Ma,
The Sunday night dinners are supposed to be a nice thing. It's supposed to be the people Chris worked with keeping an eye on us, not forgetting us just because he's not with them anymore. I get that, and appreciate it. But sometimes that's not what it feels like. It feels like a punishment and an obligation. A lot of hard work goes into not missing Chris and you so much that I walk around crying all day. The dinners just make that even harder.
We're supposed to be all cheerful and appreciative that people care. And I *do* appreciate that people care. I just ... don't want to hear other people's Chris stories when it's convenient for them. I want to hear them in my own time, when I can be by myself in case I want to cry.
Maybe I'm outgrowing Sunday dinners. It gets harder and harder to smile and say, "She's good!" in response to the how's your aunt doing, when the truth is I think she's totally depressed to have been stuck with the three of us, and she takes out her depression on us too. For once I want to just be honest and tell the truth. "Aunt Elaine spent 3 days in the hospital last week, then on Wednesday she had three seizures, one while she was on the phone. All the work she'd done on her knee has gone down the drain and she has to start from scratch. I am having muscle spasms in my back from sleeping on the floor because she won't get us beds and she yells at me if I sleep on the couch. We get dirty looks from her each time she lights up because we've told her how much it bothers us and she's extra defensive about her "right" to smoke in her own home. Isn't this our home now too? Shouldn't we have the right to not need to use our inhalers? Oh yeah, and hope we don't stink - we know our clothes smell like smoke, sorry if we're making your house smell bad too. Please pass the broccoli."
Craig said my anger ebbs and flows and I need to pay attention to when it's building and take steps to keep it in check. I'm not feeling like Craig is very useful lately in shrinking my head.
I hate everyone right now.
1 comment:
Damn, sister. Your aunt seems like a real piece of work. Can't believe you still don't have a bed. What if one just showed up at your door? Would she refuse shipment?
Sorry it's such a tough time, Sam.
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