Think Happy Thoughts

We are cursed. Every attempt at a meaningful connection is thwarted by the hex of skewed affection. It’s a dark shade between us. A translucent wisp of hate taints my vision so I turn away.

It shouldn’t have been this way. Its diseased essence overwhelms those around it. A dirty, supernatural, and essentially evil cloud surrounds it and makes it untouchable. Nothing worth sense can reach this thing, this monster engulfed by its own morbid essence of self.

I’ve tried! I’ve sort of tried. I tried at least a little. I think you did. I know you’ve tried. It’s just impassable. It’s cursed. There’s no hope. No reason in this love forsaken realm. So I’ll leave you now. I’ll be released into a life of wondering what could have been. Because it could have been. But we are cursed.

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Look at this Photograph

Okie dokie so I’m taking the plunge with today’s topic. Belive it or not, I don’t enjoy sounding like a whiney whine-face. I do like whining, though….

Damnit.

Anyway I wanted to blog about my issues with my mom and my dad’s divorce. This really ought to be old news by now, seeing as they  divorced almost 24 years ago, but I feel like it affected a lot of my personality and traits and important skills like coping and knowing how to trust and all that and stuff. Mostly because I was around 1 year old and I literally grew up with it. (And I still had to deal with fighting, damnit. So much fighting).

There’s a lot to the story because they both got remarried within a year, and I have what I would call “a curious history” with all 4 of my parents. It’s mostly because I turned into a crazy bitch near the end of high school. Plus there are the (half) siblings and the ≈20 living arrangements I’ve acquired on top of the occasional verbal bloodbaths that ensued between 9 of the possible pairings of these 4. Maybe even more so if you take into account the incredibly tense vocal-almost-phsycial-half-the-time wars between just 2 of them. And if you include my yelling and being yelled at 🙂

Basically from the time I started developing a clear memory my mom was dating/engaged to my stepdad. Then, by the time I was 6, my dad married my stepmom out of the blue. Surprise! My mom and stepdad married less than a year after that. I only got to be at one wedding. But boy did I look good in that flower girl dress! And somewhere there is VHS video footage of me stealing swipes of frosting from the wedding cake during the reception. And I thought I was sneaky. Imagine all the fun I’d have had at 2 weddings within a year! If I could turn back time… (is my issue with this apparent yet?)

Ahem.

I lived with Mom mostly forever, then at 16 I did that thing that teenagers do and decided to switch parents. Then my mental breakdown really happened and I moved back in with Mom because I make no sense and wanted to be 3 again cuz I was a hopeless dipshit and everything sucked and suddenly I was 23 still living with Mom. That simply wouldn’t do. Now you’ll find me in (how funny, in’t it?) Matt’s mom’s basement. Almost 24. No big deal, right? RIGHT?!

After all this time, and all this history and all of these parents having to (try to) cooperate at least sometimes for school stuff and music stuff and stuff and I only own 1 physical picture of my mother, father, and myself.

One.

It’s from my baptism in 6th grade. Though I wasn’t the happiest camper that day (another story; I won’t bore you more than what’s necessary for this 1 post ;)) I insisted that I get this photo.

I believe I got one at my wedding, but I can hardly remember because I was such an anxious wreck and I got really drunk that night so I only remember the more wedding-related things.

(Like the fact that Matt was really trying not to cry but he’ll never admit it. Or were his eyes peeing?)

Even when I made a card for my mom and my dad after the wedding as a “Thank you for Birthing Me” present, it physically felt weird to write “Mom and Dad.”

Call me weird, but I find that weird. It’s uncomfortable to put my birthers next to each other even on paper, for biscuits’ sake!

Now, I’m not saying I wish they were back together. No offense, Mom and Dad, but you would kill each other off. Honestly I don’t even remember really wishing this getting back together. I had my “father figure” from the time I was around 2 years old (thanks Darrin), so I never really felt like I was missing out? I just got bonus family on Tuesdays and holidays and stuff!

Then came the step-mom-into-the-story days at age 6 then I got to go on a plane by  myself 654,665,465 times a year and that was fun. Plus all the presents. I even got to miss a lot of school around the holidays. School hated me. And I, it.

(One time I got in trouble on a test because the teacher was reading us the questions and then we were supposed to answer, but I was 3 pages ahead of everyone, because DAMNIT woman I was in FIRST GRADE I KNEW how to READ.)

How many tangents does it take to make me feel like I’ve made a good blog post?

Like, a hundred.

I wish I didn’t hold this divorce grudge. Or rather, I wish it didn’t affect me as much as it did. And I wish divorce wasn’t so fucking prominent.

Matt, I swear to potato, you’re stuck with me.

 

 

Home is Where my Cat Is

One time I tried to count how many houses/apartments I’ve lived in and it was right around twenty. This is easy to do when you have two families, but it’s something that’s always been uncomfortable for me.

I have a few friends who have honestly lived in their houses forever. They were born there and didn’t leave until they went to college or whatever it is they decided to do. What does that even feel like?

My problem here is that I’m still struggling with a sense of home. I don’t need to pack my bag to visit Mom or visit Dad anymore, but I do stay at the fiancé’s now and then and it’s difficult to explain the weird brain feelings that accompany moving around a lot.

Obviously this isn’t a huge deal; lots of people move plenty of times for the military or because they love travel. My mom even lived over seas when my grandpa was in the Air Force. My dad travelled and moved often because of the navy. Several families I know love just to find a better or more affordable place.

One day it’s my goal to have one house forever. This is a challenge because I don’t think I want to stay in the Omaha metro forever, but the fiancé does. And I don’t know where it’d be best to move to. I can’t see the future. I’m getting antsy here, and I’m ready to settle down for the first real time in a place I can truly call my home.

(I found this on Tumblr and thought it explained things well.)

Family First

Keeping track of a lot of family members’ birthdays and anniversaries is really hard. Back during the breakdown days I basically gave up on trying to be a good family member, and lost a lot of respect in the process. Now I’m slowly trying to build myself back up to the functioning adult family human that remembers birthdays and *gulp* calls people now and then. (I hate the phone. Hate hate hate.)

My mum and dad divorced when I was around 1 1/2 years old. They’re families were already decently sized with countless cousins on each side and two uncles and two grandparents on each side. Great aunts, great grandparents, second cousins twice removed (is that a thing? Probably is in my family).

Then both Mom and Dad remarried. Dad when I was six to my stepmom with a HUGE family, and Mom to my stepdad when I was 8. However they had been dating since before I turned 3 so I was comfortable around his family from an early age. I basically grew up with three sets of grandparents and families. His with another set of countless cousins. Most of those cousins on my stepdad’s side don’t even live in the United States, but Canada. I haven’t even met a good number of them.

I grew up with all of these families to call my own. Most of the stepfamilies I never really considered to be stepfamilies. They’re just my cousins, grandpa, aunts, etc. When I was little I used to get big birthday cards from each family and the bundles, because I was little, I think. I’ve since severed those ties because I was pathetic and didn’t care about consequences or people’s feelings. Now I’m desperately trying to be a good family member again.

One of my more favored lists is the one I keep for birthdays and anniversaries. I’m running out of room. Every few months or so I realize I have to add a new one that I forgot, and then I have to send a card for that birthday or anniversary. Not only do I have to worry about writing the (unfortunately) generic “Miss you!” message but I have to keep track of addresses. Did you know it’s embarrassing asking for addresses over facebook because you don’t have their phone number or email?

Those high school years were a time for me to grow as a human, and instead I messed up a lot of things that may seem trivial to most, but I’m really bothered by it. I want to have strong family values and ties, I just don’t know how to get back to where I was. Especially because I hate phone calls. Grandparents love phone calls. I have to call the dentist today. I hate it.