Anger

I’m angry. I’m angry for a thousand petty reasons. But they’re my reasons, and as I’ve had pointed out to me recently, I have to own those reasons before they own me. I just want to tear into someone, I’m so torn up inside.

I’m angry that my dad died. I’m angry that he did NOTHING to set anything up for the eventuality of his death. It’s not like death is a surprise. Everyone dies. Denying it will happen will not cause it to skip you. So there was no insurance. No life insurance. No mortgage insurance. No nothing. All that was left to help Mom and the kids was the pension payout from New York State. My half of it will cover the entirety of the home equity loan that he apparently never paid more on than the minimum amount due. All he paid was the minimum amount that was ever due. Never towards the principle. Let the guy who loaned you the money sort out how much to pay him when. I’d love to use that money to buy a house, fix my car, get adult furniture, but I’ve already told mom that she can use it for what she needs.

I’m angry that I need to make sure she can keep the house. There’s the home equity, and the mortgage, too. I’m angry that I’ve got to make sure with mom that it’s taken care of, since the rest of my siblings seem content to just “BE”…. Mike covers some utilities, Andrea pays for Thomas’ daycare and her car, and I don’t know what Lauren pays for. I would imagine that they could pool their resources and make sure the house is taken care of. I don’t understand why it’s all status quo for them but I’ve got to be the adult.

Riekin says I’m enabling them to be dependant. To not grow up. To float through life. He said I should use the money for a down payment on a house and tell them all to grow up. Andrea’s dating someone who’ll probably kill her. She and Mike apparently still have guilt issues because they didn’t check on Daddy when they noticed his tv was on at an odd hour. And it’s easy to let yourself fall into that rut, to allow someone to take the blame, to blame yourself and get that pity. To not deal with life because you’re so in that stage of “why me I’m so horrible that this happened”…

Well, you know what. It was his time. He brought that on himself. Mom’s not convinced he was testing his sugar like the doctor told him to. Sure, he was exercising and eating better, but it’s hard to combat 57 years of eating bad and not exercising and smoking. I’m sure the doctor told him to quit, and he said fuck it.

Riekin says I need to be an adult, too. Maybe their lesson is to learn how to grow up and stand on their own. And my lesson is to allow them to do that and not jump in to save things. To let adults act like adults for once, and not like spoiled little brats.

But I can’t turn my back on them, especially when I told mom I’d already help her with stuff. I really feel like I’m being punished for actually getting out of the house and not relying on them. I’ve never, in over 10 years, asked them for anything. No money. No car. No nothing. Everyone else is at home. Andrea got out when she was living with Donnie, but she was only out part time, and when the relationship went south, she was right back at home. Mike used to live away from home, but after things went south with the girlfriend, he was back home, too. Lauren’s NEVER left home. She only got her driver’s permit a few months ago!

But I went away. I went to college. I moved to Florida. And I’ve never been back. I didn’t need the drama. I hated living where everyone knew everyone, and your business was not your own. The news about what you did that day would get home before you did most evenings. You were expected to stay in the role you got put into for your entire life, and if you deviate from it, well… then there’s something wrong with you. Is this not good enough for you? Well fuck you then, go off and do whatever it is that you want to do. We’ll be right here to let you know when you mess up.

And I feel like I’m being punished for it. I’m the oldest. I was always expected to be the grown up and make the grown up choices. I got to NY and took over. I made sure mom was okay. I picked flowers, and then called and raised hell when they didn’t show up. I made sure mom had a plate of food and took her meds and wasn’t bothered when she didn’t want to be. I was pissed that I didn’t remember my way around well enough to go out and pick up my nephew.

I treated my elders with respect. I made sure that she was taken care of. And I will do that forever. But god, I really need my family to step up to the plate and pitch in, too.

And I’m frankly pissed at the coven, too. Everyone’s got their issues, and I’m falling to pieces, and all people want to deal with is their own drama. Whether it’s the house repairs or army or school or who’s going off to college or whatever. I go out of my way to make time for everyone else to vent and bitch and try to help them out, but when it comes time for me to talk about what’s going on with me, I don’t feel like I can. I’ve been told that they think about my situation, and it makes them think about how they would feel if their dad died, or they’re really tired, because they worked a double shift, and all they want to do is go to bed, but I swear, we’ll talk about this stuff.

And I’m a schmuck because I let it happen. I really don’t want to be a burden on people. I don’t want to be a downer. But I really need to get this all out and be told that it’s not stupid and petty, even if it is. I don’t need to hear that my dad’s in a better place and he’s with the Goddess. That’s not really comforting right now. I need to know that I’m not entirely crazy, and that other people’s families are as screwed up as mine, and you know what, it seems really shitty right now, but I will get through it. It’s hard to see now, but the tunnel can’t go on forever. Eventually I’ll be past the point where I’m heading INTO the tunnel and will be heading OUT of it.

So what do I do? I get beat up in a friend’s kitchen, though they meant well, I still felt like I was assaulted. And I stand out in an overgrown field, hysterical crying, being eaten alive by bugs and venting to Riekin, who was nice enough to take me through all the bramble out to the Witch Tree. In a way, it felt like a labyrinth, I suppose. Coming out of the center was very calming, and I feel able to actually pour this out, rather than stuffing it into a ball in the pit of my stomach. Walking out to the tree, we talked, and at the tree it was very cathartic. Am I fixed? Fuck no, but at least I know I have to own these emotions, and not just disregard them because I feel that they’re petty or might bum someone out.

Family is supposed to be there for you, and I guess that’s why I feel obligated to bail my family out of this mess. But family can’t be a one-way street. And, in many respects, I feel that BOTH my families seem to be that way. And that sucks ass. So I guess I’m angry that the support that I’ve given to others isn’t returned to me when I need it. I never reach out unless I have to, and I suppose I’m once again suffering from that issue where people freak when I get emotional, or small, or can’t handle things on my own, because I’m so *NOT* usually that way. They don’t know what to say, and I know it’s hard to know what to say when someone’s hurt. But most of the time, you just have to let them yell and vent and beat against the ground. There’s nothing to say, but to be a sounding board and remind them that they’re human and while it’s crappy right now, and it doesn’t look like it will be, things will get better.

But you know, the worst thing to say to someone when they’ve suffered a loss is that the deceased is with God, or the Goddess, or wherever. It’s really not comforting. I remember when Alfred died, the instinct was to tell Al that he wasn’t really gone, that he was with God and that God would watch over them. But when you’re emotionally invested in the situation, you don’t want to hear that. You want the person back, and the gods be damned for taking them when you weren’t ready. Even the ladies from hospice said that telling the person who’s grieving that the deceased is in a better place is completely the wrong thing to do.

So I’m trying to work it out in my head, and on paper now, because there doesn’t seem to be very many people around that I can talk to who don’t immediately try to make me feel better. I want to feel better, yes, but I don’t need platitudes and frilly boxes to make me feel good. In fact, they make me feel worse. It’s like people don’t *WANT* me to be upset, because they prefer me nice and cheerful and happy. But I need to be upset, and I don’t feel like I have an outlet for that. So I guess I’m angry that people won’t just LET me be angry, rather than staring at me like I’ve grown a second, green fuzzy head and want to eat their souls.

I suppose that, when someone who’s near you looses someone who they love, it makes you think thoughts that you don’t want to think. So it’s easier to either try to cheer them up, because then they aren’t so down and gloomy, or avoid them, because it makes you uncomfortable. I don’t mean to make people uncomfortable. I just need to vent, and I don’t know how to do that in words without crying right now. Writing is easier. Its words on the page. I don’t have to see how the person who is reading them is reacting. I don’t feel them watching me as the words spill out. It’s safe. I never was good at talking about my emotions. That’s one thing I get from my family. We don’t do that, so it’s just too weird for me to try. But writing, writing is something I can do. I suppose it’s not a bad way to purge. I don’t know if it’s any better or worse than talking things out.

But right now I’m just achy. I’m bloated and crampy. I’m covered in bug bites and bruises, and I don’t know how I got most of the bruises. I’ve got scratches from head to toe. I’m sunburnt, and the nifty red in my hair is starting to go an interesting shade of orange. I guess camping’s a little rough on me.