That Moment When…

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…you unexpectedly realize “the love of your life” was cheating on you for god knows how long and has been in a Facebook status worthy relationship with some skanky looking girl for a month and a half already. …you realize … Continue reading

One of These Things is Not Like the Other One!

I had a bad day. Okay, I didn’t necessarily have a bad day, but I had an emotional day. Nothing specific actually went terribly wrong. There were a few minor triggers that set me off, but nothing that should be considered significant. I’m just touchy these days, trying not to crumble from everything going on around me. Trying desperately to get my happy back.

After work, I wanted to go straight home to bed, but I couldn’t. I stopped at the store to pick up a couple of groceries my Mom mentioned us needing, just enough to tide us over until I do a bigger shop this weekend. Just about as soon as I walked in the door, I hear my brother talking about how someone keyed his truck and smashed the windshield and windows out… and I rolled my eyes. Why? Because his truck has been stuck in a mud hole 100 feet outside the legal area for 4 wheeling, for over three weeks now. After my Dad died, I signed my Dad’s car over to him because he’d trashed his previous truck. It took him less than two months to hit another car because he was driving like a dick on ice and snow, and then he took it onto some back road where it apparently “broke down” all on its own, and when he couldn’t afford to get it towed he just left it there waiting for some kids to smash out all the windows (which they did).

So basically, I’m just sick of hearing about this crap. Where is the common sense? Where is the pride? The appreciation for the things that you have and the things that have been given to you? (Did I mention that my Grandpa wrote him a cheque for his last truck? Stupid.)

While my brother is telling his story, I’m unpacking the groceries. I’ve got a short fuse to start with today but then I’m bombarded with “did you get this? What about this? Why didn’t you get this?! But I wanted THIS!” and I want to just throw my arms up in the air and tell them to buy their own fucking milk!

Sadly, this is coming from my brother, and he’s far easier to deal with than my mother.

In no mood to socialize, I quickly grab my dinner and retreat to my room downstairs to sit in peace. I’m barely down the stairs when my brother follows me down, yelling at me for not doing his laundry last night. Apparently he asked me to do his laundry and I agreed. HA! He should know me better than that. What he did ask is if I would put his load of wash into the machine when I took my last load out, to which I agreed, however he beat me to the punch and did it himself as I was tossing mine in the dryer. Why on earth he thought I would get out of bed after 11pm to finish his second load of laundry is beyond me, and why he thought he could yell at me for not wiping his ass is also a mystery.

So now I have escaped. I sit in my room like an introverted teenager and I wonder to myself… how in the hell am I related to these idiots? How can I be so fundamentally different from the rest of my family?!

I blame the milk man.

The Inevitable Meltdown

How did I get here? I keep asking myself that. How did I make such a bloody disaster of my life?

You’d think ones mother would be a caring & sympathetic shoulder to cry on after the loss of the other parent, but instead our blowout ends in me shouting that I wished she was dead and not him. Words I regret, but that are not necessarily untrue.

I never want to be a mother, to have the opportunity to screw my children up so badly that they hate me.

I was so worried that I would end up regretting the decision to move home, and I do already. I was a fool to think that the tension created between my mother and I in my teenage years had dissolved. If it has, it was marginal. I’ve only learned to tolerate her better and she’s learned to back off, but that was all a front that was very quickly removed. My mother does not understand why I can’t stand to be around her. She does not see the tornado of chaos and disorganization that surrounds her. She doesn’t realize that getting anywhere near that tornado makes my head spin and my gut clench and drives me towards insanity. She doesn’t know that any successes I’ve had in my life have been a direct result of my desire to be nothing like her, alone, broke, unhappy, and incapable of expressing any sort of positive emotion.

Perhaps we bring out the worst in each other. Perhaps there is a reason I’ve always envisioned moving away and cutting myself off from my family. All of my own unhappiness starts here, at the core, with her.

We don’t like each other. That much is clear. I resent the way she’s always depended on me and how selfish she can be. I resent her so much that I hate the way she talks, how making a public scene never seems to phase her, and her poor money management skills have always provided me with feelings of burden and anxiety.

I moved in here because I felt guilty watching her struggle. I had high hopes that her, my brother and I could become some sort of family again.

I was wrong. The dysfunction runs too deep, and now I don’t know what to do.