Do you ever wonder how many bruises and cuts and lacerations, how many serrated slashes and soul deep stabs, how much abuse and trauma a single heart can withstand and still function as it is supposed to?
Or even at all?
Do you ever wonder what it takes to keep moving and functioning? To keep caring?
I wonder how much more I can take before the grief and anger and visceral rage finally diminishes enough to begin to heal in a healthy way rather than turn into something much uglier than what caused those things to begin with.
It was abundantly clear that I do not fit into the mold of what some believe “family” should be and that I do not belong to nearly all that I am blood related to. I really didn’t need the reminder. Again. That this is the general consensus and belief.
I especially didn’t need that reminder when, yet again, for the second time in less than six months, I had to find out about a loved one’s passing through a tripped over obituary.
Apparently, I do not warrant even a simple text from anyone, not even the one “family” member to claim a desire for a continued relationship. Thank you for clarifying for me that your definition of “relationship” is actually “free money tree” or “only when convenient or when I need something.”
These are all things I’ve known and attempted to come to terms with for years, so it really isn’t a surprise. I already know I’m not family. That I do not belong. That I am not enough for them in any way. I’ve accept this. I shouldn’t be hurt, but, sad sack that I am, I am hurt, because my heart has yet to quit functioning, apparently determined to go on no matter the damage it has suffered.
I’m also extremely angry.
And not just for myself. I can see the excuse that because I walked away and chose to no longer speak to anyone (no matter the effort to still try at that supposed desire to maintain a relationship with at least one of them), I didn’t deserve that notification (I do not agree, but I can still see the reasoning).
I’m volcanically angry because this has also made it blindingly clear that three other blood relatives I have are also not considered a worthy part of that “family” and were not notified. Not a single one of them chose where they stand or the attitude they have received over the years. They didn’t deserve to hear this news from a tiny cluster of digital words on an impersonal website rather than communication from a human.
Words that were only tripped over while one of those discarded family members was on a hunt for contact information with the hope of connecting to our lost family member.
Sadly, these three have also dealt with this attitude and feeling their entire lives, for no apparent reason. Two of these I didn’t even know existed until I was an adult myself. People who’s only crime so to speak was to be innocent children when everyone else first deemed them unworthy of that elite membership.
How do you even manage to process the grief of the loss when it is so tangled with all the rest?
I’ve avoided posting here about a lot of things in the last couple of years out of an abundance of caution and an unwillingness to spark a lot of unwanted drama. I have attempted to seek peace instead.
I no longer care.
This is my space and if unwanted eyes manage to invade this space, they are welcome to view the completeness of the disgust I have for the horrible example of humanity and basic decency from those I have genetic ties to.
I lost someone that I grew up admiring. Someone that laid the foundations for my artistic abilities and my love for anything that allowed for expressing creativity. Someone who was willing to actually admit when they did something that hurt, even if it was unintentional, and made a huge effort to correct that hurt. And in doing so helped to teach me that it is okay to be human and make mistakes if you own up to them and try to do better next time.
I’m heartbroken for this loss and the exceptionally complicated relationship I had with her because of the toxic nature of the rest of my family. And for the loss of the opportunity to take her lesson to heart and make my own effort to do better in an attempt to correct the damage created by that toxicity.
A toxicity that I am forever learning how poisonous it was to so many other relationships. Relationships that are now beyond repair. Relationships that aren’t even mine. It breaks my heart to fully understand how much my cousins lost out on because of that toxicity and the damage it has done to them over the years.
How many times can a person not only be told, but shown in 4k HD clarity how much they are not wanted, valued, important, or worthy before they fully accept it from those doing the telling and showing and are no longer harmed by that reality?
All I can do now is grieve and attempt to let go of that rage, to try and seek out my peace again. It is so hard to do when those fires keep getting stoked. No matter how far away I walk or try to distance myself, that poisonous smoke still manages to reach me.
And I wonder how many more times I will have to put those fires out or if they will finally manage to snuff out my peace permanently, leaving nothing but a bitter, ugly lump behind. Because there is only so much damage a heart can sustain, right?