Archive for the ‘What did I do wrong?’ category

Rants and Fancypants

December 30, 2008

ist2_1407030-blooming-dandelionI realize than ranting about relations with my bmom will possibly not endear me to bmoms out there wishing for a relationship of any sort at all with their bkids. But maybe it is useful information. Maybe it is helpful to know how it can feel as a middle-aged (btw, since we don’t know how long we are going to live, how can we know when we hit the middle of it?) person trying to delicately navigate a relationship with a stranger.

But I have no delusions of grandeur or perfection and I approach life and its inhabitants with the utmost of respect, humility and empathy, carefully examining situations from all sides of things; inside-out, outside-in, vertically and horizontally, upside down and rightside up, and perhaps I just wish for some of that from the other side. I just want to be who I am and never allow myself to be affected by the wants of another for that is not being true.

Truth is the most precious gift, to be handled with care and packed in bubble wrap at all times.  And my rant below is truthfully about the unnecessary cancer of a guilt that was imposed on me for a crime I had never, and would never, commit. No one among us should ever distort the facts as a means of alleviating other, perhaps hardly related or deeply rooted guilts, for doing so is to risk irrevocably damaging a precious relationship. I am not Ms. Righteous FancyPants. I do not judge. I merely react. I try too hard and offer too much respect to be slapped with guilt.

All that you have is your soul.

The Twenty Dollars

December 14, 2008


I have always wondered if my adoptive father would have been nicer if we were his biological children. Maybe he was just plain mean, or maybe it was that aggression men can feel toward children they did not make. Sometimes his mean behavior was inexplicably tied to nothing; most times it was tied to money. He got really angry if we ever asked for money, even as children.

My older brother, who got the same treatment as I did, asked him for money once, as he was in need and away at college (on his own dime, and not at my father’s expense) and came up short. My father said no. After that brother killed himself we got a letter from his roommate saying he had died owing him $400. My father sent the asshole a check. This made me furious. That he would find his checkbook for the asshole drug dealer to pay a supposed debt for my brother – who he would not even loan $20 to for food. My brother died at 22. My father was not in any way responsible to that asshole for the supposed debts of a legal adult. I wish I’d kept the letter from that capitalist drug dealer (my brother self-medicated his demons with drugs, I knew this; and that roommate was the dealer, he had told me as much, and more). I think I remember his name. Something like NaXX-abedian.

Knowing this weird money thing, I never asked. I had gotten my first babysitting job and worked 16 hours plus a week – every Wednesday and Friday from 3-11 and then some weekend hours. From that moment on I had to buy my own clothes, shampoo, toothpaste etc. My mother would separate my laundry out from the rest of the family and refuse to do it; I was scolded for using “their” toothpaste. That really hurt because it seemed symbolic. I would do whatever was in the laundry basket rather than separate theirs out but, no matter – she’d do a load that was only partially full, rather than throw my stuff in. I was secretly mad about this but could not express that without getting in trouble. Anger was an offense punished by anger-fueled tactics. The irony was rife.

I was 11 years old. I felt like Cinder-fucking-rella. (more…)

Beach Blanket Bonfire Bingo, you’re out

December 6, 2008

Years and years ago I decided, as was usual, to go to my parents’ house for the weekend. I frequently drove the 100 miles to visit. I’d bring my laundry and chill out and watch TV (something I did not have at my apartment) and enjoy home cooked meals – some of which I’d cook myself.

istock_000007909523xsmallSo I called but got the answering machine. I figured they were out somewhere and drove out anyway. I got there and the house was empty. No problem, I just settled in. But when it got later and later I began to wonder where they were. Usually I knew if they were going away because I called every week at least once. They never called me because my father was very conscious of his phone bill and was happier when the call was on mine. He was open about this. I went to bed feeling uneasy.

The next morning I ran into a neighbor who told me they had gone to “BeautifulBeachTown” 4 hours away for a few days. I thought this very odd; disconcerting. I finished my laundry and drove back to my apartment. Days later I called for the third time and my mother answered. She said Oh honey, we had the most fabulous time at the beach in the cottage that Aunt Perfect rented. Everyone was there! Grandmother CutiePie and Sainthood (my brother) and his friend NearNeighbor, and the cousins all brought friends. We had a huge lobster bake and bonfire on the beach and there were so many lobsters that everyone had more than one and we sang songs and swam in the ocean and went for long walks on the beach. The kids brought tents and we made frozen drinks and had corn on the cobb. It was such a great time!

ist2_4251023-depressionI was dumbstruck.

Why wasn’t I invited? I had spoken to Sainthood and both my parents and even Aunt Perfection, who lived another long distance phone call on my dime away, in the weeks leading up to this family getaway. Even the cousins’ friends’ girlfriends had been invited.

We must have told you?


Oh surely we mentioned it. We’ve been planning this for ages!

No. And if you really thought so, did you not notice that I did not RSVP or get the address and/or directions to this amazing family event? Did you notice that I was not there? How did this never come up in all those phone calls over the last few weeks and months?

Oh come on. We’d not have left you out intentionally. (more…)