… there’s always one determined to face in an opposite
direction from the way the arranger desires.
And in my family that one is very obviously me.
I always used to think that we were exceedingly close as a[-n immediate] family. And to an extent we are. There are circumstances in the past which made us closer, but there are also events which pushed us away from each other. And it’s the events which pushed us away from each other that are determined to colour the way I think about my family. And sometimes I hate them in the way that only family can hate each other. And I hate myself for that. Nobody will ever hate me as much as I can hate myself.
Mumsy sent me an email. The email made me p.issed and very sad, even though she was just being chatty and nice. I wrote a sarcastic response to her email and then spent ten minutes listening to the angel argue with the devil before deleting the offending article.
I’m not entirely sure who won the argument. Was it the angel because I didn’t send the email as I didn’t want to upset Mumsy, or was it the devil because by not sending the email, and therefore not letting her know how aspects of it upset me, it’s just something else that eats away at me inside … ?
There are too many things eating away at me inside. I’ve always scorned the idea of actually talking to somebody about the things that are living in my head [longtime lurkers may remember my post about believing it to be a weakness], but just recently I’ve been so obsessed by these things that I feel I need to speak to someone before my head explodes. When my head explodes it will not be a pretty sight. There will be much terribleness. And I can’t put my family through that.
I’ve started writing. Well, I’ve started writing more. And I think that I’ve started writing better. Writing is actually really therapeutic. Cathartic. Most of the things that I write come from personal experience … most of it is stuff that I need to get out of my head. I think that I’m just really hoping that by writing I can gain some sort of release from it all.
I suppose that only time will tell though.
I had a very happy day. I was all smiles and energy and naivety, with a few random moments of clumsiness and sarcasm thrown in for good measure. Then we came home and Mumsy phoned me. I was eating so I didn’t answer. I mowed the lawn, made some chilli from scratch and played with my pussy [-cat] … anything to put me off calling her back.
It was a mistake: I was still very angry and upset. I was needlessly miserable. And despite being in tears and needing my Mumsy to be my Mumsy – and offer me phone-huggles – all she could say was, “Oh Elizabeth, why do you always have to take everything so personally?” in a tone which oozed disappointment, at which point I told her not to be horrible to me and hung up.
Childish? Oh yes.
Which takes us back to the quote at the beginning of this Xlog. I can’t be arranged. I can’t fit snuggly into the family. And I will never fit snuggly into the family. There is too much that’s been swept under the carpet, too much that is hidden and it will never be unhidden. I will always be the one who remembers everything, and I will always be the one who wants to cause chaos, and I will always be the one who feels overwhelmed by certain events.
I will always be the one who would rather twist that knife in deeper than be happy.
I love my family. I love them SO much. But they make me sad. When we’re together [which is rarely] we’re so very close. How can I not be so very close to the only four people in the whole wide world who have ever seen the real me? They’ve seen me cry, they’ve heard me scream, they’ve stepped out of the path of thrown objects and laughed at my attempts of physical violence. These are the people that I feel most comfortable with. But when we’re apart I feel as though I don’t know them at all. And I truly hate that.
As a terrible teenager I always stormed upstairs and slammed my bedroom door behind me, before lying on my bed, usually in tears. But after about an hour I always went down and apologised for my behaviour. And so I did with this situation. After calming down I picked up the phone, dialled the number I will never forget, and apologised to Mumsy. And we chatted for an hour. And all is good in the Land of KatieFinger.
Except now the devil is arguing with the angel about why it needs to be me who apologises …
please God bless my family who I do love muchly xxx Elsabeth
[I wrote this on Saturday night. I considered posting it, but I didn’t because of TBB. I’ve changed my mind and now you all get to know what a f.ucked up emotional bitch I really am . If I feel stupid for posting it, it will no doubt disappear fairly quickly.]