I remember when I was little, back in elementary school, how my grandmother would make tons of cookies and package them up, send them with my mother on holidays, and she would come to school and pass them out to my class. Everyone loved my mom and grandmother because they brought them food. It even got them to like me for the rest of the day, but that was about it.
And I hardly told my family about the bullying. I remember how I sort of had to one day, when I got off the school bus and I couldn’t explain why my hair was down and my hair pens were missing where they had been when she fixed my hair that morning. I just couldn’t make up excuses for that. It didn’t happen a lot, that I couldn’t come up with an excuse, so I ignored it.
But I don’t really blame them for that. That was my fault. If I had been less shy, less quiet, maybe I would have been able to stand up for myself and tell someone. I know that. That’s not my problem right now.
All I remember when I was younger about my mother was her on holidays or her on Saturdays, or maybe late in the middle of the night during the summer. I wouldn’t stay up, but she would wake me up with her television. To this day, I still have trouble sleeping when she is home at night, because I am just not used to it.
She always worked. It was/is her excuse. She told me things on Saturdays when we would go into town every week. That’s how I remember our conversations. Always her looking straight ahead with both hands on the wheel at ten and two and me sitting in the passenger’s seat. No matter how little or how much those conversations affected me, that’s how I will always remember them.
Her, telling me when I got some bad grades back in elementary school–I was on A-B honor roll until seventh grade–that I wouldn’t be able to do or be any of the things I wanted to be if I didn’t do good in school. That, to a small child, is not good. Honestly, it sounded, the way she said it, that I would never be able to do anything if I wasn’t great at school. That just made things worse when I did start doing badly in school.
I felt like a failure. I gave up. What was the point? If I wasn’t any good with public schooling, well, I just wasn’t good enough for my dreams. So, I dropped them. All of those wondrous dreams of being an archeologist, or a professor, or a policewoman–they were lost. I really did stop giving a damn about school and just gave up on everything.
The teachers didn’t help either, mind you. When I had no support at home, I had even less at school. I hated it. They didn’t care about the children or what they taught, and you could tell the difference between the ones that cared enough and the ones that didn’t care at all. Nothing seemed to be going good for me after the seventh grade.
High school, ha, that wasn’t any better. Sure, more teachers and some gave a fuck, but others would had rather I had been gone. And I didn’t care one way or the other. Even the teachers that I did great in and liked me still had to fail me–I just wouldn’t do the homework.
And, sure, I was still being bullied. What’s funny is that, when someone else thought that I was bullying them, I was in trouble. It never failed. The guidance woman hated me because I would tell the truth and then someone else would tell her the “truth,” and she would never believe me. Apparently, I’m not good enough to be believed.
Besides the torture at school, and said fear at home because of it, I couldn’t much explain it to anyone. Sure, there was my grandmother, whom I had never really gotten along with because we are too much alike and she raised me; then there was my grandfather that always wanted me to be this little angel that I couldn’t be, though he saw me as such; and, lastly, there was my mother, the one person whom I should have been able to talk to, but I couldn’t because she acts more like a sister than anything.
So, I’m stuck. I get in random relationships, hoping to find someone to listen to me, but only to fail because I am too much like her. Too manipulative, too many mind games, too much of all the things that drive others away. Sigh. When we, my mother and I, argue, it’s difficult because it’s almost like a chess game: Each pawn is a small memory of some failure, every painful emotion a larger piece to scratch across the board to attempt to “win.” If anyone can really win in a sick game like that, that is.
Anyway, I had a point to all this rambling and I guess it’s that, even though I know that my family deserves a good kick in the ass sometimes, that I still love them. It confuses the hell out of me. I fight with them, I can’t figure them out and my mother never makes any sense but she always gets her way… I just get so tired of it all. I want to fight tooth and nail and get that same respect, but I can’t.
But, as much as my mother has screwed up, I do think that she’s doing better, since she’s helping out so much with her mother’s illness. But, even that she sometimes uses as an excuse to throw in our faces and yell and bitch because something isn’t “just right.”
And I still seek her approval. God, it makes me cringe, to think about how hard I’ve tried to impress her. When I didn’t have my car for the past month, she said that it wouldn’t be a problem for me to use hers. Apparently, “not a problem” meant about a week. It didn’t take any time before she was up at arms because I forgot to move her seat back or moved her mirror, little stupid things. But, I tired so damn hard to get that seat back where she had had it and the mirrors back so she wouldn’t yell at me every night when she went outside.
It’s the stupid little things that’ll build up over time and hurt. Those crazy, idiotic, worthless things that we bottle up until we just can’t take it anymore.
Tonight I yelled. Tonight I spoke my mind. Tonight I got fed up with her.
I also went and told her things that I shouldn’t have. Like how she crushed my dreams. How I have never recovered from that.
My grandmother tried to get onto me too. Later, over stupid, trivial things that ultimately will never matter.
I’ve cried so much and I still want to, but I won’t. It’s just so, so pointless because nothing is ever going to change.
And all I can think about is how much I hate to upset either of them. How much it bothers me when I snap and I freak out because everything is building to a head and nothing adds up, but I am the odd one out so it doesn’t matter if I’m right or wrong because I am always wrong here.
And all I can think about is how much I don’t want them to hurt and how afraid I am to lose them and how much it bothers me to think about “what if.” I don’t want to leave them because I fear what will happen and if I leave with bad thoughts hanging in the air, what will happen if something bad happens to them or me? I don’t want things like that to occur, so I try not to show it. I try not to express how wrong everyone is, but won’t admit it.
All I wanted to do was clean my room, pack up my things, take the animals, and leave. But my car is still in the shop and I have no where to go. If I could have right then, I would have. Now, I just have to think things out and wonder about how much damage we’ll all be ignoring tomorrow.
Because, in this family, you don’t show your emotions. I am the odd man out.
Comment posted by Donnie
at 8/21/2007 11:32:33 PM
Yea, I know, I think I’ve said this before and you you said the same thing in response, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling this way. Ah well.
Comment posted by — — —
at 8/21/2007 11:55:01 AM
There is nothing you can do though. Our family is strange.. We just don’t talk about what bothers us. I mean, today is like nothing happened yesterday. Yeah, it’s as though no arguements occured and eveything is peachy keen.
Though I do understand what you wish to accomplish. You just want me to feel better and I apprecate that. But, I’d rather just be left alone because I am rather emotionally distanct when things like this happen.
But I do thank you for the thought.
Comment posted by Donnie
at 8/21/2007 12:36:06 AM
As you know, I have no people skills, but every time I read about something bad happening in your life I want to do something. I don’t exactly know what the hell it is I want to do, give you a hug or talk to you or something, I don’t know, but I really wish I could do SOMETHING. I wish I could help you in some way, though I suppose there isn’t really anything to help with. If there is ever anything I could potentially help you with, you can be sure I will do every thing I can, as long as you just tell me.