what i have accomplished today involves some cleaning, so pumpkin seeds, my wonderful grey stolen from a boy sweatpants, and the softer parts of my couch. and not necessarily bc i feel like crawling in a cave and dying, but just bc, well, i damn well felt like it.
i recently sent my cousin laura (hi!) the link to this blog, as a lazy way of explaining the work demo day. i've since opened up my readership by about 3 in the greater kentucky, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but it is weird having family read this.
which makes no sense, i know, i mean come on, i'm telling strangers just about everything that has ever happened to me (see posts about the multiple times i've been scared by doctors by the thought i had cancer, the time that boy told me loved me but forgot he was married, and that time i broke my boob with a snowshovel for examples.). but. it's family. and when the immediate portion of said family still arent really speaking to me, it is a little unnerving. do i think laura is going to call up the family hotline and tell them that certain members are crazy, not speaking to one another, taking William Shatner's name in vain, no. i know laura and i know that all the crazy bullshit i spout doesnt bother her because she has known me all her life. but since i keep a lot of my life, well, separate from my family, it's just awkward. chest caving in for no reason awkward. most because i feel like in the eyes of my family i am a grade A letdown. this is where that logical voice that i have hidden in a tiny cage says, no, you're not really a letdown. but i feel like..... if you had paper dolls of my family, especially my father's side, everyone else was punched out of the exactly same sheet of paper. and then i was mcguyvered together from some playdough, a bendy straw, and day old bread. it can mostly function the same, but it wont fit in that sheet of paper with the rest of them. and it's not that my thoughts or actions are that far off from theres, but it's just enough that it makes me uncomfortable. and if i told them i was on antianxiety/antidepressants they'd brush it off like i was being overdramatic and if i just came home and came to church and supported the public library and went to my dad's fitness classes and just lived a better braxton county life, i wouldn't have these crazy ideas about dark and twisty things that leave me sobbing in a ball in my bathroom floor. but i know that going back there and being surrounded by all of them wont fix me, bc i see what it is doing to my brother. and this is partially why the number of phone calls i have made/received has dropped so drastically that i changed my cell plan to the bare minimum of minutes. i think mostly bc they're afraid i will go on a rant about how they made me this way. and i wont lie, a lot of it does stem from my family, but what screwed up person doesn't have some issue, some thing they may have even forgotten about, that can be directly contributed to the pack of wolves who raised them. (good lord, if any of my family thought i was really calling them a pack of wolves, i would be written out of the will and i would have no more homemade pepperoni rolls in my life. ever. EVER.)
i love my family. i do. i'd do anything i could for them. but. calling and talking about nothing, or going home and then hiding out in the living room watching tv and not discussing why i am losing my shit, it's just not worth it. i can do that from the comfort of my own couch. and i'm going to sit here, on my couch, watching the king tut special on discovery, with my idiot dog trying to lick the avocado mask off my face, and hope that eventually, somewhere down the line, we'll all feel like we can have a real conversation with one another again.
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