Monday, 19 December 2011

The Post That Starts Out As A Dear You, And Turns Into Talking About Jail Bathrooms Without Soap

Dear Mom,

I sit at my computer for hours with this blank screen up, the flashing telling me I have to type something to appease the computer gods. Nothing I have to say right now is polite, or nice or without hurt. Yes, I am angry at missing out on the job. Yes, I'm so fucking pissed off that I'm being held here by that fucking asshole yet again, but I could swallow that. It's only five, six months tops. Then I can leave without having to come back and make sure he goes to jail. My testimony will undoubtedly put him into a place where he'll wish there was a bar of soap to drop and use. I know this and that fact helps ease my utter fury over losing out on that adventure I could have and should have had.

I'm so angry though, at you and Dad.

I understand you think you know best for me. I understand that you had what you believed to be valid objections that should have removed my desire completely to move to another province for a year. But treating me like I was 15 again, asking to study abroad? Not being willing to debate more, discuss my reasons for wanting to travel and see other parts of the country we live in? I call bullshit.

I know the past couple of years I haven't been as open, I know I don't tell you everything I'm feeling or thinking. I never have. That's not my style, to bare it all for everyone. The things that have happened to me, the things I've done and been a part of, have changed me into the private kind of person.*

*at least, to people I see on a daily basis and who know my middle name.

I feel hurt that you didn't support me and pressured me to give the job up, but I feel even angrier at the fact you played along for three days while I was getting more and more hopeful and excited and telling everyone my huge plans. Turning against me after all that, well, you should know me well enough by now to know I would react poorly. At least I'm being the mature one and not saying anything. I'm keeping my distance because I'm angry and we, as a family, have a track record for saying stupid shit we don't actually mean when we are hurt/upset.

I don't think you understand why I wanted to leave, why, once D is in jail and I'm not longer needed and hopefully still alive/standing in one piece, I fully intend to pack up and move. With or without a proper plan.*

*This is a blatant lie. I'm too much of a control freak to not have a proper plan. But whether or not I tell you, will be an entirely different story.

This was going to be my clean break. I love you guys, I love the small town that I used to live in that has put on it's big boy pants, which I hate. I love my friends I see rarely and my job I have, but I need a clean break. Do not misread this and assume I'm running away from my problems. I'm not. I'm taking them with me, but just in my heart, instead of all the fuck around me.

I live in the town where I moved in with D. I live in the town, five blocks away from the apartment I had to move us to when he got thrown in jail for what he did. I live seven blocks away from where it happened, and eight blocks away is where we began our home and life and where I was when everything happened. I drive the same streets, I drive past those places. It kills me. I drive past the apartment where I lost not one, but two babies. That apartment is both a blessing and a curse, but lately, because I know he lives near there now, it's more painful than I can bear if I let it hit me all at once.

I am coping. I have moved on from the miscarriage with D. I still resent you and possibly have disgust towards you for telling me weeks after the miscarriage that it was for the best. The rage I felt then, when I walked out of the house and out of town before anyone found me, is still there, but it's lessened because I can accept it is better for me to not be tied to D in any way. Losing a child, though? And almost dying, in the hospital, completely the fuck alone? Not for the best. I've punched people in the mouth for telling me “It was meant to be” or “God meant for that to happen, we'll never know why”. That bullshit people tell me, can go fuck itself.

I can't write about Bug right now, maybe in another post.
(Bug is what one of my best friends called the baby inside me, and it stuck with everyone. I lost him last February).

The bad things that have happened in this town and my hometown, have given me no reason to want to stay here. I want to experience things, away from your influence and control. I love you, but ever since I was born there has been this control over me. Finding out what my IQ is was the worst thing that has ever happened to me, because it altered the life I was living. It changed me almost more than any other act, because the pressure increased tenfold and I have never, ever,
ever felt like I have done well enough for you.

I know what everyone must be thinking. I know my mom loves me, I know she is proud of me and cares about me and is doing what she thinks is right. I can respect that and understand it, but never, in my entire life, has
she ever shown me that she's proud of everything I've done. I hear about her pride from my cousins, or uncle. I don't see it from her. I see the “why couldn't you do better” and the “you're making the worst choices of your life” side.

I wanted to move away to start fresh. I wanted to take all the hurt and pain I've been dealing with for two years, and I wanted to finally heal. I've tried here. I moved home, away from this city aside from work and it only hindered me. Living at home once you've been out of the house is basically like slapping yourself in the face over and over. I moved out again and into a tiny room with my best friend and her family. I love it there, as much as I can.

I am a grown woman, who knows what she wants and how she intends to get there. I'm determined, stubborn and incredibly sure that I will do it, with or without you. I just need to get through the next six months and then I'm gone.

I don't think this is going to be a strictly hotel blog anymore. I use writing as a source of venting, and letting my anger out so I stop keeping it inside. I'm still going to blog about the hotel, though. Let's be honest. I can't stop blogging about the whores and shenanigans this close to Christmas and New Years Eve.

Sorry for the rambling makes no sense because it started out as a dear you and turned into a dialogue with myself kind of post. I like to think it's quirky and charming, with a dash of endearing.


Jaclyn said...

I'd love to talk to you via email or something. I don't know if public comments is really the venue for me to say everything I'm thinking about this post.

But I'll say I can relate. Not to the part about your parents, necessarily, but the part about babies. I struggled to conceive for years and when I finally did, I lost my baby boy at 24 weeks. And it's fucking devastating. And I hate the assholes who think they can say it happened "for a reason" or was "god's plan". It takes everything in me to not tell them fuck you and fuck god. Because I didn't deserve that shit. But it gets easier. Time passes and you don't always feel like you are struggling just to breathe. Please email me. This is not the kind of thing you can talk to anyone about and have them really understand. I barely talk to my husband about our loss, but I found a friend online who went through the same thing and we've become really close and it helps me to feel normal. So yeah.

I'm here. Talk to me.

Mandi E. said...

I cannot relate to what you're going through. The worst thing that happened to me was cancer and when I got the "everything happens for a reason" pep talk I just accepted it as my fault for not taking better care of myself and then kicked its ass. This... is a whole different foe and I don't think my weapons would help.

Instead, I'll leave you with these words of wisdom from a very wise 3 year old:

What kind of bees make milk?


Now smile and go talk to Jaclyn.

Front Desk Ninja said...

that sort of three year old wisdom is the kind I get too!
Except I get the pets on my face from my niece when she's trying to wake me up for dinner. And then she tucks me back into bed and calls me honey like she's my mom and it's a level of cute and awkward that only she can manage.

Little kids rock my world. Hands down.

I'm emailing you Jaclyn. Mandi made me. (kidding-I already had copied your email address in and plan to log into gmail for once and use it)

I hope you both know how much I adore you.