Family

When I was little, family was the most important thing to me.  I was aware of my feelings in a way I doubt other kids think about their family.  I remember always wanting to be with my family.  I passed up on social events to stay home and hang out with my family.  I am allergic to animals, so I actually couldn't go to other people's houses as much, which just compounded the problem.  But I didn't mind.  I LOVED spending time with my family.  I loved my mother.  I idolized her.  I have a book I wrote about her, in which I embellished a small act on her part into her "saving my life" (I remember that's how she had conveyed the seriousness of the event at the time).  I wrote poems about her, poems about my family, homework assignments spotlighted my family.

I loved family get-togethers.  We frequently got together with my father's family and I loved it.  The cousins, my grandma, the aunts and uncles.  I loved being around different people.  We rarely got together with my mother's family, at least not all together.  But we saw them.  My parents had a couple of friends we saw.  I loved that too.

My little sister was my constant companion.  She went every where with me (except the times she went with her friends).  I watched her on every holiday and summer break.  We were in the same classes (mom putting me in the younger age group, so we would be together.  Always even.  Also, it helped NM not have to run around to double the activities).  My sister always expected to share my friends (and later boyfriends).  We were close.  She was violent.  I was afraid of her and her temper.  But we were "close".

But none of us was really close.  Not really.  I can look back and see how we all kind of just floated together.  Like boats, tethered together on the sea.  Bouncing into each other and near each other, but not really connecting.  We did lots of things together.  But I don't remember a lot of glowing memories.  I don't remember feeling that was of love.  NM and NSis were close, completely enmeshed.  And on occasion, they would let me hang out too.  Lots of times I was relegated to dad.  Working in the garage.  I spent a lot of time alone.  I read books, I played in my room.   I remember pulling together for my sister's homework as a team, but I don't remember anyone really being excited by anything I did.  I was just there, a constant.  I remember being asked a lot to accommodate my sister so she didn't tantrum.  She got her way a lot.  NM recently told me that sister had told her she was a big softie with us.  NM loved that she was referred to this way.  She liked being the nice parent (she used my dad as an enforcer).  NM was a softie, with my sister (and for what it's worth, the soft treatment wasn't preferential and most likely fucked my sister up completely.).  I was NM's assistant, her helper, her little me.

But I felt almost a desperate desire to be around them.  When the divorce hit, I was stunned.  I was 14 (ish, I really struggle to remember the exact order of things and dates.  It's all a blur).  I remember feeling like my family had exploded.  Like it had died.  We all seemed to be blown in different directions.

I was devastated.  I struggled so much with the complete dissolution of my family.  Everyone (except me) went crazy for a time; some longer than others.  I tried so desperately to hang onto the pieces.  To hold it together.  I remember feeling very alone.  Forgotten, abandoned.

Through my twenties, I did everything I could to improve the relationships with my family that were so rapidly deteriorating.  Every interaction with my sister and mother ended badly.  Fights, arguments  lots of tears.  I racked my brain about how to fix it.  My dad has always been distant, and continued to be (My father, not a narcissist, but a very self-centered person, recently asked me why I wasn't eating the eggs he'd made for breakfast.  I informed him, as I have on every visit in the last few years - around 5- that I have hated eggs since I was 2.  I've never eaten eggs.  Anyone close to me knows this.  He doesn't know it.)

I hosted my family.  I bought thoughtful gifts.  I supported my sister through every drunk, tearful, 3 a.m. phone call, and the various sob fests in between.  I watched her repeatedly create such horrific havoc in her own life - and consequently that of her "family."  Then, she would demand support, endless hours to vent or unleash, long tirades about how unfair it all was.  But no change, no attempts to grow up and make things better.

I had glimmers things would get better.  Moments that I thought things were getting better.  Break throughs.  And falls back wards.  Lots and lots of slips backwards.

I find it ironic.  Ironic that it is me that they accuse of not being there for my "family".  Of not living up to my obligation.  It's ironic that they accuse me of being "cold", and "calloused", and completely uninterested in family.

It's the same way with my in-laws now.  When I started out with them, I wanted so much to fit in.  To be a part of a big, "loving", family.  But twists and turns, and I've somehow come to be the enemy to them now too.  I'm the one out to destroy the family.  I'm the one on the outside.

I just don't get it.   Can't people realize that if I hadn't been about to kill myself, I would never have had to step away from my "family"?  That someone like me, who idolizes and worships her family, would never run for the hills screaming, if it hadn't gone very, very wrong?  That I'm not interested in being right, or having my way, or controlling the family.  That it isn't about some petty disagreement.  That this is about someone finally having to step away from family before it killed me or sucked me down with it into crazy town.