Friday, September 7, 2012

Fury-some: Part Two

Part Two of Zailckas' Fury digs deeper into her feelings and thoughts surrounding her family, specifically how they view her, treat her, and talk to her.  At this point of the book, I'm still not seeing the stark parallel between Zailckas's anger and my own, but that's not to say some (okay, many) of her words in this section don't slap me silly in the face and leave me dazed.  Let's take a tour, shall we?
Homecoming feels like vinegar in the wound.  It's a reminder of my failures: failure of foresight; failure to survive abroad; failure to love and be loved (pg. 21).
Just driving into my hometown rustles up mud and muck better suited to be found in the tire grooves of my Corolla after trekking miles down a forgotten dirt road.  Guilt, embarrassment, loneliness -- the triplets that consume every organ in my body.  Even once I leave this town and head back to my "real" home, the home I'm trying to build with forgiveness and grace, my organs have been compromised and it will take an act of God, literally, before I can breathe again, or at least attempt to breathe, with ease and purpose.
Quoting Theognis:  We aren't shutting you out of the revel, and we aren't inviting you, either.  For you're a pain when you're present, and beloved when you're away (pg. 25).
 I can only speak for myself, but I think this mentality is why suicide seems like an appropriate option for some.  All I hear, and I mean all I hear from my family, is "we never see you", "you never come around", "don't forget about us".  And then when they do see me and I do come around and I don't forget about them, it's "clean up your mess", "we've realized this is just the way you are", "keep your dog outside", "we never see you".  Many times I've thought, why even bother?  And then this fleeting thought becomes my daily coping mechanism when it comes to dealing with my family...then with my friends....boyfriends, school work, hygiene.

I'm still fighting off the painful moments when I start to think, "They'll miss me when I'm gone.  Then they'll finally see what they are doing to me, how they should have appreciated if even just one of the times I visited them."  But this "why bother?" way of living, in an effort to "show them" the ways in which they hurt me only adds to my hurt and infects every other aspect of my life.  Such thoughts form unconsciously and I must consciously fight them off and tell myself, "X may say I'm a pain when I'm present" but I am beloved all of my days.
My childhood, as I remembered it, was not all tree-climbing, rope-skipping glee.  What I best remembered was a hard knot of dread that stayed with me until I discovered alcohol at fourteen.  I had at least one parent who might qualify, in my mind, as "evaluative" and rejecting."  The last part of the Spike 3's description, which also happened to be the worst part, fit me like a pair of well-worn sneakers:  When I did express anger, it came in "impulsive" or inappropriate" forms.  This, because it was so "poorly integrated. (pg. 35).
Where to begin.  Will "enough said" suffice?  First, my tree-climbing days ended when I fell out of one in my backyard and my jump rope was old and tattered and no fun to play with.  Plus it always got caught up under my Ked's, stupid rope, ending the "game" faster than "It's time for dinner!"  The rejecting parent is of course my mother.  But sad to say, so was my father.  He left when I was 2 or 3 and joined the armed services.  When he returned he had a bitch of a wife who called me "brat", a term which infuriated my mother far more than it did me, although I pretended it was the reason I was crying in order to gain sympathy from my mother, which was the only condition in which I could be free from her utter disgust directed at me.

Alcohol?  Check.  Impulsive, inappropriate expression of anger?  Check.  After tapping into this "brat memory" and the little-jump rope-who-couldn't, I sit here thinking, "Can you blame me?"  That kind of stress on a child is certain to distort healthy relationships with alcohol and emotions.  Insert first person, present tense.

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