Yep, Family Sucks

My  mother had a question to ask me two days ago.  She wasn’t accusatory or angry and she said she didn’t believe it anyway, but she had to ask.  Apparently, my Uncle M. told her that when we added our laundry room onto the house I stole and sold some of her silver coins to pay for it.  Now her coins were actually at my house…due to the fact that when my Uncle M’s house was foreclosed on his entire family moved in with her and his son’s girlfriend at the time did steal many of her coins, rings, and other things.  But to say that I sold some of her coins was nothing but a bold-faced lie; and I told her so.

With the dynamic in my family I was not allowed to confront him because it would just cause more trouble and stir things up.  Well damnit, I’ve been called a thief and I’m angry.  I should be allowed to confront my accuser.  Because I couldn’t confront him directly I decided to go another route.  I posted on my facebook page “when someone who is supposed to love you and be family makes up horrific lies about you for no apparent reason and with no apparent motivation or benefits to them from the lies, you have to wonder if having family is worth the effort”.  That has been copied and pasted, no edits.  You’ll notice I didn’t reference any person or situation.  Uncle M saw this and hit the roof.  Guilty conscience?

He proceeded to call my mother and my aunt and scream at both of them.  He told my aunt that he and I were already on thin ice (news to me) because I sneered at him through a wedding reception when I was at a table closer to the front than he was.  He’s got a chip on his shoulder because he has a different father than my mother and my aunt and my other uncle.  He’s the only one who has ever made a big deal out of this as his father was the only father any of the other remember, their father having died with the oldest was just 4.  And still I’m not allowed to call and give him a piece of my mind!

I have decided that the best thing for me at this point it’s better for me to just cut ties with him and by association, his family.  It saddens me to lose his children, I love them like they are my own.  But I don’t deserve to be called a thief and have rumors spread about my through my family.  I don’t understand his motivation for this except that he’s jealous because of what my husband and I have worked for and attained in our lives.  Uncle M has always expected things to be handed to him, to have someone pay his bills when he blew his money on alcohol or drugs, or to have people buy Christmas gifts for his kids because he just didn’t have the money for it.  And for years, we all did this.  My grandmother and my mother both helped him with his mortgage payments until the debt was so deep they couldn’t pull him out and he lost his house.  I personally supplied Christmas to his children on more than one occasion until I had kids of my own.

As much as it hurts me, I have to be done with him.  I have deleted him and his entire family from my facebook friends and did the same with my daughter’s facebook account.  I then had to explain to her why we weren’t going to call Uncle M or Aunt K or our cousins anymore.  For an eight year old, she understood that what he did was wrong and my need to cut things off with them.  We don’t participate in many family holidays so that shouldn’t be a problem.  And if he ever grows the balls to call me, well I welcome the chance to tell him off for good.  For years he has caused strife throughout my entire family with his jealousy, but he’s crossed a line by telling a bold-faced lie about me.  I’m through with him.

It just really sucks that it hurts so much.


Sick of it all

I’m so tired of being put down and humiliated.  I deserve better.  Of course, when I get pissed at the way I’m being treated them I’m just overreacting.

How did it go from putting up the Christmas tree to him, in a very nasty voice, telling my neighbor how he’s been begging me for weeks to do laundry?  He doesn’t see it as putting me down, doesn’t see how humiliating it is for me when he says this stuff.  It’s bad enough when he’s bitching at me about it all the time, but when he does it in front of other people it’s just humiliating.  Let’s put all of my deficiencies on display, yeah that’s a good way to help me over my depression and problems.

I feel I’ve been lucky to do as much as I have been doing in the past few months.  Yes, my house has suffered and the laundry has gone undone.  But damn it, I’ve been involved with my kids and I’ve kept the bills paid and I haven’t killed myself.  I’ve pulled myself up off the couch and tried to maintain an appearance of normalcy for my kids, but I only have so much energy.  None of that, however, is good enough.

He has no respect for me.  He says he respects me, but he doesn’t treat me with respect.  He doesn’t even see it.  He’s killing me inside and dragging me further and further down every time he pulls something like this.  I can’t take it anymore.  I can’t fight the past, myself, depression, and him all at the same time.  I have let him get away with stomping on my pride for 11 years, but I can’t do it anymore.  I have to stop it before what little bit of self-worth I have is completely obliterated.

I’m not a bad mother or a bad wife.  I put everyone else first as much as I possibly can.  Why does he do this to me?

Philosophy at age 8

When I was a little kid, second or third grade, I remember wondering if I were born to a different family would I still be the same person?  Or if my mother had given me up for adoption would I still feel the same way about things?  I guess at 7 or 8 I was contemplating nature vs. nurture and wondering how much of who we are comes from the soul and not outside experiences.

I didn’t connect those thoughts to my abuse, and in a way I still don’t.  I was thinking about a girl in school, how much I envied her because her mother was always involved at school, how much I hated her because she picked on me, and how much I wished I could be her.  I wondered what she thought about and how she felt about things and how much she hid from the world.

That girl, and her mother, effected me greatly.  I still hate her.  She hurt my tender feelings and gave me one of my first scars caused by ridicule.  But at the same time, I strive to be the kind of mother I thought her mother was.  And I try to instill the kind of confidence she had in my children.  Of course, my children know better than to pick on someone because of how they look, what they have, or anything else that makes them different.  And if they don’t know better, and I find out about it…well they’ll learn real quick.  Respect others, respect yourself, remember the golden rule.


When I was 16 I tore all the ligaments and tendons on the outside of my right ankle.  I was at home alone, had the music up really really loud, and I was dancing.  When the song said to kick a little and I kicked, well lets say I blew the landing.  My ankle gave way underneath me and I ended up on the floor.  I felt this warm gush through my ankle and knew it was blood flowing beneath my skin.  I could not move my foot and even my leg seemed inordinately heavy.  I remember yelling for help and then coming to the realization that no one could possibly hear me over the music.  Then suddenly, there was silence.  I didn’t hear the blaring music anymore, I couldn’t feel the throb in my foot.  I recall thinking that I had to get to the phone, but I could only drag myself a few feet towards it before I just lay there.  I was going into shock.  My mind was completely disconnected from my body, from my surroundings, from everything.  I don’t know how long I was there, although it couldn’t have been for more than a few minutes, before my mother came in from work.  All at once everything came rushing at me; the noise, the pain, and the panic.  But I remember the shock and the feeling, or lack there of, that came with it.

I’ve been wondering lately why I feel so numb.  I thought it was connected to the avoidance I’ve been doing, but last night I figured it out.  I went to bed around 1:30 and found I wasn’t going to sleep immediately even though my husband woke me from a dose on the couch to go upstairs.  It was when I felt his hand on my leg, over my butt, and up to my back that I realized I was completely disconnected from my body.  I felt the weight and pressure of his hand, but I didn’t feel any sensation from it.  My head felt like it was floating away from my body.  I could feel the coolness of the sheets and the warmth of the pillow under my head, but it was just there.

I tried to bring myself together by acknowledging each of my body parts individually.  My feet are cold, I told myself, and the wiggled them a little bit.  There are my hands, relaxed and limp.  I fell asleep before I felt connected.  I don’t like feeling like I’m drifting through space, weightless.  It’s hard for me to reach anyone or anything when I feel like this.  This often leads to anxiety attacks for me. 

I have to wonder if this is one reason people hurt themselves, to connect their brain and their body to each other.  I know it was in the front of my mind to burn myself with my lighter or a cigarette or to stick myself with a pin to jump-start actual feeling.  Instead, I fell asleep and had my normal bought of strange dreams for the rest of the night.  I still feel disconnected this morning, like the wires between my body and my mind aren’t plugged into each other.  I hate this.

Even saying that I hate this, usually a very passionate phrase, seems like just words with no meaning.  I feel dead; no spark, no anger, no enthusiasm, no dread.

I was having a bad day yesterday, very stressful.  I wonder if this is an automatic coping mechanism when I start to break down.  Do I shut off from everything so I can keep moving?  Why doesn’t my body realize that it’s always worse, an overload, when I finally do reconnect?

I don’t know what’s worse, the stress or this disconnected feeling.  I was already dreading this day because of everything I have to do.  I can see now that it’s going to be worse that I had imagined.

13 Reasons Why

I just finished the book 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher.  It’s about a highschool girl who committed suicide.  In this book the girl does not leave a suicide note, but 7 cassette tapes filled with the reasons why she couldn’t handle living anymore.  She mails the tapes, the day she commits suicide, to the first person she talks about.  They are to, in turn, send them on to the next person and then the next until all 13 people have heard them.

This girl’s life had little correlation to mine, except for the feeling of not being able to handle things and wanting to die.  I have in fact, attempted suicide before.  I was 13 at the time.  For whatever reason, I failed.  No one noticed my absence for three days and life went on.  Anyway, back to the topic.

The last person she spoke with was her teacher/guidance counselor.  She told him flat-out she wanted life to end.  She told him that something bad happened at a party, that she wasn’t going to press charges, wasn’t even sure she could press charges, and he told her that if that were the case then she needed to move on.  She walked out of his office and even though he called out for her to come back, after his door closed he remained behind it.  He didn’t pursue her or notify anyone that she may be suicidal.

Now this stuck a chord inside my soul.  I tried to tell once and I got blown off too.  I told my uncle’s wife, yes my aunt, that my pap had pulled me down on top of him when he was lying on the couch.  She said something like “yeah but that’s your pap” and the subject was dropped.  Of course, what sparked the conversation was that my step-dad had accidentally pulled me down on him when he was asleep and I tried to cover him.  He had a few too many beers and was dead to the world and I had to wiggle my way off of  him.  I can’t stress enough that nothing inappropriate ever happened between my stepdad and me.  In fact, he had no knowledge of the incident because he was sound asleep.  But it seemed like a way to feel out if I could tell and would be listened to.  My aunt ran to my mother and told her that my stepdad was doing stuff to me and what a mess that was.  He got angry and accused me of telling lies, which my aunt did exaggerate the incident to the point that what my mother heard was actually lies.  After a conversation with  my mom, where I set things straight, he apologized to me.  I was so ashamed of myself for creating so much trouble.  I never tried to tell again.

But reading about this girl and her guidance counselor brought that all back to me.  When you open your mouth, but no one really listens you start to wonder why you even bother.  The girl in the book killed herself, I just lived with the abuse and now I live with the aftermath.

Somewhere along the way you’d think people would shut up, open their ears, and listen to what’s being said underneath the words.  But I guess that’s wishful thinking.

My Head Has Finally Exploded

Okay, so maybe avoidance is a bad thing.  After my short post before my trip to the school for another music class my mind began to race.  I’ll try to make some sense out of the thoughts, but it may be difficult.

I’m in a car, on a road.  It’s a rough road, but I know where I want to end up.  At least, I think I know.  I have an inkling that I’m going in the right direction.  But my foot is on the brake and even though I want to step on the gas and keep going, I can’t seem to do it.  I don’t know if I’m going the right way or even if I’ll know when I get there.  Am I going north when I should be going south?  I have asked for directions, but no one will give me a straight answer.  Can I overshoot my destination and end up somewhere worse than where I started?  Do I even want to take this trip?  Do I have a choice?

It’s a waking nightmare.  I have enough nightmares when I’m asleep, but now I’m having them when I’m awake too.  Am I even making sense?  I don’t know if this is conflict or just plain confusion.  I just know that suddenly all it’s all I can think about.

Am I doing the right thing pursuing this?  Could I stop pursuing this if I wanted to?  Where are all of the “aha” moments my therapist said I was having?  I can’t think of a single one right now.  They’re forgotten or lost or just gone.  I don’t know.  I can’t concentrate.  My usual articulation has fled and I feel like any minute I’m going to start grunting.

Am I dealing with true conflict over trying to heal or is this another bipolar episode?  I can’t even discern the difference at this point because my mind is racing.  It doesn’t feel like an anxiety attack, at least not yet.  But I don’t have anything pressing me at this moment.  I’m sure if I had to make dinner or help with homework I would fall to pieces.

Up is down, down is left, and nothing is right in my world today.

A Bad Week/A Good Week

I have been sick for almost two solid weeks now.  I’ve been to the doctor twice and now they’re sending me to an ear, nose, and throat doc.  In general, I’ve been miserable and in pain.  To add to that, it’s been parent observation week and I’ve been to school five times so far this week.  I’m due to go again this morning.  I’ve worked with my sis-in-law this week at her shop, it’s always busy right before the holidays.  My house is a disaster because I can’t find the energy to do anything around here.  As I write this, I’m trying to find the strength to drag myself upstairs for a shower before I have to be at the school.  My husband has bitched at me because things aren’t getting done, because I haven’t had the energy to cook, and just because he’s a man and can be a bit of a dickhead at times.  There is the bad.

I don’t know if this is good or not, but my abuse has not been at the forefront of my mind this week.  In fact, all things considered, it’s been pretty far from me.  Am I avoiding?  I don’t know.  But I haven’t had a lot of the stress that seems to go along with avoiding dealing with things.  Now maybe there has just been too many other things happening this week and it’s distracted me, but maybe that is a good thing.  Sometimes I have so much running through my head over all of this garbage that I feel like my head is going to explode.  I know it’s not gone.  My grandmother called me yesterday and my jaw tightened and I started grinding me teeth.

Avoided, distracted, or just at peace for a nanosecond…I just know it felt good not to be focused on my abuse for a few days.