept saying how embarrassing it was that it had happened.
It didn't just happen: You called the cops because we weren't backing down (again) about your ridiculous, abusive behavior. You were the one who reacted like an ass because someone dared to question you about your drinking. You were the one who went on the attack. I wasn't embarrassed at all, to be honest. A little let down that I couldn't say "Listen, if he opens his mouth again, I'm going to do something that is worth going to jail for" or "Honestly? He told my mother to go fuck herself, my sister that she was a pill popping control freak, and me that I was a useless piece of shit: please, just take him with you."
I know I've talked about his drinking here before - about my issues with being lucky enough to be blessed with three alcoholic parents, in particular, so if you've been around, you know it's a problem.* I probably don't talk about it as much as I should, because - no matter that I have no fault in it, and there's nothing I can do to stop it - it feels shameful, it feels like I should keep it quiet. And, to be honest, it's a little embarrassing because I can't just move out and put myself in a better environment: I am dependent upon my family, financially.
I also try not to say things that hurt people's feelings here, even though they don't read it. (And hopefully never will.) But the truth is the truth, and I'm sick of pretending that this is not a life or death, you are ruining our family type of deal.
The fight last night was vicious. He has this ability to take out the sharpest arrow in his arsenal, hone it to its finest point, and hit your most vulnerable spot dead center. Tell my mom she's a drunk (although saying "you're a worse alcoholic than I am" probably doesn't make the point you were hoping for); tell my sister that she "moved in and took over", because you know she's overly sensitive about having to live at home; tell me that I "contribute nothing but a bunch of dirty dishes", because you know it wounds me that I can't do things around the house to help out. Make sure you dip all those arrows in as much vile poison as they can hold, before you send them. That's his way.
And then, THEN, he rants and raves about how he has no place in this family, how he wants to be left the fuck alone, how there are no relationships left for him with us, and how that's all our fault.
It probably is my fault that I don't want to give you more ammunition to use against me. Probably is my fault that I can't feel safe enough in my own home to come out to the kitchen if I know you're out there drinking. Definitely is my fault that I've been locking myself in my room at night, because I don't want to be around you, because I know if I go out there I'm not going to be able to hold my tongue, and you're not going to be able to hold your temper, and we wind up right back where we are now: You got to yell and scream and curse and stab at people with your insults, and the rest of us get to wander around dazed and betrayed, stunned that we let ourselves get hurt again. Yeah: that all seems like my fault.
It's definitely my mom's fault if she's "a cold, unfeeling bitch", because everybody wants to be close to someone who makes them feel like shit. It's my sister's fault that she's not willing to "forget about what happened before", even though it was traumatizing to everyone (including you), and you made promises that you never kept. It's definitely my brother-in-law's fault that he had to start shoving all his belongings in an empty laundry basket because god forbid someone should treat him or his wife with love, courtesy or respect, even though they do so much for you.
The thing is, I know, in his mind, that he's the victim in all this. I know that because he stated it very clearly, over and over and over again last night: he was not going to be fucking apologizing for anything he said, if anything he was owed the apology from us. Because we started it, we attacked him, and all he was doing was "cooking, drinking and minding his own fucking business." Never mind that that business included doing the thing you promised us you wouldn't do: we don't have the "right" to hold you accountable for that. Never mind that once someone did call you on your bullshit you started yelling, calling people names, threatening them, using your place as "the moneymaker" to try to bully us into shutting up, trying to throw us out of the house. That's all acceptable behavior, right?
He didn't go to work today (he "didn't sleep well"), and now he's wandering around upstairs pouting, probably/I'm 99.99% sure. That's too damn bad: I don't have any answers for you - you want a place in this family you better figure out a way to fix things, because I am D O N E trying to figure it out for you. Yeah: I love you. Yeah: I'll miss you if you have to go. But you can't stay like this. Or I can't... One of us is going to have to make some real fucking changes. And, as far as I can tell, only one of us has done anything wrong.
And it sure as hell isn't me.
Sticking up for myself, my sister, my mother and my family? Not wrong.
Calling your behavior abusive when it is? Not wrong. (And not "verbal assault" either, asshole.)
Dumping your precious wine down the sink? Probably a little bit wrong, but only because I lost my cool there: should've stayed calmer. The dumping part I'm ok with, because Fuck That Shit.
Ignoring you now, even though I know you're just waiting for me to say something, anything, so you can either walk right in or stomp all over me again? Not wrong.
Let me make this 300000% clear - to myself, and to the sister who needs to hear it, and just happens to read my blog - WE DID NOTHING WRONG. It is not ok to say the things he said, no matter if we started the argument - we didn't say anything out of bounds to him, but he certainly did to us. His bullying is NOT OUR FAULT. THE END.
Of course, it feels like it could be our fault. Her fault for saying something in the first place, she says; my fault for not just walking away and letting it drop, I think. But that's just some textbook Over Developed Sense of Responsibility right there. Over time, everything feels like our fault - when people are happy, when they're not, how they act because of their mood - all of that is not in our control, but it feels like it should be.
Example: Last night's big blow out (which follows our last really big blow out by only 6 months, with about 3 less major ones in between) came immediately following his vacation, last week. That's 9 days of holding your breath, tiptoeing around, hiding yourself in your room (or at work, or in the cellar, or at someone else's house: Hell I even stayed later at the HOSPITAL so I wouldn't have to come home) so that you don't accidentally say something to set him off. He, of course, doesn't see it like that, but the rest of us do. If I'm going to keep a fight from happening I either have to a)pretend that I'm fine with the drinking and drunk him and all that comes along with that (overly affectionate fakeness, pushing food on you repeatedly, an inability to take no for an answer about anything) or b) not be in the same room with him. I chose, for as much as I was able, option b. For nine days. My sister and her husband ate with him more, choosing lite option A and a huge dose of option B (cellar time ALL NIGHT LONG). And my mom, well she usually can't get away with B, and even though she doesn't do a good job of pretending (i.e: we can all tell she's pissed off at him), he doesn't really notice, so that's the way our week went.
It was only after all that shit that my sister came home from work yesterday and called him on his drinking (A bit of an explanation first: following last ginormous traumatizing fight, he swore off drinking. That lasted a week. Since then he has told us that he won't drink at all. Then he changed it to "I won't drink when I'm cooking" Then it was "I won't have more than 1 glass/2 glasses/3 glasses a night" Last night he was at 2.5 glasses when she walked in). And then spent the rest of the night crying, saying she shouldn't have started anything.
She didn't start it, and I want her to get that. (Hi. I know you get it, but you don't feel it. That's ok, too, but just so you know: I know this wasn't your fault.) He can lay the blame at our feet - hers for daring to say something, mine for not shutting my mouth when he wanted me to, my mom's for not sticking up for him "while I was being assaulted" - but we all know the truth about where it goes. This is his fault, and that's all there is too it.
Another sister and I were talking recently, about babies. About how much we want them and don't have them, and are scared it may never happen for us. (Which, let's not talk about that right now) And she said something about never letting her kids sleep over, out of fear of what his moods would be like, and it sort of killed me (because I love my niece and nephews so much and would hate not to be able to spend time with any of them), and at the same time I understood perfectly. I want a baby more than anything, but I would never bring it into this house the way it is right now. Never.
So don't give me all this shit about how you just can just "cook, and drink, and mind my own fucking business", because it is my business. Because I love you, and because I love them, and because, god damn it I'm trying really fucking hard to love myself. And I can't love a person who lets other people walk all over them - or her family. So, I know you're going to do as you please (who knows it better than me**), but it's not going to be crushing me anymore. It's not going to be hurling abuse at the people I love anymore. And if that means that I've lost two fathers to alcohol, I'm going to say that that really sucks. And I'm going to be horribly sad. But I'm not going to lose myself just so you can be a happy drunk.
*And I'd just like to say that my Mom, whose own issues with alcohol have been pretty intense and troubling, has been sober for almost four months now, and I couldn't be prouder of her. Yes, it was a decision she made based on medical necessity, but I think every addict's decision to get sober is medically necessary, and she's working really hard on it, which is amazing.
**My biological father slipped into his alcoholism sometime before I 9, and our relationship was rocky from that point on. Eventually, 11 years ago this July, it took his life.
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
I'm a little bit behind today because, in addition to other fascinating developments, my mom was admitted to the hospital last night. It's only a semi-big deal, because she was admitted because of really low potassium levels, after a week and a half of not really eating. So, dehydration plus, basically. The plus is: what caused the nausea that made it impossible for her to eat for almost two weeks? Originally, we thought she had the same bug I had, but since mine turned out to be my gallbladder, it's hard to imagine that that would be contagious.
Then she figured that it was switching from one dose of meds to a larger dose, which is still the leading theory, but because they're not sure, they spent the day ruling things (like her gallbladder!) out, just in case. And she still there tonight because of another 'just in case': her EKG was slightly abnormal, and the potassium is not as high as they'd like it, so one more night of observation it is.
It's frightening, even though I know she's in there for a minor issue, to see your mom laying in a hospital bed. And she was in great spirits - mostly like her normal self, just hooked up to an IV and the oxygen cannula (she's got breathing issues that come from smoking for 35 years, so that's why the oxygen stuff). It definitely gives you an odd twist to your gut - My mom, while not exceptionally healthy, has managed to not be admitted to the hospital since she delivered her last child - the child who'll be turning twenty six years old come January. That's a pretty good streak, and there definitely feels like something's wrong to have it broken.
The thing is, my dad deals with that odd twist of the gut in all the wrong ways: I know that he has some pretty poor coping mechanisms - we've talked about his issues with alcohol before, for example - but one of the worst is his ability to catastrophize (I think that's a word, but spell check says no: my psychology background says yes.) It's just ridiculous: since coming home at nine o'clock last night, I have heard about three 'they were so young' deaths; the time when he was a teenager and his grandmother had a stroke and he came home to an empty apartment; and how the neighbor down the street caught MRSA while he was in the hospital for a routine surgery. He told me about his friend's sister-in-law who won the lottery - $60 million - eleven months ago, and then dropped dead last week.
And I know - I know - that he doesn't mean to be annoying, and that his mind is going there because he's worried, but for god's sake - stop putting those images in MY brain!! And the thing is, he doesn't understand boundaries. So I can say, while he's telling this first story about an 18 year old who got hit by a bus, survived and then was killed by an infection in the hospital, that I don't want to hear about these things right now. That tragedies are not exactly what I need to be focusing on at this particular moment in time. That he is stressing me the fuck out.
And he'll stop. Sometimes in the middle of the story, most of the times he finishes it and then says "Ok, I get ya."
But then 20 minutes later, he's back at my door, armed with a little bit of small talk - how was dinner? is the music too loud? do you know how to make quiche? - and somehow it gets from there to tale of a 45 year old wife and mother who was smothered in her sleep by a guy she met online. And when I tell him, more forcefully now, that I need him to shut up and keep that crap to himself, he'll make a serious face, and say things like "Well, it's life; that's life, and you have to remember that." Or when I interrupt him and tell him to knock it off, he'll nod and say "Dad's stupid; he's a guy; what do you want from me?" (I don't even know what that means).
Worst of all, he's talking about how horrible his life will be without mom, and how miserable he is that she's just not here right now. Meanwhile, I can't even get into how many issues they have with each other, or how I'm not certain, most of the time, that they even want to exist on the same planet as each other, but whatever: Sure, your relationship is AWESOME, super, Perfect!!! So there's a bit of denial there, (a bit: ha!) , and then there's the fact that he wants to play Who'll Be Worse Off when my mom dies.
A) NO - I don't want to talk about that.
B) It's stupid to be thinking about this right now, when she's in for dehydration, which is something they can easily fix, and yes, it's worrisome, but (I can't type the rest of that sentence about how it's not serious without it feeling jinxy, but pretend I wrote that, ok?)
C) WTF? Why is this necessary? ALL OF OUR LIVES WILL BE HORRID WHEN THIS HAPPENS so why are we even asking this question???
D) Why are we asking it right now, when B) and we're already nervous about the damn thing?
E) Why are you an asshole? Really - why?
Then he started talking about how she's his wife and that relationship is so vital to him, he won't know how to go on. (I . Can't. Even. ) And she's "just" my mother, and yes, it would be difficult for me, especially me, since I'm so dependent on her, but she's his wife, and that's a whole nother level that I just wouldn't understand.
And then I punched him in the face.
No: Unfortunately I did not. But I shut him off damn quick, because HELL NO. At first, while he was spouting off that last bit, he looked at me, sort of waiting for me to be all "Oh, yes, of course: you will have it much worse than me", and then he saw my face, and he stopped talking post haste. I could see that he wanted to be all explain-y and start justifying what he was saying - because it's a goddamn contest to see who's suffering more? - and I just said "We are Done. Talking. About. This. Now." and he thought twice about whatever it was he was going to say.
Which is good, because otherwise, I probably would have punched him, and then neither of my hands would have been workable for typing out this post, but that's another story, and tomorrow's another (NaBloPoMo) day. In the meantime, we could use some positive vibes over here, if you've got any to spare. Between cancers and gallbladders and hospitalizations and arguments and tension and just getting through the day, I say a few stray happiness vibes are just about due in our neck of the woods.
Good night, bloggy world: Let's all hope tomorrow's a better day.
Then she figured that it was switching from one dose of meds to a larger dose, which is still the leading theory, but because they're not sure, they spent the day ruling things (like her gallbladder!) out, just in case. And she still there tonight because of another 'just in case': her EKG was slightly abnormal, and the potassium is not as high as they'd like it, so one more night of observation it is.
It's frightening, even though I know she's in there for a minor issue, to see your mom laying in a hospital bed. And she was in great spirits - mostly like her normal self, just hooked up to an IV and the oxygen cannula (she's got breathing issues that come from smoking for 35 years, so that's why the oxygen stuff). It definitely gives you an odd twist to your gut - My mom, while not exceptionally healthy, has managed to not be admitted to the hospital since she delivered her last child - the child who'll be turning twenty six years old come January. That's a pretty good streak, and there definitely feels like something's wrong to have it broken.
The thing is, my dad deals with that odd twist of the gut in all the wrong ways: I know that he has some pretty poor coping mechanisms - we've talked about his issues with alcohol before, for example - but one of the worst is his ability to catastrophize (I think that's a word, but spell check says no: my psychology background says yes.) It's just ridiculous: since coming home at nine o'clock last night, I have heard about three 'they were so young' deaths; the time when he was a teenager and his grandmother had a stroke and he came home to an empty apartment; and how the neighbor down the street caught MRSA while he was in the hospital for a routine surgery. He told me about his friend's sister-in-law who won the lottery - $60 million - eleven months ago, and then dropped dead last week.
And I know - I know - that he doesn't mean to be annoying, and that his mind is going there because he's worried, but for god's sake - stop putting those images in MY brain!! And the thing is, he doesn't understand boundaries. So I can say, while he's telling this first story about an 18 year old who got hit by a bus, survived and then was killed by an infection in the hospital, that I don't want to hear about these things right now. That tragedies are not exactly what I need to be focusing on at this particular moment in time. That he is stressing me the fuck out.
And he'll stop. Sometimes in the middle of the story, most of the times he finishes it and then says "Ok, I get ya."
But then 20 minutes later, he's back at my door, armed with a little bit of small talk - how was dinner? is the music too loud? do you know how to make quiche? - and somehow it gets from there to tale of a 45 year old wife and mother who was smothered in her sleep by a guy she met online. And when I tell him, more forcefully now, that I need him to shut up and keep that crap to himself, he'll make a serious face, and say things like "Well, it's life; that's life, and you have to remember that." Or when I interrupt him and tell him to knock it off, he'll nod and say "Dad's stupid; he's a guy; what do you want from me?" (I don't even know what that means).
Worst of all, he's talking about how horrible his life will be without mom, and how miserable he is that she's just not here right now. Meanwhile, I can't even get into how many issues they have with each other, or how I'm not certain, most of the time, that they even want to exist on the same planet as each other, but whatever: Sure, your relationship is AWESOME, super, Perfect!!! So there's a bit of denial there, (a bit: ha!) , and then there's the fact that he wants to play Who'll Be Worse Off when my mom dies.
A) NO - I don't want to talk about that.
B) It's stupid to be thinking about this right now, when she's in for dehydration, which is something they can easily fix, and yes, it's worrisome, but (I can't type the rest of that sentence about how it's not serious without it feeling jinxy, but pretend I wrote that, ok?)
C) WTF? Why is this necessary? ALL OF OUR LIVES WILL BE HORRID WHEN THIS HAPPENS so why are we even asking this question???
D) Why are we asking it right now, when B) and we're already nervous about the damn thing?
E) Why are you an asshole? Really - why?
Then he started talking about how she's his wife and that relationship is so vital to him, he won't know how to go on. (I . Can't. Even. ) And she's "just" my mother, and yes, it would be difficult for me, especially me, since I'm so dependent on her, but she's his wife, and that's a whole nother level that I just wouldn't understand.
And then I punched him in the face.
No: Unfortunately I did not. But I shut him off damn quick, because HELL NO. At first, while he was spouting off that last bit, he looked at me, sort of waiting for me to be all "Oh, yes, of course: you will have it much worse than me", and then he saw my face, and he stopped talking post haste. I could see that he wanted to be all explain-y and start justifying what he was saying - because it's a goddamn contest to see who's suffering more? - and I just said "We are Done. Talking. About. This. Now." and he thought twice about whatever it was he was going to say.
Which is good, because otherwise, I probably would have punched him, and then neither of my hands would have been workable for typing out this post, but that's another story, and tomorrow's another (NaBloPoMo) day. In the meantime, we could use some positive vibes over here, if you've got any to spare. Between cancers and gallbladders and hospitalizations and arguments and tension and just getting through the day, I say a few stray happiness vibes are just about due in our neck of the woods.
Good night, bloggy world: Let's all hope tomorrow's a better day.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Randomosity, of which I am good at
(Part of me is saying "I don't want this blog to turn into a bunch of whiny posts about how sick I am, especially when it's not really that sick, it's just average sick (for me) and who cares about that?" and another part of me is saying "Well, you've got to write something and what the hell else do you have to talk about?" The parts of me are almost never in agreement about anything, so I find it's probably the best choice to let them bicker and try to move on. In that spirit:)
Here's a very brief bit of an update -
I have been sinus infection sick for over a month now (making this the 14th straight month in a row that I have had either a throat or sinus infection), and, after a consult with yet another ENT, they (once again) think I should have some surgery. Sinus repaired, cyst removed, tonsils out, deviated septum fixed. The surgery is still a ?, for a few reasons, but it seems more and more likely as time moves on. I have a lot of reservations, (including how do I take my very necessary meds after a tonsilectomy; how are we going to keep my BP stabilized during the surgery; which doesn't even mention the fact that "10 days" of recovery time for normal people usually winds up being an exponent of that number for me), but I'm working through them while I wait for the next step, which is a CAT scan. I will keep you posted: when I know more, you'll know more.
In other news, I am searching for a new laptop, as this one (at only 5 years old) has been gradually making things more and more difficult for me. This past week, it's decided that it doesn't want to recognize the back-up hard drive unless it's plugged into a certain USB port. There are three USB ports, and every time I turn the thing on, it requires that I change it to a different one. This is marginally frustrating, but when you combine it with the semi-pixelated screen (from when Humpty and I took a tumble nearly two years ago), the fact that the power cord only works if it is turned at a 35 degree angle, and the fact that I have now spent more in repairing the damn thing than I would on buying a new computer, I have decided that I am going to start searching for a replacement in earnest.
Since I don't like A) Spending Money I Don't Have, B) Change, and C)Buying Things I don't Know A Lot About, you might guess that I am not entirely psyched about this proposition. You would be correct. Any recommendations would be greatly appreciated - what do you all use, and how do you like it?
My favorite part about my current HP is that it came with a controller, so I can listen to music at night and not have to move, but that's not a requirement in the new computer, since I could always just use this guy as a very big IPOD.
I also know that
Here's a very brief bit of an update -
I have been sinus infection sick for over a month now (making this the 14th straight month in a row that I have had either a throat or sinus infection), and, after a consult with yet another ENT, they (once again) think I should have some surgery. Sinus repaired, cyst removed, tonsils out, deviated septum fixed. The surgery is still a ?, for a few reasons, but it seems more and more likely as time moves on. I have a lot of reservations, (including how do I take my very necessary meds after a tonsilectomy; how are we going to keep my BP stabilized during the surgery; which doesn't even mention the fact that "10 days" of recovery time for normal people usually winds up being an exponent of that number for me), but I'm working through them while I wait for the next step, which is a CAT scan. I will keep you posted: when I know more, you'll know more.
In other news, I am searching for a new laptop, as this one (at only 5 years old) has been gradually making things more and more difficult for me. This past week, it's decided that it doesn't want to recognize the back-up hard drive unless it's plugged into a certain USB port. There are three USB ports, and every time I turn the thing on, it requires that I change it to a different one. This is marginally frustrating, but when you combine it with the semi-pixelated screen (from when Humpty and I took a tumble nearly two years ago), the fact that the power cord only works if it is turned at a 35 degree angle, and the fact that I have now spent more in repairing the damn thing than I would on buying a new computer, I have decided that I am going to start searching for a replacement in earnest.
Since I don't like A) Spending Money I Don't Have, B) Change, and C)Buying Things I don't Know A Lot About, you might guess that I am not entirely psyched about this proposition. You would be correct. Any recommendations would be greatly appreciated - what do you all use, and how do you like it?
My favorite part about my current HP is that it came with a controller, so I can listen to music at night and not have to move, but that's not a requirement in the new computer, since I could always just use this guy as a very big IPOD.
I also know that
- it is school vacation week here, so we should have the kiddos at some point, probably for sleepovers;
- my dad is back at work after a week's vacation and I definitely have to be better by the time he retires because (Him + Free Time) + (Me + Not Being Able to Do Anything + Extreme Sensitivity to All Smells, Especially Cooking Oil) = Bad News;
- SisterS is supposed to come down this weekend with BabyB and Oldest Nephew (which reminds me that I need new blog names for Youngest Nephew and BabyB) which is pretty awesome; and
- we're supposed to have some sort of engagment party/dinner thing for SisterCh and her fiance on Sunday, which I would be more excited about if his family wasn't coming, because thing I really know about his family is that the last time they were over, his mother wanted to take a bath in our bathtub. Really. It was very awkward.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Arrows are not complicated directional systems, people...
I started writing a post about my dad and the argument we got into yesterday, just because it's been bothering me all night, but then he came in and apologized, and we talked, and it felt wrong to post a big rant after that.
Instead: run-on sentences, just for you!
No, really... how about just the highlights of what's going on around here:
- Yesterday, we went to IKEA, which I went to mainly so I could spend some time with SisterJ, who has been spending time with us lately on the weekends, and it makes me smile when she does that. (Thank you, 5-hour energy!)
- IKEA is a gigantic, multilevel warehouse filled with furniture, a complex maze of arrows, and lots of great organizational things that I can't figure out because I am design-ally challenged. I went looking for a table, and came home with four little tiny glass jars.
- I hate IKEA. It took about 4 hours to get through the gigantic arrowed store, and buy those 4 little tiny jars. With (No longer)Youngest Nephew, who spent a great deal of his time varying between complaint and repeated requests that we not 'ditch' him... I have never ditched him in my life, but this store certainly made me consider it.
- Actually, I would've liked to just roll into one of those model rooms and close the door, but there were, sadly, no doors.
- And about 3000 people.
- Who apparently do not understand that you are supposed to go the way the arrow is pointing, not against it.
- I am never going to IKEA again.
- Tomorrow I have an appointment with Zach, that I rescheduled from December. I am sore enough today to know that tomorrow's appointment is going to be torture (always the touching: why must you touch?), but I have to go, because we have not even talked about XMRV or the results from my last round of tests and I do not feel like waiting anymore.
- This reminds me of two things: A) I still haven't written that XMRV post (which means I never sent the info to Janice either: sorry Janice! Brain = not smart) and B)Tomorrow is February.
- What the hell happened to January?
- Here is the only thing worth publishing from that ridiculous rant I wrote:
How about you guys: How's your week looking?
Instead: run-on sentences, just for you!
No, really... how about just the highlights of what's going on around here:
- Yesterday, we went to IKEA, which I went to mainly so I could spend some time with SisterJ, who has been spending time with us lately on the weekends, and it makes me smile when she does that. (Thank you, 5-hour energy!)
- IKEA is a gigantic, multilevel warehouse filled with furniture, a complex maze of arrows, and lots of great organizational things that I can't figure out because I am design-ally challenged. I went looking for a table, and came home with four little tiny glass jars.
- I hate IKEA. It took about 4 hours to get through the gigantic arrowed store, and buy those 4 little tiny jars. With (No longer)Youngest Nephew, who spent a great deal of his time varying between complaint and repeated requests that we not 'ditch' him... I have never ditched him in my life, but this store certainly made me consider it.
- Actually, I would've liked to just roll into one of those model rooms and close the door, but there were, sadly, no doors.
- And about 3000 people.
- Who apparently do not understand that you are supposed to go the way the arrow is pointing, not against it.
- I am never going to IKEA again.
- Tomorrow I have an appointment with Zach, that I rescheduled from December. I am sore enough today to know that tomorrow's appointment is going to be torture (always the touching: why must you touch?), but I have to go, because we have not even talked about XMRV or the results from my last round of tests and I do not feel like waiting anymore.
- This reminds me of two things: A) I still haven't written that XMRV post (which means I never sent the info to Janice either: sorry Janice! Brain = not smart) and B)Tomorrow is February.
- What the hell happened to January?
- Here is the only thing worth publishing from that ridiculous rant I wrote:
He's also a real sweetheart, possessed of a great gentleness and a sincerity that seems out of place in the here and now (He shovels the neighbors sidewalks, brings them extra food, and takes out the trash for the older woman behind us, because "it's what neighbors do"... Do neighbors still do that where you live? If it was left to me, I would not even know the neighbors' names.) I don't want you to think he's a monster: I don't think that. He's my dad, and I love him - he's lived with mostly women his whole life (think: 4 girls, my mom, and before that he lived with his ex-wife, and before that, his mother) but he's still clueless enough to think that "Do you have your period?" is an acceptable question; he gave me (and anyone else who ever walked into our house) a classic rock education (I think he was never more ashamed of me than when I got a Beatles question wrong on Trivial Pursuit); he's funny and affable, and, although he too often starts sentences with the phrase "Someday I won't be here anymore...", I don't know what I'll do if that day eventually arrives. I love him a lot, is what I'm saying.
How about you guys: How's your week looking?
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Today I gave myself a time out
After a week filled with people coming and going, food that needed baking, children that needed minding (and reminding), nights that needed filling (as sleep was largely absent) and a whole lot of stuff that still needs to get done - and with an upcoming week that looks scheduled to the extreme as well, I came home from my grandmother's house today to find that Dad - who is on vacation this week and can't seem to stay on my good side when it comes to smells - had washed the kitchen floor (with barcolene), put up a new plastic (and odoriferous) shower curtain, and washed all the windows (with Windex!) That's three horrific smells all bundled together, and I nearly threw up - and then I nearly threw a fit.
Struggling to breathe - and not to cry - I decided I had had enough, and went in my room and shut the door. It was a little after 3, which is twilight around here this time of year, so I put some Christmas music on shuffle, the heating pads on high, and my head on the pillow.
I just laid here, in the dark: rotating every few minutes to relieve pressure on the sorest points and get heat onto a few different points, hitting the next key on my remote, during the volume up and down as I willed it. And I thought. I thought about all the things that have gone wrong since this time last year, and all the things that have gone right. I thought about how I don't know where we'll all be next month, let alone next Christmas. I thought about all of the issues that need to be dealt with within my family, and how I just don't want to be the person who has to deal with them any more. I thought about all the excuses, all the explanations; all the avoidances & all the annoyances. I thought about all the things we'd hoped for this year, and all the ways we've failed: all the ways I wanted my life to be different at this point, and all the ways I haven't managed to change it.
Basically, I laid around in a lot of pain, feeling sorry for myself, and figuring I deserved it.
And I did. I deserve to feel badly for all the things that haven't gone right - to mourn all of the losses we've accumulated. It's not out of line to have myself a little pity party when I've just come back from writing thank you notes to all the people who showed up at my uncle's funeral, to a house that's uninhabitable to me and people who get pissed off because they think they are helping when they are so obviously doing the opposite.
It's been a bad year, in a lot of ways. And the bad times? They don't look like they're especially ready to let up. So, ok: lay in the dark and feel sad for a little bit. Roll over and over with tears running down the sides of your face as you listen to songs that are supposed to be cheery. That's OK, that's alright, you're only human.
But then you have to look at all you've got, too: you have to get to the point where you're ready to say "Yeah, that really sucked. And it'll probably still suck tomorrow, too, but you can do it anyways."
And that's OK too. Because I know I can do it. Because as much as the people I love drive me crazy (and They Do. The End.), we're in this together. Because as much as it sucks that I feel this bad, I've felt worse. Because there is, at this very moment, some person in a lab coat looking at my blood and thinking 'WTF?', and a few years ago they weren't even doing that. Because as much as it's true that I'm nowhere near where I wanted to be at this point in my life, I've still got the chance, I've still got time & hope & opportunities.
So I'm going to remember to give myself some time outs in the next few weeks, as the always overwhelming holiday season interacts with grief and chaos to produce an even more stressful time for all of us. And if laying in the dark for a while with my brain shut off *as much as is possible for me* is what it takes to get through it, then that's what I'm going to do.
Struggling to breathe - and not to cry - I decided I had had enough, and went in my room and shut the door. It was a little after 3, which is twilight around here this time of year, so I put some Christmas music on shuffle, the heating pads on high, and my head on the pillow.
I just laid here, in the dark: rotating every few minutes to relieve pressure on the sorest points and get heat onto a few different points, hitting the next key on my remote, during the volume up and down as I willed it. And I thought. I thought about all the things that have gone wrong since this time last year, and all the things that have gone right. I thought about how I don't know where we'll all be next month, let alone next Christmas. I thought about all of the issues that need to be dealt with within my family, and how I just don't want to be the person who has to deal with them any more. I thought about all the excuses, all the explanations; all the avoidances & all the annoyances. I thought about all the things we'd hoped for this year, and all the ways we've failed: all the ways I wanted my life to be different at this point, and all the ways I haven't managed to change it.
Basically, I laid around in a lot of pain, feeling sorry for myself, and figuring I deserved it.
And I did. I deserve to feel badly for all the things that haven't gone right - to mourn all of the losses we've accumulated. It's not out of line to have myself a little pity party when I've just come back from writing thank you notes to all the people who showed up at my uncle's funeral, to a house that's uninhabitable to me and people who get pissed off because they think they are helping when they are so obviously doing the opposite.
It's been a bad year, in a lot of ways. And the bad times? They don't look like they're especially ready to let up. So, ok: lay in the dark and feel sad for a little bit. Roll over and over with tears running down the sides of your face as you listen to songs that are supposed to be cheery. That's OK, that's alright, you're only human.
But then you have to look at all you've got, too: you have to get to the point where you're ready to say "Yeah, that really sucked. And it'll probably still suck tomorrow, too, but you can do it anyways."
And that's OK too. Because I know I can do it. Because as much as the people I love drive me crazy (and They Do. The End.), we're in this together. Because as much as it sucks that I feel this bad, I've felt worse. Because there is, at this very moment, some person in a lab coat looking at my blood and thinking 'WTF?', and a few years ago they weren't even doing that. Because as much as it's true that I'm nowhere near where I wanted to be at this point in my life, I've still got the chance, I've still got time & hope & opportunities.
So I'm going to remember to give myself some time outs in the next few weeks, as the always overwhelming holiday season interacts with grief and chaos to produce an even more stressful time for all of us. And if laying in the dark for a while with my brain shut off *as much as is possible for me* is what it takes to get through it, then that's what I'm going to do.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
How to cheer me up...
I feel like everybody else is as behind in reading blogs as I am, and so I'm not going to feel guilty about it. If you're getting a comment from me on a weeks-old post, I'm sure you won't mind.
As for other things, can I just say that having your 7-yr-old nephew sleep over is a cure-all for many things? It really gave me no time at all to sit and obsess about some of the things that have been happening, and I'm kind of grateful for that.
My aunt is staying in the hospital till at least Tuesday - they still don't know what caused her to pass out, or why she's so anemic (I still vote for the whole, you have to eat food to get nutrients thing, but I'm not doctor). My dad is still on vacation, and I have only wanted to kill him 3 or 4 times. I'm still trying to do battle with this last flare, hopefully in time to get ready for the next, post-Thanksgiving flare. (I have, in fact, missed out on Thanksgiving before - twice - and so, won't do so again unless absolutely necessary. Let me explain to you how much I love gravy...)
But back to the sleepover.
Except for the fact that baby talk and whining are apparently Youngest Nephew's newest favored forms of communication (and the fact that Auntie NTE does not hear either of those things, which confused him a lot), we had a fabulous time.
We played computer games; he showed me his Webkinz' house & let me feed them (woo hoo); We played Clue Jr about 7 times.
He ate cold pizza for lunch and had dinner at 8:30 (I told you Dad was home - he was obviously in charge of dinner as well).
He got up at 7:30 this morning, came into my (freezing - where was the HEAT??) room, snuggled under the covers and we played Would you rather... He'd rather learn to scuba dive than learn to climb a mountain, btw, and I'd rather have him build me a house than try to build a house out of Legos.
He made scrapbook pages for his Mum & Dad, while I tried to do some but kept getting distracted by the glitter. And the scraps of paper that were flying in the air. And the mess.
We listened to the Animaniacs and Schoolhouse Rock.
He watched his first Looney Tunes cartoon with my dad - and laughed.
He told me he loved me about a million times and left a message on my dry erase board that reads:
To A. NTE:
Hihooowaaaaaaaaaahya? This is from a book we both love, The Wicked Big Toddlah.
I slout you. He is not, contrary to Mum's opinion, calling me a slut. He salutes me... aw..
And I love you.
Love, ? Secret messages are verrry popular in our family.
(Relly, it's from Youngest Nephew) That says "really," andd he signed it in cursive! He's getting so big.
You just can't beat that, if you ask me.
As for other things, can I just say that having your 7-yr-old nephew sleep over is a cure-all for many things? It really gave me no time at all to sit and obsess about some of the things that have been happening, and I'm kind of grateful for that.
My aunt is staying in the hospital till at least Tuesday - they still don't know what caused her to pass out, or why she's so anemic (I still vote for the whole, you have to eat food to get nutrients thing, but I'm not doctor). My dad is still on vacation, and I have only wanted to kill him 3 or 4 times. I'm still trying to do battle with this last flare, hopefully in time to get ready for the next, post-Thanksgiving flare. (I have, in fact, missed out on Thanksgiving before - twice - and so, won't do so again unless absolutely necessary. Let me explain to you how much I love gravy...)
But back to the sleepover.
Except for the fact that baby talk and whining are apparently Youngest Nephew's newest favored forms of communication (and the fact that Auntie NTE does not hear either of those things, which confused him a lot), we had a fabulous time.
We played computer games; he showed me his Webkinz' house & let me feed them (woo hoo); We played Clue Jr about 7 times.
He ate cold pizza for lunch and had dinner at 8:30 (I told you Dad was home - he was obviously in charge of dinner as well).
He got up at 7:30 this morning, came into my (freezing - where was the HEAT??) room, snuggled under the covers and we played Would you rather... He'd rather learn to scuba dive than learn to climb a mountain, btw, and I'd rather have him build me a house than try to build a house out of Legos.
He made scrapbook pages for his Mum & Dad, while I tried to do some but kept getting distracted by the glitter. And the scraps of paper that were flying in the air. And the mess.
We listened to the Animaniacs and Schoolhouse Rock.
He watched his first Looney Tunes cartoon with my dad - and laughed.
He told me he loved me about a million times and left a message on my dry erase board that reads:
To A. NTE:
Hihooowaaaaaaaaaahya? This is from a book we both love, The Wicked Big Toddlah.
I slout you. He is not, contrary to Mum's opinion, calling me a slut. He salutes me... aw..
And I love you.
Love, ? Secret messages are verrry popular in our family.
(Relly, it's from Youngest Nephew) That says "really," andd he signed it in cursive! He's getting so big.
You just can't beat that, if you ask me.
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