Family Matters

I’ve been turning this situation over in my mind since last weekend, but just really haven’t felt up to writing an entry yet. Just bear with me, all right because it’s still hard to think about without getting angry, so there may be a lot more swearing than usual. I make no promises.

So last Friday my parents came down. My mom had planned to anyway, and I guess my dad had some work at the Marina to take care of before the boat show. My mom spent the night here because with only one car it wasn’t practical to go down there when she would just be coming back in the morning, and my dad continued on to East Ave. So my mom and I spent the day together and did all manner of errands big and small. Alan went down to Darien to help his aunt and uncle with their renovations. My parents decided they wanted to take us out for our anniversary and that way my mom could spend Saturday night with my dad because we’d all get together. So we went to what used to be Francesco’s and is now Blue Luna, but still serves good Italian food. Towards the end of the meal either my mom or my grandmother asked something about Jen and I had to explain what had happened all over again. When I explained that someone who read this diary had taken what I’d written and told Jen in very different words, my dad told me that I had to be careful what I posted online because people just didn’t seem to understand that it was a public forum. I tried to explain that this was not a place like MySpace or Facebook that could be searched easily and that it was anonymous except for what the writers choose to reveal. That you can’t type in my name and find my page. That it wasn’t a matter of it being posted online that created the issue, but of me trusting the wrong person or people. That what’s posted here is more along the lines of a conversation between friends and that the only searchable information was my age, sex, and geographical location and that all of that information is only available if I allow it to be. That the only way to find me is to read all the diaries that come up for 26/F/Connecticut and hope that you get some kind of identifiable information within the entry.

At any rate, he wasn’t getting it, no matter how I tried to explain it and it was very frustrating to me and it hurt me that he was treating it like it was my fault for stupidly posting it in a public forum without understanding that it’s not exactly a public forum. I tried to calm myself down and rephrase my point. I tried to rephrase what he was saying to illustrate the difference between what he was imagining this place to be and what it actually was. And I tried to explain why I was frustrated, that he was making me feel stupid for something that I’ve already come to terms with. Well, he did his "daddy dirtbag" routine. That’s what I call it when he pulls the "you’re right, I’m wrong" thing which just seems to translate as "whatever, you’re still a moron, but I’m tired of arguing with you." He threw the keys at my mom and stormed off. Which just makes me feel even worse. So I ended the night feeling like the scum of the earth because not only does his general manner make me feel worthless, I now had it on my conscience that I made him upset and I’m sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant sobbing out of frustration and hurt feelings.

And that’s what he does. He makes it seem like anyone who doesn’t share his opinions or who does things in a way that’s different from his is automatically wrong and automatically an idiot. He takes it personally when I cry over my own inability to express myself and get my words out clearly and consisely without crying. I cry when I describe strong emotions and I always have. This isn’t new. And I don’t like being mocked or laughed at or made to feel stupid. When he said that I needed to realize that the internet is a public space what I heard was 1.)  you were stupid and 2.) I’m not listening to what you’re actually saying. I’m right. The end. It’s the same as when he laughed over my desire to shorten my gym routine to accomodate a job schedule I didn’t have yet or when he kept insisting that apply for jobs in person and that since I wasn’t I was sabotaging my job search even though the vast majority of companies will only accept resumes that are faxed or e-mailed these days.  If you don’t think his way and do things the way he thinks they should be done, you’re lower than dirt.

My mom thinks our conflicts are mostly because he and I are so alike. And that’s true. We are very much alike. And we do think the same way on a lot of things, but he always makes me feel so low and small when I don’t agree with him. It’s like no accomplishment is good enough. He always wants the next step. Even with stuff he doesn’t understand he seems to think that he knows exactly where I should go next. It’s why I never follow through on anything. Because if I try and fail I’ll disappoint him. I will have proved that I’m not good enough. And that’s worse than not trying at all. When I expressed how excited I was about the possibility of working at Common Ground he was so incredulous at the thought that I would want to do something so physical and so outdoorsy, simply because according to his idea of me, I never went outside and I was a lazy slug all the time. It’s crushing to be mocked like that. He seems to think that just because he didn’t beat me like his father did I should be so grateful and love him so much. He doesn’t seem to understand that he’s just like his father and just as crushing.

So I’ve basically been miserable all week. They stopped by on Sunday morning, but my dad refused to get out of the car and talk to me, so my mom and I just ended up talking on the stairs. And the thing is, I’m not wrong in this situation. Even my mom will admit that. Yeah, my dad and I have issues because we’re both seriously over-sensitive to each other and we need to work on that, but I’m not the one who stormed out like a petulant fucking child. I’m the one who was trying to fucking communicate. He’s the one who shut down and left. And it’s not just me on the receiving end of his scorn. My mom gets it too and my grandmother. So this isn’t just me. And I at least recognize my tendency to be judgemental and try to curb it. I’m not wrong, but I’m still the one who feels like I’ve done something to deserve this.

All week I’ve wanted nothing more than to curl up under my covers and not come out again, ever. I’ve alternated between despairing and violent. Almost all the dreams I can recall on waking have been tainted with blood or violence or death. At times the most peaceful I’ve felt is when I lie in bed and imagine my veins opening up and the blood slowly seeping out. I imagine what it would take to cut my own throat and how it would feel. And I know it sounds completely deranged and morbid, but sometimes the imagining is enough to sublimate the physical rage and desire to actually do these things.

Needless to say, Alan is worried about me. He’s afraid of what will happen when he leaves for Basic Training and I can see why he would be. Truthfully, I’m a little worried about me too. I think I should try to find some kind of more regular therapy, as least for a little while. Unfortunately, I can’t afford it. ::sigh::

I have more to say. Work is fine, but I still wish I didn’t have to be there, and it’s contributingto my depression/mixed mood state. Alan and I found a little Abyssinian kitten outside on the sidewalk that tried to make it’s home with us by walking right in the front door, but we found it a more suitable home with a woman in Darien. I had jury duty on Wednesday and would have been the next person questioned, but they chose the woman before me as the last alternate for the one case they had, so I’m done for the next three years. I was a little disappointed because I would’ve liked to miss work for a week and a half, but the odds are good that I wouldn’t have been picked anyway. The case was a charge of kidnapping, restraint, and rape against a girl of 12 by a man of 24. I work closely with kids. Not hard to figure out that I might be a little biased. Anyway, I guess that rounds out my update pretty concisely. Except for the depression, anger, and tears, our anniversary was okay. Alan got me a beautiful journal and I made a yummy cake, but he had to work, so we didn’t get to enjoy the night together. But we’ve made it through the first year and I would still marry him all over again, and that’s always a good thing.

~Liz