Happy Birthday, Devonator.
My heart is heavy.
I miss Jedi.
(I don’t know if that name is even suitable anymore.)
It hurts so much; and for what?
His disrespect was clear.
I need to operate with that in mind.
This week was suicide prevention week. It occurred to me that for all the mental health awareness there is in the world, it still seems lost on the people that you want most to love and support you … your family. For the life of me, I cannot understand it. Ive seen my own family reeling from a suicide, all of us asking ourselves what we could of done differently and wondering where we went wrong, regretting not reaching out sooner or more often.
Yes, it’s too late to change anything about those who were lost to the depths of depression along their own life’s path, but, No, you do not get to ever go back to being naive to the darkness which swallowed them. Please remember, you cannot forget.
What about the ones who have grappled with the depths of despair that are still among us?
Maybe in your truth, you see this as a consequence, but for what exactly? Being touched by fire? Do we deserve to be burned? And if the opposite of this is you…are you touched by ice?
Seems like a zero sum game.
Perhaps we could just trust each other to pay attention to our own truth. I’ll stay out of yours, you stay the hell out of mine? Maybe family could learn to treat other relatives with slightly more dignity than a complete stranger?
Is that the best we can do?
That saddens me, but then again what do I know, I’m the sick one …
Just because I’m your relative, doesn’t mean you can act like a child and give me the cold shoulder on account of you not getting your way.
I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL, DISPOSABLE SCAPEGOAT.
Also, If you assume I’m okay with you treating our parents like garbage, or my kids as a nuisance to your life then you must not know me at all. Yes, I see you rolling your eyes at mother and how you resent our father’s efforts to guide you. No, there isn’t ANY justifiable reason for you to cuss at our parents over my child’s birthday cake. I have been tolerant and held my tongue too long.
I am fed up with hearing you pass judgement and blame on mother, father, myself, our extended family, your friends, your colleagues … your landlord , any scapegoat will do; and of course, everyone else but yourself – for every wrong thing that has ever happened in your life. People can have relationships with friends and family fade without the drama. Fine, there’s no love or respect lost for you here, we get it. You can be superior to us all, but please know that your profound inability to empathize with anyone or anything that doesn’t benefit you in some way was never lost on us. Bad behavior should not be overlooked simply because you act out on people who love you. Being related to someone does not give you a free pass to hurt them. Being hurt in the past by someone you hold dear is not justification to hurt anyone else in the future. Everything isn’t about you and yes, you are still accountable for all the pain you’ve inflicted, no matter how you feel. No manipulations, no crocodile tears, no emotional blackmail.
Pain should not be a legacy, and we as relatives should know better than to force someone to inherit our stressors and traumas, ESPECIALLY our children.
I love you, always have and always will. However …
Our love isn’t a shield that protects you from reprisal when you disrespect us
2:55 am and an electronic notification alerted me that it was your 1st birthday. You were born a year ago at this very moment apparently. I am so sorry that is something I don’t know, but then I don’t even know you. I know your name. I know youre completely adorbs. I know that if “allowed” I wouldve have been there from your first breath to my last. I also know that I could never participate in a game in which you were leverage. I know that I have wanted to be your Auntie since the moment I found out I was going to be a big sister. I know that I love just the idea of you and want so desperately to love YOU you, exactly as you are.
I just wanted you to know.
Happy 1st Birthday.
All my love, Auntie Stephanie
I am in tears right now seeing a meeting between a mother and her autistic young adult son’s therapist in ‘Atypical’ on Netflix. I have never seen THIS kind of real-MYlife played out from so many angles. The things a mother of a child on the spectrum only wrestles with. The empathetic advocacy Ive seen behind closed doors … portrayed ?
Im not sure how I feel about it yet, but for now I guess it’s just nice to have a representation in any form of media.
Ive told Pickle about it and am curious to hear his feedback.
Before shutting down my account, I asked whether I should let people know that I was leaving and make sure they had my contact info, but I realize the people I follow most on Facebook, are also the ones whose lives I am very much involved in. I figured these people have my cell number, we text and send pics etc and they physically know where I live. Plus, I remembered reading an article on Thought Catalog or some similar outlet which said announcing your Facebook departure is seen a dramatic, attention-seeking thing.
With ^this^ in mind, I just shut down my account. I didn’t just freeze it. I downloaded a copy of my entire feed and completely left. Adios.
DO YOU KNOW that people I talk to on the regular believe I had blocked them from my Facebook account – for no ascertainable reason? Seriously! My best friend even, told me she was going through a lot of medical shit and could have really used the support. I certainly apologized for anything I had done to contribute to that feeling. That’s not cool. For the life of me though, I couldn’t understand it because we had been texting and snapchatting, etc. Apparently though, I missed the posts.
This was not a solitary incident either. Even family members assumed that I blocked them.
I do not understand this.
Today was the day Bean and I took a giant leap into a future together, with kids in tow. He brought his boys, 8 and 6 years old, over to my house for the first time to have a early 4th of July shindig, with my Pickle(21), Jedi (16) and Diva(14). It reminded me of high school chemistry. We put all kinds of different stuff together and waited for the reaction.
My Dad went out of his way to make Bean’s boys feel like a regular members of our clan and I love him so much for it. He got all 5 of them super soaker water guns and thus, allegiances were made to water war. My kids acted like kids. None of them batted an eye or balked at the idea of child’s play. The big kids helped the little kids with strategy and ammunitions, while Bean and I prepared food. Then we all ate together, kept casual conversation going that entertained all parties, followed by a bonfire, smores and fireworks.
It was a much needed good day for all parties involved and I am grateful for it.
It’s been threatening to rain/storm all day, literally and figuratively speaking.
Figurativively, Im trying to cope, calm the storm inside my wild breaths and not lash out like I normally do when someone backs me into a corner: CLAWS OUT. The bottle of wine, Im working on finishing on my own would tell me Im going to need a better coping mechanism. Fuck. Whatever. Look, when someone tells you they would like to have a therapy session with you so that they can “relay things” to you with an assured “support person” to be on hand for you after said things are relayed, I think most would agree is ominous. Not something I would normally sign up for, but I am doing it for my mother. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. There has just been far too much anti-climatic drama in our family since my sister got pregnant. I have been cut out and my Mom, whom would deny this if ever asked, was placed in the middle.
I got a call last March. I missed that call while I was driving and attempting to follow voice navigated directions, it went to my voicemail. Over a year has passed and I still wonder: What if I had only received that call? What if I had not needed direction that night. I pulled into a CVS and listened to the voicemail. It was my sister telling me that she was pregnant. Happy tears rolled down my cheeks as I couldn’t even gather myself to listen to the other details, so I hung up and called her right back. Straight to voicemail. I let my elation and joy unfold in a voice message. I hang up and call directly back to my own voicemail to completely listen to the whole message. Sister says she is due in September. She said that since she was past the first trimester, as well as her and my brother in law, (DC), wedding anniversary was coming up on St. Patrick’s Day, she and DC were planning a Facebook post to tell everyone, but she had still wanted to tell me formally. It tasted like the real thing, but looking back on that last word: formally I have to wonder if this was EXACTLY all she meant to do was to formally tell me she was pregnant.
Fine, we can have a formal only sister interaction, hell, even if begrudging this seems likes a civility that our parents, who have invested so much here could have holidays with their children and grandchildren without the drama, but no, that couldn’t be what she meant because I wasn’t ever formally or even informally invited to either of her baby showerS, friends and also family, out-of-town with my Mom’s entire side of the family and where was Stephanie?
Did anyone ask? I digress…
Whatever is to be said, and I steongly feel, I already know but am trying to delude myself into believing there must be something more. What I do know is that there is just absolutely no excuse that will dismiss the great injustice I feel.
To be continued …
My best memories with Grandpa had the Cleveland Indians game radio broadcast as a soundtrack.