Catalyst

I’m so…

Angry…

Disappointed…

Raw....

Numb…

Absolutely burnt out and, yet, also seemingly so ready to reignite...

2021 has been an interesting year - one I intend to go over in full at a later date, at the end of the year. It was already a rough year emotionally…

Early in the year, the first of many red flags caught my attention. I wasn’t exactly looking for it; it just cropped up. It wasn’t a red flag in my romantic relationship, though.

It’s the one with my mother. Mainly.

I’ve written a few pieces already about some of the things that have happened in the past: “Context”, “Night Walker”, and even “Secondary” help paint part of the picture. But this time, I noticed right away that, “Hey, that’s not a cool thing to do to me, ma”.

So what was this initial red flag this year?

A single comment on the phone. I was supposed to go over to my parents’ house for my half-sister’s birthday gathering. I know, I know; what the hell were we thinking during the COVID-19 pandemic? Well, that’s an issue I’ll get to. It was less than 10 of us and I at least am vaccinated. But, at this time, it was a few days before we were to get together, and I was on the phone with my mother discussing it. We were talking about what time things would be going on when…

“So make sure you’re not late,” my mother chided. My boyfriend, who is rarely ever in a hurry, has caused me to be late for many gatherings in the 7 years we’ve been dating. Not just him, but he’s certainly contributed. Personally, I don’t see the issue; we rarely ever actually start anything “on time” for a gathering - there’s always something that doesn’t go right or someone who doesn’t show up right on time. But it does cause me to freak out; I don’t like the constant comments about our tardiness. Don’t like getting yelled at or “in trouble” with my parents.

At first, the comment was just whatever, until I remarked, “Tch. I’ll probably be late to my own fucking funeral.”

My mother laughed and agreed, and she did it in such a way, I had an epiphany; I never did anything right by my parents. I was never up to snuff. If I tried to do something how I thought they wanted, well, I overlooked this and they would have done it differently. I realized I was working with moving goal posts. Ultimately, any choice I’ve made and told them about, it was the wrong choice. Which is another reason why I don’t tell my parents half of my life; they’ll just pick it apart.

Mom is worse than dad. Dad can be sympathetic and fair, and he’s not been afraid to apologize a few times to me growing up. But mom…

...Mom never apologizes.

Here it gets to the warning section: from here on, there will be mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm...etc. And a LOT of cussing. Everything I wrote about in “Context” that she did: reading my diary, having me strip to show her the self-inflicted cuts I’d dealt myself, the constant talking-down to… She has never apologized.

Then, at the gathering for my sister’s birthday, I had what I consider to be an outburst - at least for me. I don’t drive - personal choice, don’t trust myself to react well in a vehicle if someone does something stupid - and my boyfriend has been dropping me off for gatherings during the pandemic.

I hate going to family gatherings alone.

I love my family - I do. But…

I always feel like they pick me apart. 13 years younger than my half-sister, and 29 for most of this year, I am one of the youngest in the family. At such gatherings, only my younger brother with special needs and my two nephews are younger than me. I don’t hold much weight in the family; they do not consider me worth listening to. I, “don’t know how the real world works”.

I assume I get that line because I stopped working in a normal sense about 6 years ago. I worked 5 years in retail and left all three jobs within 2 years because I worked them until I wanted to kill myself - common occurrence with me, that. Once I realized I had that line of thinking for weeks and months on end, I’d quit. I hated the stress. Hated the customers - how they treated me so subhumanly. Hated faking a smile for some jerk-off I’d rather tell to go fuck themselves. Hated all the shit I was expected to do for $8/hr and no benefits.

I didn’t think that, after I quit the last one, I’d wind up not working really for so long. But after quitting 3 different jobs because I started wanting to kill myself again… Kinda hard to be like, “Hey, yeah, let’s line that shit up again”.

Besides that, my partner works from home, and we really enjoyed that both of us could be home together and there was always someone home to let the dogs outside and make sure the critters were well. And, of course, I usually go help my parents with my brother at any given time, at the drop of a hat; I enjoyed and still enjoy being able to do that. I’ve made due coasting on what at one point was over $20,000 in savings; I had worked those jobs to save the $13,000 for massage therapy schooling.

Until mom talked me out of it.

I had been only a paycheck or two from the $13,000 I needed when my mother expressed her concern that she didn’t think it was a good idea. At the time, I respected that and I held off, and kept working my job until I couldn’t do it anymore. I then mentioned the schooling again when I quit, and that time…

Coincidentally, my mother didn’t talk to me for a week after I mentioned it - and I still lived with my parents at the time. So I didn't attend massage therapy school.

And now, I don’t have much left in savings to coast on. I make very little for the time I help with my brother; we are only allowed to log so many hours a week between my dad and I, despite caregiving for my brother/his son being a 24/7/365 job. I think I made $2,000 last year, if I’m lucky. Most of the money I had worked to save wound up going towards domestic things these last 6 years. My partner and I went 50/50 on a new mattress shortly after we started dating, because I felt nasty being in a bed his previous girlfriend - a known cheater - had used. I paid for outings and groceries and pet foods from my savings for several years, 50/50-ish with him. I paid my phone bill. $70-135/month isn’t much to work with, though, so now I mostly just worry about the phone and things like vitamins, or songs, or office supplies, or things for the house. He has happily handled the rest; I fucking love my man.

I got comfortable being in the house. Again, not unexpected; my childhood was largely spent in the house or a hotel room watching after my brother, so I’m all too familiar with staying home. We’re a pair of hermits, my boyfriend and I. At least with my partner, I’m not being nagged and harassed to do things all the time. Most importantly, I haven’t wanted to kill myself so often. Still happens, but nowhere near like it was as a child, teen, young adult.

But yeah, so what do I know about the real world? I know; I’m useless.

Being home like this has also led to me thinking hard about some of this. I’ve known there’s something off, but have been afraid to do anything about it, after incidents with counselors and such went awry in the past. So I would pace, and think, and sometimes riddle out a root cause, or close to it. So, once I had that epiphany…

That’s all I could think about this year; how I have never been able to measure up to my parent’s expectations. I think my dad told me he was proud of me once; at my high school graduation. I don’t even recall if mom actually said it - might have been in a card, maybe. Otherwise…

My parents always pushed the, “make smart choices” line. When I was a kid, watching kid shows, my dad would remark how stupid they were. If I was watching a nature documentary when mom came home from work, I’d get a little encouragement for watching that, “instead of those stupid cartoons”. We didn’t buy name brands if cheaper brands were comparable in taste/use, or snacks mom deemed, “so easy to make” despite no one ever doing so. If we did go somewhere as a family and I had the option to pick something fun or useful, dad would say, “Pick what you want, but I would…” and then I’d feel like I had to pick the “smart choice” even if it wasn’t what I actually wanted. Maybe that’s why I try not to ask for things.

Even as recently as last holiday season; mom and I were at one of her favorite clothing outlets, as they were sadly closing down and sales were really good. We came across a display of socks, and I had to repurpose some last year that had gotten too ratty for wearing and needed some more. It took me a few minutes to eventually decide on the pack of solids with the extra pair versus the fun prints with less pairs, and I only decided that quickly because mom was getting impatient. Kinda says something that I still think about that nearly a year later….

That night celebrating my sister’s birthday, it was just me; my partner had left. He and I had gotten vaccinated; I have no health insurance, hardly any money, and am a secondary caregiver to my brother, so I wasn't messing around with that shit. When the talk turned to the topic, I got upset. I couldn’t understand how my family wasn’t taking COVID-19 seriously, especially with my brother in the mix. He is nonverbal and has the mental capacity of an 18-month old. If anything happened to him, he wouldn’t understand; that alone scares the absolute shit out of me. My brother does not deserve to go out from COVID; it’s such a shitty way to die.

My family laughed at me. Like I was telling the funniest fucking joke. But I was dead serious, and it pissed me off. I’m just not someone my family takes seriously; they seemingly don’t respect anything I do. Granted, I know I haven’t “earned” it because I don’t “work” like them. But even when I worked two jobs at once, saving that $13,000 and up…

I’ve always been a joke.

Soon after, mom got a room comped up at Central City. She and my sister were going, and I was invited. I admit it wasn’t exactly smart, and I was still concerned about COVID-19; slot machines get touched by a lot of people. But it’s very rare for the three of us to do anything together, and I was vaccinated and armed with plenty of hand sanitizer and disinfectant cloths, so I jumped at the chance to bond with them. I honestly don’t know why. Why do I even want to try?

We played the slots - and my sister blackjack - and enjoyed complimentary drinks while we gambled. While I had brought some cash I was willing to part with, my mother put money in my machine and sat next to me and we both played off the same machine; nothing new there, she’s frequently done this with me, even when I had a job. Eventually, we decided to take advantage of the pool and hot tubs. It was in the hot tub that things went south.

At first, we were having fun. But then we ran into a lady who was from South Dakota - where mom is from. Suddenly, my mother began gushing about her and my dad moving back. I assume my mother and sister suspect it was the wine I had that resulted in my response; another upset.

In reality, I grew so upset so quickly because of my mom’s nonchalant, “Oh, we’re moving back there!” Like, wait, what?

I’d been expected to help watch my brother since 7. I stayed with my parents until age 23 because I thought I’d wind up an old maid because who would willingly help with my brother? I had been rejected by romantic partners because they did not want to be part of that. And then, when I finally found my current partner - who seems just fine tackling the task - we moved to be only minutes away so I could keep helping out with my brother at the drop of a hat. The remark came out of seemingly nowhere, and I felt like the proverbial rug had just been pulled out from under me.

Most frustrating was my sister’s response, “You can’t be selfish and expect them to stay because you want them to”. Um, excuse the fuck outta you, Sis? Calling me selfish when you left home at 18 and hardly ever helped out? I just looked at her, dumbfounded. I knew what she meant; I couldn’t expect them to stay in Colorado if they couldn’t afford to keep living here when mom retires. And she is right in that sense. But clearly she didn’t understand where I was coming from, and that added to this years’ wheel of problems; my family doesn’t think highly of me, or even of me in regards to how I might feel. And I stewed on that all year.

...until I turned 30.

August 27, 2021. I’d spent the previous week making a playlist based on how I felt about turning 30 - what I wanted from here on and the like. I was planning on writing a piece for Vocal.media on that, just cause.

I don’t have a lot of friends I keep in touch with; my 93 on Facebook are mostly old coworkers and neighbors who I never really speak to anymore. I had a friend over for tea on the porch in January - the first time I’d gotten together with a school friend in 2 years. So I expected a text from her and calls from family, and thought that would be the extent of my birthday plans. I was looking forward to working on that piece and then playing World of Warcraft with weed and wine; I really wanted to enjoy my day, and it’s so fun to get a little tipsy while playing the game.

I got a text from a different friend; one of the guys, and he wanted to know if I wanted to get drinks to celebrate. I wasn’t comfortable going to a bar, so I offered to have him come over to our place. He agreed, but it would be several hours before he’d be available. I now had new plans for my birthday, so I dressed in something besides the shirts I sleep in and underwear; a nice shirt and long skirt.

In the meantime, my mother called to wish me a happy birthday. Once I mentioned my friend was coming over and we were heading to get some drinks when he did, she asked me about the bottle of Fireball she bought me months previously. I told her that was long gone, and she chided me, “You went through that whole thing already!?!” Uh, yeah mom. That was months ago, and I’ve treated myself a few times for all the shit I’ve had to do for family members this year - most of which were incredibly stressful.

I’d spent a week with my parents and brother when we drove 9 hours to South Dakota to my aunt and uncle’s for the celebration of life for my grandma that we didn’t get to have last year when she passed. Never mind sitting next to my brother who was uncharacteristically annoyed on the drive (car rides are his favorite), but I then had to immediately go to my sister’s and watch her house and dogs for a week right after - I had all of 12 hours with my boyfriend in between. Not long after that, I helped at my parents’ for half a week before my aunt and uncle in South Dakota suddenly flew me back out to help them pick corn and can green beans and pickles over the course of three weeks - I had two days' notice before I left and had been so nervous to fly by myself for the first time. I had been back about a week from that. And I had been enjoying a few drinks when I was home, because all that was stressful and I thought I deserved a little something for all I had done for the family this year.

During our stay together at my aunt’s, the massage therapy thing came up. Okay, I brought it up. This time mom confirmed why she didn’t want me to go to it in the past; she doesn’t think I have the personality for it. I’m not personable enough, apparently.

This really pissed me off. Growing up, my parents dissuaded me from anything I thought I wanted to go into. Paleontology “didn’t pay well”. My dad only thought I could do well as a meteorologist because, “it’s the only job you can be wrong 95% of the time and still have a job”. Admittedly, a veterinarian probably wouldn’t have worked; I love animals, but it would shred me to see a wounded one suffering. This, to me, was confirmation that I just never can get it right; my parents don’t think I would do well enough in anything, either in skill or in money. My dad keeps pressuring me on when I'm going to get a book out; “just do something”, “just write something”. Not like he’d know when and if I do; I don’t and won’t share those details with my parents after some of the things they’ve done. They neither support nor understand me in the ways I need.

I can’t even really be mad at my dad. Sure, he did things wrong too, including reading my diary with mom when I was 16, but he, at least, knows what it’s like being stuck in the house taking care of my brother all day. And he at least apologizes. Honestly. And we’ve always been fairly close; dad is playful and fun and the least likely to laugh at me if something upsets me.

The real reason it pissed me off so much that mom was bitching to me about how I’d drank a bottle of Fireball in 3 months or so was that she never gets on my sister about that. I have a few drinks as often as a few one night every few weeks to as far between as months. My sister constantly has drinks whenever we go over, or after work, or with neighbors… Point being, it’s bullshit she’s getting on me for my occasional alcohol consumption but not my sister’s more frequent drinking. Especially after the way mom herself used to drink. Probably because I don’t have a job; she frequently refers to me as a “lady of leisure”. Sure, mom, because it’s so nice dealing with whatever is wrong with me on top of my brother on top of all these ridiculous things the family worries about….

It’s not exactly relaxing so much as, “I have so much to do that I don’t even know where to start and I feel completely fucking overwhelmed by everything and have for years”. But sure. Lady of leisure. We’ll go with that.

So, imagine my surprise when mom shows up to drop off some items and wish me happy birthday in person when she brings with her a pre-made margarita mix. Like, okay, mom, you were just bitching about me drinking, but okay....

We settled in to drink and chat since I’d been out with my aunt and uncle and we hadn’t chatted since I got back besides the phone call that day. My friend wouldn’t be over for hours, so there was no rush. My boyfriend came out front with us because the dogs were out; mom wanted to see her favorite pup, Armando.

And then shit hit the fan.

Mom was busy complaining about “illegals” being the main cause for the rising COVID cases; despite no one else in my immediate family receiving the vaccines. This also after my dad had just gotten done telling me that my sister’s dad wound up with it, and he was living with my sister, her husband, and my two nephews. I hadn’t told my partner about that yet, but he was having none of her blaming illegals when she, herself, was doing jack shit to help curb the spread of the virus; as a bank teller, even! She sees so many people!

He called her an idiot.

There was a moment - calm before the storm. At first, I hoped maybe she might let it go - it was my birthday.

Oh, fuck no.

I sat, waiting for the blowup.

‘Today? Really, today? It had to happen today?’ I thought, staring blankly at the street ahead of me and just waiting, knowing. My mom started in on my boyfriend, and he began mocking her. She told him how immature he was being; I mean, he can be annoying when he does the mocking thing, but… While I was internally lamenting how he’d gone about it, I was not surprised. But my hopes for a nice birthday were dashed.

Mom leaned in to hug me before she stormed off to the car and left. When she did, she told me, “I’m so sorry you have to deal with that”. I found it kind of ironic; of all things, that’s what she’s suddenly sorry about? Fuck me.

“I’m not. I don’t quite agree with how he said it, but I do wish you would take this shit more seriously,” I replied, resigned. The damage had already been done anyway. And that’s when she left. Whole thing lasted maybe 15 seconds. I quickly grew a bit upset with my boyfriend; he just had to whack the hornet’s nest, didn’t he? Attitude never works with my mother; trust me, I would know.

I didn’t know if I should expect a call after that. I wasn’t sure what my dad thought of everything. I thought maybe he might call, but he didn’t. Maybe he’s been waiting on me to calm down and call? I wanted to talk to him - still do - but I was also upset and I knew I’d tell him all about the things I’d thought about the family this year. I don’t want to start more shit. But then…

A week after my birthday, without a word from either of my parents, I received a text from my sister. Mom had just told her about the whole thing and now my sister - who only bothers to text me on my birthday or when she needs me to housesit and nothing else - was texting me bitching about my partner and, “How dare he/who does he think he is/he should apologize but he doesn’t seem the type”. Now that’s fucking rich.

And that, folks, was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say.

‘How dare he? How dare she!’ I thought. I was sick of my mother’s barbing and my sister’s… inconsideration? The whole thing just pissed me off. I had told my uncle of the incident, so I couldn’t be too mad that mom had bitched to my sister, but my sister had the fucking gall to try and pick a bone with me about my boyfriend when our mother, in fact, has been a fucking idiot throughout the pandemic? When she’s been a fucking idiot through it? It's her family that's been hit with it. I traveled to help out various parts of my family; my mother and sister flew out to Vegas for fun. But they were going to try and spin it like my boyfriend and I were at fault?

Not this time.

Tomorrow, it will be six weeks since I last spoke to my parents; I’ve never gone this long without calling. I’m pretty desperate to know how my dad and brother are, but I am still very much worked up over this shit. And, I'm also stubborn. I’ve had enough of this bullshit where my family takes no blame but places it on others; including me.

A few weeks ago, a box was left on our front porch. Some items I had mom order with her stuff that I paid for before leaving to help my aunt and uncle, and file folders my brother got me for my birthday (I had requested them for office supplies). No one rang the doorbell, and the box was left as though whoever left it had simply dropped it without care; my boyfriend and I suspect my mother. I’m sure my dad would have tried to talk to me, and he would have left the box straight and flush against the outer wall. We also suspect she mainly dropped it off to try and instigate me calling over, which clearly didn’t happen. But that’s not all…

My mother is the one who okays and submits the hours for dad and I working. I can’t do it; it is mom’s job. The argument can be made that I haven’t been over to work, but usually she’ll give me the extra hours dad can’t claim like when I was out helping my aunt and uncle, since, you know, I’m still helping the family. It’s my only income right now.

Guess who hasn’t been paid since August?

She’s trying to punish me; she wants me to call and apologize for my boyfriend. But he has nothing to apologize for as far as I’m concerned. My family’s behavior throughout this entire thing has just been….

Oh fuck me.

As I said in the beginning, I’ve been feeling all kinds of things. Part of me is disappointed; I thought my family was better than this. I thought they treated me better, but they kinda mostly disregard me. Part of me is raw; the best I can explain it is like a crustacean that’s just shed - tender and raw. Sensitive. If I think about this rawness, it feels like my back is exposed and tender, in the same way that my throat closes up if I try not to cry or that my heart hurts when I miss someone. Part of me is just numb; done and over all this shit - I don’t want to fuck with it anymore.

And part of me is pissed off. I wanna go off on them. I want to remind them that they have done shitty, thoughtless things that they never apologized for or tried to make right. I want to remind them that I am a person too, and I have needs and concerns none of them have even considered for, shit, my whole life it seems. I stopped letting them know things because they ruined the trust I had, and they forgot to ask me the basics. My aunt and uncle were more thoughtful of me in three weeks than the rest of my family in the last decade. I couldn’t even say what I wanted to eat while I was there - they asked, but I wasn’t used to being asked that. My opinion rarely matters.

My sister texted last week asking if she could take me out to lunch and give me my birthday gifts. While it is true I’ve become a nocturnal creature after the blowout, as I do if I don’t have to adhere to someone else’s schedule, I just couldn’t do it. I know she’d bitch about my boyfriend, and I don’t trust myself to keep quiet face-to-face. Worse, I fail to express myself well when I'm upset like that; it would just make shit worse. My family isn’t going to change. Anything I could point out, they’d just laugh, dismiss, tell me I’m so silly…

They think they do nothing wrong in this context. I just...can’t.

I have some money in savings yet; I can coast a little further even if my mother chooses to keep up this stupid power play. I’ve been considering seeking out employment again, if I can’t get a short story or novel ready for Kindle or something similar before much longer. But I think before I try to reenter the workforce, I should definitely get some help with whatever it is that I have. There’s decades of this type of family dynamic that likely hasn’t done me much good. I’ve had some things that probably qualify as traumatic that were not dealt with for the last 15 or so years. Growing up stuck in a house or hotel room with my nonverbal brother and helping out with him since I was 7 probably did something to me too. I’ve had to talk myself down from suicidal thoughts probably at least a thousand times, if not double that, in the last few decades. I’m always exhausted in one form or another. I sleep like shit - have for decades; too little or too much. Clearly my family doesn’t give enough of a shit to see that.

I guess that’s the only silver lining to this whole year so far, if I can even call it that. Piecing together so much of this type of bullshit has really shown me what my boyfriend has encouraged for years; I should go talk to someone about some of this. I hate to, I don’t want to, and I am afraid to. But I’m so fucking tired. I’m raw and numb and pissed off all at once. I’m so sick of struggling with all of this pretty much on my own, and I can’t take much more; the more I notice that is screwed up about the way I think and feel and how I was raised, the less I know how to deal with it. This isn’t a one-and-done deal; it’s an entire string of issues that need to be dealt with.

And that’s why this is titled Catalyst. I don’t know if the numbness or the anger will win out; it’s like a chemical reaction, and it depends very much on what happens in these next few months as I wrap my head around seeking therapy. I am journaling my dreams for patterns and to try and figure out if I suffer just bad dreams or if they are true nightmares. I’m writing pieces like these to, one, help me work through shit and two, to have something I can point a shrink to because I don’t know if I can express this shit verbally - I get so worked up and no one can ever understand me. I’m just trying to hold off going off on my entire family for fear I might make it worse.

I don’t know when I’ll talk to my family again; it’s exhausting even thinking about it. I don’t intend for it to be too long, but it might not be until sometime in 2022, after I’ve had the chance to work myself up to therapy and then go over this kinda thing. I want 3 months of dreams to be journaled before I see someone, because that distinction between bad dreams and nightmares needs to be sorted out, and I’ve spent decades stubbornly avoiding talking to anyone, so I’m not able to just jump into it. I’m not self-diagnosing per se, but asking myself, “Okay, what symptoms do I think I have? What should I be looking out for? How do people with symptoms like these feel and what do they have? What’s even a viable place for me to do this? Should I expect to need medication? How much does this/that cost?”

My family may be angry at my boyfriend, but I’m so grateful to have him. He’s not perfect; no one is. He doesn’t always get it right; neither do I. But he’s supportive - of whether I choose to work or not, of my writing, of taking on the responsibility of caregiving for my brother, of trying to get me to do something I really need but don’t want to do. He’s fucking supportive - and it’s so crazy to me.

He’s even told me he’s proud of me for considering therapy. I told him not to be proud until I actually do it, but he’s still proud that I’m just finally considering it. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to just warm up to the idea that this relationship might actually last. I wish I’d had him in my corner decades ago. It doesn’t matter how this shit-storm goes; he’s in my corner now.

I love my family - I do. I just don’t love how they’d treated me - and my boyfriend - all this time. Time will tell which way shit goes; whether I finally hit boiling point or I just stop giving a damn. I doubt even if they read this that they'd understand.

I wonder if they miss me at all.

Playlist.