Tuesday, February 08, 2005


I woke up this morning screaming "It's not my fault!" and bursting into sobs of despair.

All this because of my trip down to L.A. a few weeks ago, the logistics of a repayment of a debt, AND pms. I hate it when I know the exact causes of my nightmares.

In my torturous dream, I was surrounded by my relatives - my mother, my sister, a male figure (I can't tell if it's my ex brother in law or my father) as well as a chorus of other voices, all accusatory. One would ask me in an accusatory tone, then as I started to answer and give a genuine answer like I do with my other, another voice interrupted and posed another accusation. As I spun to answer that one, another voice'd pipe in.

I started screaming, "You're not listening! You don't want answers, you just want to blame!" but the others drowned mine out. "It's NOT MY FAULT!"

I woke up, drenched in sweat. I kicked off my blankets, and tried to go back to sleep. No avail. I finally let out my frustrations in a yell and woke my other up. She leaned over and threw an arm over me but it was too late, I was shuddering with sobs.

To my family:

I cannot talk to you. You are not interested in what I have to say.

You cannot escape the bonds of heritage and neither can I. In your eyes, I am forever youngest daughter, younger sister - to be scolded into doing what you want, to be blamed for anything that goes wrong. In my eyes, I am forever youngest daughter, younger sister - to walk away from your accusations and tones is disrespect. I therefore stay away so I don't have to walk away.

Going to a restaurant where they serve something I mentioned in passing IS NOT going somewhere I want to go. Get it clear. YOU ARE NOT DOING ME ANY FAVORS. IF YOU WERE, We'd be going to BEEF BOWL! That is what I want. The food there is cheap so I won't have to hear you bitch about how much you spend on me. I LIKE the food there. So please, do not say that it is for me. IT IS FOR YOU.

I am an adult in my own house. We have an open atmosphere where we can talk about anything. If we are having problems, WE RESOLVE IT and we don't sweep it under the rug. We can hear the accusations the other is making because we are willing to listen to the defenses the other makes to the accusations. That is what is known as having a DIALOGUE. I enjoy dialogues even if it means I don't get my way most of the time. BECAUSE! The important thing to me is to be heard. I am NOT an unreasonable person. However, when I am facing insanity, I will often resort to being unreasonable. GET THE HINT!

I do not think it is too much to ask that I be treated with respect. However, I acknowledge that it is too much to ask that YOU treat me with respect. That is why I am not asking for the impossible anymore. I just ask that you do not give me grief when I visit seldomly. I don't like you all. I don't like the way you treat me. I don't like the person I am when I'm with you. AND I don't like that the effects of my visits linger for weeks afterwards. That is why I limit my visits to you.

My sister, you say that you don't want me to lie to you when I say I don't want to come down south. Can you hear that part of my reasoning is because of you? Can you understand that your treatment of me is like that to a 19 year old and that I don't feel like I need to tolerate it anymore and because I don't know how to break the role I just choose to stay away? Can you deal with the fact that when you told me that I should've prevented your son from leaving with his grandmother's cell phone, that he is 23 years old and if he says he'll be back that night, HE'S THE ONE WHO SHOULD'VE BEEN BLAMED, AND NOT ME? And that THIS is the main reason why I don't come down there?

I am tired of hating you all. Do you know how many family movie/tv dramas I make my other sit through because I can't get enough? Cause to me, my family represents false accusations, feelings of undeserved guilt and general unpleasantness?

Mark's Mom loved my other. *THAT* felt great. But how can I expect you to accept her, when you can't even accept me?

Filed under Bloodsport, err Relatives.


Post a Comment

<< Home