The other day I decided I needed to call my mother. I spent an entire week not speaking to her which if you know our relationship I talk to my mother religiously on a daily basis. Our talks are generally about our OCD tendencies to clean, organize, find structure in a mostly chaotic world of codependency, etcetera etcetera.
Anxiety began to rise inside me, the pumping of my blood, almost as if my fight or flight protection mechanisms were telling me to abort. Too late, she answered. Our conversations were the standard yadda yadda about life stuff, cleaning, work, what’s new with the weather, the same fucking shit as usual. Until I knew I had to pull the trigger. No one is my family can do it. EVER. A bunch of god damn ninnies is what they are, all talk and no action.
While I knew this may pain her, I felt this inglorious feeling of vindication. A slow moving blade into the heart of a demon to be slain, but a demon so wanton in a life. I would not let my mother become the necromancer of her fucking shit with her other daughter. No longer would I let that other human being be a part of my life by proxy of my mother. She agreed but her fathom for my request was not grasped. I began and was interrupted to say that my feelings were never understood because of my superior intellectual thought.
I stopped in my tracks. Are you fucking kidding me? Really? You honestly think I think at some higher level of being that you cannot grasp simple human feelings? I took this as possibly a compliment. My mind began to race again as to how I could explain my feelings in the most neanderthal manner, basic human understanding.
After explaining how I felt very much as the family nurse, caring for everyone with no appreciation, respect or mutual repayment in our family. More or less I was the fucking emotional dumping ground because I could pick up the shit and move their garbage around much more easily than any of them. I was Atlas, in every mythological definition, holding the heavens of my family’s emotion on my shoulders. A burden I refuse to carry since they could not manage on their own.
My mother when she needed a strong individual during the divorce of my father, the fallout with my step-father with his drug addiction, Voldermort’s teen pregnancy…so cunningly planned shortly after the announcement of my engagement and wedding within the coming months, Voldermort who would call upon me in need (she was broke and needed food for her daughter’s birthday party, she was broke and needed money to pay bills) and I being the loving sibling obliged because I thought that was the duty of family, to be there above all else, no questions asked, just supportive. Again and again I was called upon by all of them to bail them out of their emotional abyss that they could not maneuver on their own. Each time on took the task on and was left later feeling empty, more abandoned and abused. She still could not see, which was understandable, admitting, accepting, and actually acknowledging the abuse of a far more emotionally superior person requires eating a lot of crow, eating shit at best to show you are not emotionally culpable for yourself.
I also explained how growing up watching how I was always the Stepford child for all intents and purposes. Molded to be absolutely perfect in spite of all my imperfections. All the while my humanity shone through the facade I was always told my feelings were not of any real importance, they were disregarded, and so I buried them. School yard name calling, chased and beaten by other children for being “different”Only until I was an adult did my feeling began to boil to the surface and with proper counseling would they be homogenized. The constant humiliation on behalf of two parents one completely oblivious while the other did so to inflict fear and pain as a sense of parenting.
After making an attempt to explain my feelings, how I was always the emotional landfill for the family and the only child left with no adult protection from the emotional wasteland that was my family did I start to break ground. Not much, but to a point where I came to the acceptance that my feelings were never to be acknowledged or respected by my family. EVER. So I finally was able to tell them to fuck off. If I hurt their feelings from now on…its not with intent, but that I really don’t give a fuck. I also explained how I could care less about her daughter. I have no an ounce of humanity or “give a shit” for her. After her pathetic attempt to get to me, break me down in some way over Thanksgiving I can look at the entire situation and laugh. How pathetic she must be at the ripe age of 26 to have to attack her older sister. The sheer pain, hate, contemptuous rage, that she spent THAT MUCH TIME disclosing my personal life to a gaggle of strangers who made a futile, weak attempt to discredit me and make some sort of character assasination. I find so much humor that my mothers daughter still runs to my mother….”Karie did this!”
Oh I cackle like a witch at the fact that I am still “The big bad wolf” to her, that she still thinks my mother has some hold over me. That I really have a fucking care in the world that the low life, pathetic excuse for a human being, family member and mother exists. But what I find even more pathetic is the fact that I have and will probably continue to prove I am in no wrong doing for any actions. All my actions are supported by CONCRETE, evidential proof of my involvement or lack thereof, where as my mothers daughter provides nothing but a series of circumstantial conjecture. Yes by now I know I will become a fabulous attorney. Assuming I have ALL the time, care, and give a shit to attack her. Oh no…as her fucking fearless cow leader would say “stalker.” But really, why would I go to such lengths…why stoop to her below a catfish level?
I grow tired of the whole family ordeal. I laid out the law of my life, drew the boundaries of what I will no longer tolerate which includes everything but shallow, emotionless niceties, because I grow tired and annoyed with them. While I love my mother and a good portion of my family minus a certain Voldermort sibling I will no longer put forth any more effort. To be used, unappreciated, and again left feeling abandoned when faced with a time that I may need them as well. Again, only to be left to fend for myself.
So even after our conversation, the situation still remains much to the fact that they have no idea why I feel the way I do. That I shouldn’t feel that way even after their emotional scrap was left for me to handle for them. But what can you do other than accept the situation for what it is, set bold boundaries, hold true and firm (as I always do) and hope for the best.