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.