(My sister (you know which one) is exempt from the comments that follow, as are, for the most part, my two younger brothers. My sister was definitely more victimized than I, and my youngest brother more neglected, even if that’s hard for me to imagine. His neglect is also a result of my social isolation. I was incapable of being a brother. I’m really sorry about that. My other younger brother seems to have found, early on, a woman who helped him straighten a lot of shit out. My other family members seem to still be pricks.)
After my mother died I did a little looking around the internet and found out that I had “cut myself off from the family.” This may be true as far as it goes, but there is perhaps a little background, and if you’re gonna write shit about me, then why shouldn’t I write shit about you?
First of all, look at yourselves: Alcoholics, drug addicts, racists, wife beaters, rapists (both statutory and brutal), and cheaters. Why would I not cut myself off from the lot of you?
Second of all, remember how I (we, in part) grew up: With a man who hated me because I could read, whose idea of play was to feel me up, and the woman who thought he was just dandy, who wanted me to grow up to be just like him. (You guys do realize that she was mentally ill, don’t you? She didn’t ‘have a hard life’. She was fucking psychotic (borderline, narcissistic), and made her life (and ours) ten times harder than it had to be.) I grew up with a brother who held a gun to my head an threatened to kill me. "I’ll just tell them it was a hunting accident." They would have believed you, too. I grew up in a family where the only time people talked to me was to tell me shut up and go away, or to humiliate and demean me. This is not an exaggeration. I was totally isolated socially both at home and, because of social prejudice, in school. (The teacher made it clear on my first day that I was not at all welcome in her classroom. That’s not the fault of my family, but it is relevant to the fact that I was socially isolated, and to this day, cannot maintain stable friendships. It’s a wonder that I have such a good marriage. How many divorces do you guys have between you? Seven? Eight?) I learned to trust no one, not even those who meant me well, because as I was growing up there was no one who meant me well. And this has cost me more than you’ll ever know.
You people, aside from being, as far as I can tell, assholes, are nothing more than a reminder of the worst period of my life. Why would I want that? I grew up being told that everything wrong in my life was my own fault. I can still hear my mother yelling “What’s the matter with you! Can’t you do anything?!” It took a while, but I finally discovered the answer to that first question: There was not a goddamn thing wrong with me until that bitch and her pet pervert started fucking with my head. The answer to the second question is "Yes. I can do many things, and do some of the well. You were just never paying attention."
I’ve spent the last thirty years trying to recover from what growing up in that family did to me. I have lived with depression since I was seven years old. I was suicidal when I was nine. I have lived with mental illness, anxiety attacks and dissociation my entire adult life. I did not cut myself off from the family. I cut myself loose. I cut myself free. And my only regret is that I didn’t do it more explicitly and decades sooner.
(This should be last post like this here. I really have other ideas for this blog. But this has been screaming to be written for a while. There is more, but you’ll have to wait for the book.)