Slightly Broken: Family, you got to love them, right?

It’s not that I don’t – love them I mean. I only have a few; divorced parents with their respective partners, a brother and a sister (with their other halves – a brother-in-law, with niece and a soon-to-be sister-in-law) and an uncle. Oh, and cousins and aunt overseas, but I hardly ever count them in. But few enough that you’d think I could manage to maintain some degree of sensible relationship. And yet I struggle.

I do enjoy being with them, I just find it extremely difficult to get round to getting in touch and arranging anything. I’m not really sure why. For example – it’s my Mum’s birthday this Sunday and I haven’t arranged to do anything. I pretty much forgot anyway, till my other half reminded me of its imminence. I genuinely believed her birthday was later in the month. I am not a good son. So I texted to say hi… And i’ve made and sent a good birthday card. But i’ve done nothing else. And how does that make me feel? Well, I do have that lagging sense that I ought to have tried to sort out at least a visit I guess. But I haven’t. I’ll make more effort to see my Dad. And that’s a bit mean I suppose, but I have a much stronger relationship with my Dad and I feel a greater need to see him, to re-connect and be together than I do with my Mum. Of course, none of that is my Mum’s fault and yet from a certain slant it’s not my fault either. In fact, is there even any fault going? Isn’t it just the way it is?

Many years ago, after my Mum left my Dad when I was ten and me and my siblings’ lives were bizarrely and stressfully split between two homes for literally half a week and alternate weekends, and Mum met some guy, who was a prick, with four daughters and we kind of all lived together… Sigh. It’s potentially a long and confusing story. Suffice to say divorce is upsetting, even as the eldest child, but I had no desire for a step-father or four step-sisters.

Well, we fell out. It was a complex spatial and social environment. We fell out over freedoms I guess, in my case the traditional dromedary’s spine was cracked by an insistence I eat the despised Brussel sprouts. So, so trivial.

But it followed a week at Dad’s which I was loathe to end with the space, attitude and freedom I so adored and replace with a busy household of people I didn’t want to know, (but a tiny cat I was besotted with) and a mother whose needs and situation I neither understood nor wished to. Still, it feels trivial – and worse in the telling. But I declared my independence / tearfully and defiantly packed those few things I needed (when Mum first moved out I remember painstakingly halving the sets of all things I owned, to equitably distribute the things I loved between those I loved. Obviously this made most things unplayable and the toys I wanted most were always elsewhere. The absurd finale of this was taking half of the Chronicles of Narnia to Mum’s; the rest remained at Dad’s) and stormed out. I recall Mum equally defiantly trying to force me to take some object which i’d given her as a display of filial love. I don’t recall what it was, but I know I left it – not out of spite, but because I loved her and although I was terribly angry, had no wish to revoke that love.

We didn’t speak or see each other for nearly a year. I even spent Christmas abroad since my Dad had already made plans and had not anticipated the full-time return of his son. He did however welcome me with open arms, I guess partly for my rebellion and because he missed us all dreadfully. And so I lived with Dad from when I was thirteen (a guess – my sense of chronology is awful). And that did seem to balance a rage and upset for me. I’d made a choice, or had it forced upon me – depending on how I think about it.

I’ve never really talked to Mum about that – she’s onto a second husband since that twat showed all of his colours (to no one’s surprise), but we made up to an extent a few years later and i’d visit weekly. But it’s never been the same. I have a dim recollection that it was Mum who I was really close to as a young child and I think the whole divorce flipped all of our relationships around. I suppose it’s hard, if not impossible, to overcome that sense of being abandoned, which I then later repeated on Mum. Our relationship now is an adult one of conversation and friendship, but it’s never reached an emotional closeness again. I feel sometimes that i’d like to have that, but also recognise that there are too many gaps, too much concealed – and I don’t know if I can recover that sort of relationship to the way I have with Dad. Or that I want to. It’s almost like i’ve chosen to invest in Dad… And more than that feels.. Excessive? That sounds pretty messed up.

And yet the strain I feel, the reluctance to make contact, to use up my time to see my Mum, my siblings and sometimes even Dad. Well, it worries me I suppose – it feels almost unnatural, but I don’t feel drawn to see them. I enjoy it when someone else, usually my sister or Dad, draws us together for some occasion. But otherwise, I can go for days even weeks without thinking of them or wondering what they’re up to.

I do wonder if i’m a good person and what on Earth they must think of me.

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The Brightness of Mourning

The shadows faded as the sun waxed up over the hills. The valley slowly filled with golden light. Mari and Tomas stumbled down the rocky path.

They caught each other as they tripped on loose stones and their ankles were snagged by those plants which had strived to escape the cleft in the landscape. No doubt they regretted it; their leaves were pale and mottled, branches dry and snapped as Tomas kicked past them.

Tomas and Mari cast long black shapes into the declining darkness. It reached up eagerly to envelop them, and they ran into it with hope in their joined hands. The heart of the valley was twisted under itself and the river that ran through it was clothed in night throughout the day. It was not far. But the sun rises quickly. Its heat chased them down the bank.

Mari slipped once too many and fell, her grip tugging him off balance, sliding and scraping down the sharp slope. The valley grew steeper as it raced towards the black river. They fell with it, rolling and tumbling, bouncing awkwardly. With every roll the sun grew closer.

Desperately Tomas sought to control his descent, twisting and digging his heels in. His feet hit a rock and jerked him upright, but with too much velocity to slow he flipped over the edge of the cliff and was launched face down into the water. Darkness and cold embraced him and he gasped in relief, punching up for the surface.

Mari wasn’t there. No tell tale stream of bubbles and splashed wake. The cliff above him was out of reach, dust and pebbles streamed over the edge. As did the light. Tomas had no choice. He turned and swam into the safety of the darkness, the water hiding his tears.

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Slightly Broken: Rigid With Effort

Well my shoulders are an agony of tension. Feels like i’m going to pop my shoulder blades out from squeezing so hard. And breathe… Attempt to relaxe (not one of my strong suits).

So, some disclosure required to explain why my spine is trying to escape through my skull. I’ve been in well, therapy I guess, for a little over a month now. Ostensibly it’s for sleep disorder (I am a bad sleeping person), but I was well aware when I signed up, or rather allowed the doc to refer me that it was cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) and that I was unlikely to be able to tackle sleep in isolation from the fuckeduppeness that inhabits, or is, my mind.

Gosh what a long sentence. And that’s very much been the way of it today. I had a telephone appointment with my Brain Lady today. She’s great, and i’ve found myself far more able to engage and talk about myself than i’d imagined or desired.

I need to rewind to last week… Last week we were talking about mental and thought behaviours- those horrid loops and murky waterfalls we/I (own it!) can sucked into when i’m quiet or down. I managed to evade the deeper issues avenue too easily with a shield made of deflection, humour and ambiguity. Thus denying myself the route to discuss them which is what I really want. Afterwards I was furious with myself and thoroughly antisocial at work. All because I need a push. There’s nothing worse than crying for help too quietly or obliquely for anyone to hear you. It’s annoying, disappointing, hurtful and makes you do stupid things to get attention.

Obviously we’re supposed to just say stuff. And I couldn’t tell whether my Brain Lady was waiting for me, hadn’t noticed or whatever. Naturally I blamed myself. I did write about that, but I haven’t typed it up (might do that later) as it was immediate and veryfuckingannoying.
What i’m writing about now is actually a form of celebration, personally. I managed to broach the subject of wanting to talk about issues which have in the past lead to self-harm and sadness and frustration. It wasn’t easy, and my Brain Lady had to endure a lot of elliptical and sidewaysy endless sentences. But I got there, and said that there were things I believed I was just avoiding and had done forever, or had forgotten about how they make me feel when I do recall them. About as vaguely as here – i’m in a process.

But I feel enormously relieved. I’ve admitted that I have both a need to talk about stuff (most over-used word in my mind), and that i’ve been endlessly evading it, and that doing so made me really angry and upset.

So what now? I get to think about what I want some more. I’ll continue with my new sleep routine and habits, which have helped loads (more about that another day) and keep trying to write about how I feel and why I think so stupid.

So… In continuous personal bravery and optimism, plus knowing I do stuff if I promise to others that will… Things to talk about further include (and I pause here, to breathe and prevaricate): sexual abuse, self-harm, drug use, introspection, family and love, dreams and what the fuck happens in my head.

Right, best publish this now before I retract it!

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