Politics and Coping Mechanisms

   Anything religion and political based should be set aside from polite society, weddings/celebrations, funerals, and family gatherings. It's common knowledge.
At least in polite society.

  And by polite, I mean people who genuinely care about others and not just themselves.

  With my family, it has always been sink or swim when birthdays and holidays come around; I would usually sink, yet try to stay afloat by taking shots of alcohol prior to engagement and keeping some out in the car.
  I would physically dread having to go to those events because I knew some upset or another would happen. I would be so emotionally drained by the end of the night that I would end up crying and falling asleep with those memories playing in my head.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number one: Numbing. 

  I am very much an Aquarius, I avoid direct confrontation, but I will fight for others. I am also an asshole when I feel an injustice has been had. But when it comes to myself, I will let you wipe your feet off on me until I've had enough and Banshee scream at you several years later.
  I've played the long emotional game of trying to figure out each family member's mental illness each time a family encounter happens. One Thanksgiving I also created a drinking game, complete with a layout of events to unfold. If I had actually picked up the alcohol, I feel all of us would have been hospitalized with alcohol poisoning because it was that much of a shitshow.

  2020 hosted the worst Thanksgiving, but it was the most eye-opening. 

  Mom's is definitely PTSD mixed with something else and Narcissistic abuser.
  Brother is definitely Mania driven with the high-highs and low-lows of depression. 
  Father's, I can't put the finger on it, but it's a mix of brothers, hostage mentality, depression, and substance abuse for sure.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number two: Avoidance. 

  I knew my parents were already going crazy, but when Trump became president, whatever healthy brain cells were still alive and jumping took a flying leap into Fuckitville. I lost my parents after that.
  My mother would put her MAGA hat on at family functions and state how proud she was that her president was the man he was.
  She would actually cry about it. This was the same woman who taught me that bullying was wrong, that the little person deserved decency too, and even though she grew up in poverty, she taught us to better ourselves because no one else could.

  But then bettering ourselves became not being good enough for them, they would bully us, make fun of us for our ideals, until it just became me getting picked up because I kept my opinions.

Insert Opinion's once lost quote from Mr. Darcy.

  My father would try to start arguments with me when he wasn't telling me about his new conspiracy theories. Some of my favorites to date:
Hurricanes are created by the government, and they come from Georgia.
The Californian Camp Fire was created by Government laser beams.
They put trackers in medications so they know where everyone is all the time. 
  We would all come back with your generic Okay, cool, whatever, but would get called names when we didn't continue on. Or hell, even if we took the bait, we wouldn't somehow always be a snowflake that knew nothing.

  I adopted the saying, "I left them alone." anytime my father would ask what I did for my government today. Because I didn't care to get into it with him. You can only get called an Obama lover for ten plus years on repeat before your eyes glaze over and just agree that you love Obama.
  Hell, I wished I voted for him so I could really be blamed rightfully for something so fucking stupid.

  We also grew up, they both taught us this, that we were all meant to be different, that being different was great and yada yada and whatever other bullshit they would tack on. I grew up as a creative who loved art, sewing, collecting rocks, and loving the weather and moon. It shouldn't have been surprising that my career is in fashion design, and I am a Wiccan. Yet I'm forced to endure one of the last conversations I think I'll even have with my father was him asking me why I didn't believe in Jesus.

  The sad part is that even in 2020 when that was uttered, I still couldn't bring myself to be an asshole and reply back truthfully. If me being a Christian, meant me being them, then I didn't want that. I have found more peace in being Wiccan than I ever did as a Christian.
  The teachings are remarkably similar, their set of rules, or biblically, commandments are very much the same.

  Don't be an asshole.
  And if you are an asshole, maybe you should apologize for being an asshole and move the fuck on in peace and harmony.

  Which is literally the entire cause of my grief with my family. 

  But to them as they became, it wasn't/isn't okay to be different. You have to hide who you are, what you believe and what you think, just to fit their mould. I've never fit a mould, and I no longer apologise for it.

  I am a lot to handle, I have problems and I am vocal as fuck about them, I curse, I drink, I have fun. I cry in public, run around in the rain with crystals and jars of water...I am me and I am a beautiful mess of a person. 
  And I do know it takes a lot to put up with me and it's why I push away when I feel I am too much for people, I don't expect people to stay.

   They didn't bother...why should I expect anyone else to try?


  The minute they jumped on the hateful Trump train is when I lost respect for them. The last time I talked to my father about a stupid conspiracy theory I walked away crying, then went and got my nose pierced.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number three: Unhealthy Self-Soothing.

  
  I've watched as these people refused to go to church in one breath and be better people, then years later all they spew is hate via God and Trump in the very next breath. If Trump is a Godly man, then I am absolutely not mentally ill from years of fucking child abuse that was swept under the rug.
  
  Dealing with the hate for so long, and the utter disregard to just being nice during the holidays and birthdays, I stopped celebrating because they don't give me joy. I had put too much stock in holidays and trying to make them great for others, I didn't understand that I was also trying to cope with that too. I just wanted better things for others, because my memories were shit. Not all of them, but most in my later years. I also didn't understand that I was just rotting from the inside out with contempt during those celebrations.
  I would decorate, make everyone feel included, over shop, over cook, etc etc etc... until I was left feeling excluded, hurt because no one else put in the same exuberance or thought into an act, yet here I was owning it and making it the best day ever!
  
  I would unknowingly break my own heart because I expected others to be like me, to be excited like me. Unbeknown to myself, this was an escape, just like reading is for me. I will go back over and over and read the same books and they never get old, it's like watching my favorite movies.
I feel comfort in my old trustees, I kind of know how they go, and how they end, there won't be any surprises or twists I don't know about. I can linger in another world for a bit before I come back to real life. I could feel something other than my emotions and thoughts for just a little while.

  Unhealthy coping mechanism number four: Escape.

   As always, if you're even remotely thinking the way I do.
  Go seek mental help, trust me, you need it.
  This is no way to live.

  

Birthday Dinner and Whine

 I do a lot of that lately, whine. It's not a birthday in our family if someone doesn't cry.

  But at dinner tonight I decided to go to a restaurant our family frequents because I generally enjoy the food. My sister and brother-in-law came with me for my birthday dinner, and my sister asked if I was sure about my choice of restaurant due to the family.
I said sure, the likelihood of her showing up this Saturday is slim, not unheard of, but slim.

We also ended up getting the waitress we always get, and the one that they and mom get which caused my sister to murmur, "Great, moms going to know."

  It stung. I stared at my menu until my unshed tears blurred away and I pushed it aside. I didn't cry this time, just went back to normal because I'm just...exhausted.

  I finally understand why people step back away from family and friends when they are fighting their own battles...and I think I'm done trying to carry on something no one wants to really be a part of because of fear of repercussions. 
I tried not to bring up family, not because I don't want to know what's going on (I still very much want to be a part of them anyway I can), but because I don't want my sister to feel like an in-between. I don't want her to feel like the odd man in, a liar, an informant, or like she play-acting a role.

  I found a random active Instagram my brother has up and one of his pictures was of a new addition of my parents spending time together with him. They looked happy.
I saved it to my phone, to better torcher myself because I don't have many of them with me, or around me.
I can't remember a real smile.

Secretly, I always envied the kids whose parents want to be around them. I watch it daily at my studio, hell, even some dads take care to show up and be a part of their daughters' lives.
I'm watching friends post about their parent's journeys through surgeries and such and see the updated pictures of closeness and then I feel alone again.

I haven't had that for an exceptionally long time. 

Each time something interfamily were to happen, instead of words of comfort, it's to me saying that I don't need to talk about it, or post about it. 

Today I'm in rotten headspace because everything is crumbling, and I have no one to talk to. I need a hug and a good shoulder to cry on instead of crying in bed on my laptop, my damn night lotion I just put on stinging my eyes because I keep wiping up into my eyes. 

  Today started off iffy, with my husband in severe pain and me happily hopeful in having a good day. We didn't talk much, so I stopped trying to create conversation or ask for input. I tried breakfast and I ended up just staring at the menu. If I'm shut down enough, I just go quiet and retreat in my head and then I can't get out.
So, the day started out wonderful in that aspect, full of anxiety, lack of available space to cry by myself, and crippling depression, with zero drive to do anything. 
  Tried it again on the way to an antique store, which ended up being closed. 
  I got numb hearing the only thing my husband would say to me the whole morning, which was I love you.

  I feel bad that the only thing he could say to me was a gentle reminder that he does love me even though I'm stuck in my head and wishing...what exactly?
  On the way home my transmission went out and I dropped my phone in water when I tried to go seek solace in the bathroom. I laid down afterward and just fell asleep because I was emotionally done.


Then I woke up to my husband being in so much pain he told me if he didn't get better, then he wanted to blow his brain out. I got him on the Tens unit as I type, and he finally fell asleep.

So, as I said, I'm in rotten headspace, with no one to voice my grievances because I'm tired. I don't want to chase people off...or anymore off. What's worse is when I tried to talk to a set of friends, they swayed away from the topic I brought up, since then I barely reply unless it's to show I'm still there.
I never want to be an emotional vampire....I know I can be as negative as they come because life is constantly giving me lemons, and fuck it if I've run out of recipes to use them in.

I have a surplus of lemons and I can't give the fuckers away fast enough before I'm drowning in lemons and emotions and dreams of people I used to know and knowing no better way to survive than to write in a blog that no one ever reads.
And probably won't because it's fuck all depressing. 

 Today is a horrible day, I have zero drive to do even the littlest of things and even if I did, I couldn't even make it to the store because my damn car is broken.


At least I can sit in the living room, for another couple of minutes and cry before my roommate gets home and asks questions. I also enjoy that I can post this into the void that is the web-o-sphere and have absolutely no one read it.

But one day I hope it helps someone, knowing that it's okay to be an absolute mess because there are a few of us vocal about how unfair life really is.

Excluded for Peace

​I think the most heartbreaking thing about choosing to distance myself from my family is the following sentence: 

I felt I couldn’t invite/include you because it would off your mother. 

To me, I do get it. 

They had to make that hard decision on one of the happiest days of their lives.

But emotionally, I feel like a social pariah. Because my mother is such an asshole, people who like me (I think they like me. I hope they do. My brain says things, and I hesitate to jump to conclusions) feel the need to stay away from me.

Yeah, that hurts a lot but again, I get it. 

I just don’t like the feeling that makes me feel. To not be included in things so it keeps the peace…so it doesn’t anger the entity that is my mother.

Today was the first day I had the Ill thought I never thought I’d have.

The grief branch of anger, of hate and true loathing. 

For the very first time I hate my mother and everything she has put me through. I hate the games she played/plays, I hate the wedge she caused between my siblings and me over the years, I hate I can’t talk to my dad or step dad and be at peace without thinking I’m going to hurt one or the other because my mother tells me I’m an asshole for choosing not to choose. 

I hate that she still rules the thoughts in my head and dictates my movements in life.

I hate that I don’t look at my successes as success because my creativity always made her cringe, she never understood me, nor did she try.

I hate that she’s not even fucking trying to understand where I’m coming from when I started this silence campaign. I hate she didn’t do the ONE thing I asked her before I went radio silent. 

I fucking hate it. 

She squashed every ounce of self confidence I had from young to now, only saying the magic words when I told her I was done…

I hate the memories I have of her sitting on the couch, rubbing my arm as we watched Grey’s Anatomy, or holding my hand in the car….

My favorite memories of her. 

I want very much to have a hug, a hand hold or even…just acknowledging my hurt…

I hate that I’m crying as I write this in the bathroom of my very successful business so as not to worry my business partners.

I’m sad and mad at the same time and I hate that I have these moments, but know it’s how it goes even 8 months in. 

Each month that goes by I feel hopeless for reconciliation from either of our stand points.

Mostly because if my family doesn’t talk to me, the likelihood of me willingly coming back into the fold after a year of this messy emotional rollercoaster…I’m going to chose my peace and tell them to fuck off. 

It’s fascinating how fickle human emotions are year after year. 

One day at a time. 

Cry it out then get back to being awesome. 

You Broke me First

​

  I carry a guilt I can’t explain in just one word. This single picture above speaks volumes to me, I’ve listened to it exactly three times. 

My mothers not dead, nor is she dying, this isn’t that kind of guilt. I have survivors guilt and grief, over someone who still exists. 

  My guilt centers around abandonment and how I abandoned my parents and two of my siblings.

My guilt swirles into self-punishment because I really think I have the right to be happy and not abused.

  I hate that I cry over something I did. I made it happen. It’s my fault these things are happening to me.

  I have guilt over knowing each one has a mental illness that’s gone unchecked and I helped keep it quiet for the sake of my family staying ‘normal.’

  I’m sad because I knew it wasn’t normal but my mind came to cope and expect hate from everyone. I knew better, but I felt I shouldn’t expect any better. 

  I mourn that I still care, when it’s been shown in the time stamp above, just how much I’m cared for back. 

  I let my tears fall unchecked, my sobs wreck my body and the items I clench in desperate pleading, as they fall into a Rubbermaid box so I can pack it up and try and forget. the images, the memories, the tears, smiles, laughter, and fear. 

  You see, pain, guilt, and grief is not linear.

  But it lingers, triggering here and there, like today.

  Name calling…

  The word snowflake means more to me than what it does to most because the man I called my father would snidely call me one, would assume who I voted for then hold it over my head. He would try to insult me by calling out my religion, political view and personal beliefs. 

  When I lay it out I get why I felt zero closeness to my dad since the reign of Trump…it diminished quickly in 2020. 

  My parents taught us not to name call or bully others, they caused a ruckus with schools when we were bullied. Then later in life they bully us themselves. 

So, with that, you broke me first.

It’s not my fault.

And I shouldn’t have guilt. 

One day I hope to heal myself further.