So, projects get put off until NEXT week. No big. So long as at least 2 of them get worked on I’m good.
Since the news of my dad’s death, this week has gone to pot. Mainly because I’m having to deal with the emotional wreckage that is everyone else. I know I stated I felt nothing, and that’s still mostly true. Now, I feel only a few regrets. I’m sad that when I sent the card last year with the photos of myself, my son, and my husband, with the attempt to make peace, he never received it. Simply because nobody gave me his correct address. I had asked if he still lived at the address that I had, told both sisters what address it was. I was told that he still lived there. This was, apparently, a lie. So my attempt to make peace with my dad a year ago was never received, as he hadn’t lived at that address for a very long time.
My regrets may not be much to other people, and I know both my sisters are sitting there telling themselves that I deserve whatever I get. But honestly? Throughout this week, the way I have been treated by them, despite the bad blood and dreary history I have with them, I still love them. They are my flesh and blood.
But those two have serious psychological issues they need to work out that I CANNOT sort out for them. Unfortunately, both are too proud to see anyone about them, because having any sort of mental illness is seen as shameful and is despised in the lifestyles they have chosen.
But when you learn that you are being used as an excuse to cut off ties between a mother and her other children, simply because you are the most readily available excuse, you know there’s some really messed up problems in there. It isn’t that I have not tried to make things right. I’ve been trying to make things right since I first learned that a major contributing factor to how I had been throughout my entire childhood and adolescence was a hereditary psychological disorder. I will be the first to stand up and say I was a fucked up hot mess as a kid. I was angry all of the time. I could be violent. I was nearly always manic or depressed and never any sort of stable mood for very long until I was a teenager. I’m not using my mental illness as an excuse for my past, but it does allow me to look at it from a different perspective, and allows me to see how some of my behaviors had been influenced by it, making them more extreme than was truly called for in the situations. It’s an explanation of a contributing factor that throughout my childhood and teenage years nobody could figure out or explain, but KNEW there was SOMETHING there.
So, since finding that out about myself in 2009, I’ve spent the years reaching out, trying to do everything I can think of to make amends for my past with them. And each time, I’m shutdown. Cut out. Initially my baby sister heard the word Bi-polar and immediately started telling people she was afraid for her life and couldn’t be left alone with me anymore – without taking the time to try and even understand the mental disorder whatsoever. Without even attempting to learn the difference between Type 1 and Type 2 (which is what I am). Or the 14 other classification types that existed at the time. No, the word bi-polar immediately gave her an excuse to get rid of me permanently.
Irony in this? In my self-harm days the primary reason I self-harmed and even attempted suicide was not because I was selfish. It wasn’t to punish anyone. It wasn’t even because hurting myself felt good. I did all of that because logically, it was a sound course of action. The reason? By harming myself I was not harming my baby sister. By removing myself from life, I would no longer be a burden on the family and my parents could then focus all of their time and effort on my baby sister rather than on me, where I felt it was all wasted. So not perfect logic, but to a rather chaotic mind, it was a sound and ordered sort of logic that (at the time) was perfectly reasonable. The core of EVERYTHING I did while in that state of mind was actually to my little sister’s benefit and my own disadvantage. If I did something that could have a benefit for her, then I would do it regardless of what happened to myself.
Anyway, yeah. So, I’ve got some regrets, but I’ll have to just come to terms with them. One day, I might find out why my sisters hate me so damn much, and why they punish everyone else associated with me simply because they happen to know who I am. I doubt it, but hey, who knows. At least I have a major goal in life now. To outlive all 3 of my remaining siblings. I no longer want the last laugh. I NEED the last laugh. And I’ve become a very patient person, mellowed with age, understanding, motherhood, and therapy.
I hope one day my sisters all come to the realization that they need to seek psychological help as well, because while yes at times of great distress anyone can show symptoms of mental illness, these three women have been showing them their entire lives. One is actually a diagnosed sociopath. The other two? Most likely bi-polar type 1, with narcissistic delusions of grandeur. But hey, that’s just a theory.
Anyway, yeah. So one of my major life goals now is to outlive all 3 of them. So that one day, everyone who has been fed nothing but lies about me, nothing but fairy tale nightmares about me, will have to look me dead in the eye and tell me how sorry they are for my loss. And it WILL be painful, when those days come. But I want, I NEED to be the last one standing. How better to prove them wrong by a simple fact of our own frail and fragile mortality? I can think of no greater justice in this world than to simply live and exist on this planet longer than my enemies, just to spite them. Even if I were to drop dead 1 second after the last one is put in the ground, or however they are done. I could drop dead 1 second after the memorial or funeral service. I’ll still have outlived those who despise me so much. They can win the petty little battles. But I intend to win the war.