I don’t want to go.
I don’t want to go.
I don’t want to go.
I really don’t want to fucking go.
I did something this year that I’ve not done in the past. I may not do it in the future, but I had to do it this year. I bailed on Christmas. Normally, I go over to the bro’s on Christmas Eve and muddle through the festivities. As I have said before, I feel as if I’m constantly on my guard when I’m over there. I can’t talk about not being Christian. I can’t talk about being bi or sex in general. I can’t talk about taking my cats to the vet every year (long, UGLY story). I can’t talk about politics. I can’t I can’t I can’t.
I might as well be a cut-out and propped up in place.
In addition, I don’t give the cool toys. I don’t give the latest thing. Take my niece. For her last birthday, she got a bunch of Hannah Montana stuff. She LOVES Hannah Montana. I got her some books that I thought she would really enjoy. One birthday, it was a Barbie theme, and I gave her a biracial rag doll that looked like her.
Now, I know that it’s not about me. I really do. However, it’s hard for me to see every Christmas/birthday how they set aside whatever I give them to play with the popular stuff. Granted, my niece was still reading the book I gave her for one Christmas well past the Barbie expiration date, but that can be of cold comfort in the actual situation.
In addition, I don’t get gifts. Wait. Let me hasten to say, I get one gift from my bro’s family sometimes. The thing is, it’s me and my bro’s family and his wife’s family. So, they all give gifts to each other. One Christmas, I actually just sat there as everyone else opened gifts. It was a very cold and isolating feeling.
It reminds me too much of being the loser, the outcast, the outsider that I was–well, all my fucking life, actually. Plus, my SIL would be guaranteed to get into a fight with someone, and her dad was guaranteed to shout at somebody. That reminds me too much of MY nuclear family.
And, I am hanging on by the tips of my fingernails right now. I know that if my SIL starts chastising for asking a kid who’s fallen if she’s ok (another long UGLY story), I will snap. I will either burst into tears and not be able to stop, or I will let loose a diatribe so vitriolic, I will never be allowed anywhere near my niece and nephews again.
See, this has been my biggest fear with my niece and nephews. If I show even an ounce of who I really am, my brother and SIL will forbid me from seeing them again. My brother has already told my mother that he worries I’m a bad influence on my niece (because I’m not Christian).
Wow. I just realized something. Their attitude towards me just reinforces what a piece of shit I feel I am. I mean, they are so worried about me contaminating their children with my godless, heathen ways. All these years, they have subtly held it over my head that they could cut access at any time. Oh, they’ve never said it, but my SIL made it hell for my family to see my niece when she was first born. I have always felt that I have to rely on her good graces to be allowed to continue to see my niece and nephews.
So, when I go over there, I cut out any part of my personality that they may find objectionable. Yet, a Christmas story about a man buying a wife and children is A-OK as long as they are all Christians…oh, sorry. Bad flashback.
The problem is, every part of my personality is objectionable to them. My brother and I get along really well, as long as we are by ourselves. And, to be honest, he lets loose a bit when he is with me. I tend to bring that out in people.
I am so damn careful when I am over there, it really sets me off when something fairly innocuous gets me scolded. You know, one of the reasons I put off writing a blog (for years, in fact) was because I lived in fear that my SIL would read it and refuse to let me see her children again. It was a very real fear for me, and even though I highly doubt she would read my blog (and no, my brother doesn’t read it, either. I know this for sure), it still lingers in the back of my mind.
It’s indicative of my fears in general, I think.
I am not good enough. I am a bad influence. I am worthless, godless, evil, and just plain…bad. I try so fucking hard to be good and do the right thing, and I continue to fail.
In my saner moments, I know it’s like my diet goals. I keep moving the goal posts so I can never score a touchdown. With my family, it’s the same. If I do one thing to please ’em, then there’s always something else.
The thing is, I have to accept that who I am is just not ever going to be enough for my brother’s family. And, quite honestly, for my family as well. It’s hard for me to accept, but I am just defective in their eyes. I am wrong. I don’t think I could be ME and be right for them.
Which makes me profoundly sad.
In Taiwan, shit. My heart just seized up again. My face is flushed, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
I can’t be me when I’m with my family. In addition, I certainly cannot be me when I am with my family in Taiwan. It’s part of the culture there (at least it was back in the day) to put the family over the individual, but there has to be a limit.
There is no me when I am with the family. I cannot talk about my lack of faith. I cannot talk about my sex life (not that I would really want to talk about that) or…anything. With my brother, we talk about him, his life, his business, etc. With my mom, I talk about psychology, whatever her problems are. With my father…politics and economics.
They don’t know me. They don’t want to know me. And being with them is like committing suicide a little bit at a time. This is another reason I am not looking forward to the trip. I have to lock the real Minna away for the duration. I have to be vigilant to make sure she doesn’t escape. She is not fit for the family, and she must be kept locked in her room.
Now I’m in tears again.
There is no space for the real Minna in my family. The Minna they want: Christian, married, with kids, doctorate in…well, psychology for my mother and economics for my father. She wouldn’t have tats or engage in premarital sex. She wouldn’t be bawdy and raucous and lusty–and she wouldn’t let two cats have the run of her house. Stepford Minna would be a size two (which I was at one point) and would enjoy cooking dinner every night for her husband. She would be a prestigious ______ (in whatever field she was in), and she would be someone of whom they could be proud.
Instead, they get…me.
How disappointed they must be. No matter how I try, I can’t be the Minna they want me to be. I can’t be normal. I can’t be…what they think I am meant to be.
I have failed them. Utterly. Completely. Irrevocably.
Three days before I leave.
Three days before I have to put on the mask and pretend.
Three days before I have to deal with all the critical family members who will view me as even more of a freak than my own family does.
Three days before my being gets to be battered around because of all the failed expectations.
Three days before I have to lock up the real Minna lest she make any of her family uncomfortable with how so fucking weird she is.
Three days before I have to cover the tats and rein in the raunch and the curse words.
Three days before I have to completely divest myself of my personality and don the facade of the perfect daughter.
Three days…until I have to commit psychological suicide.
Oh my girl. Fuck. I’m so sorry.
The only thing I can suggest — other than all the good things that you’re already doing, like therapy and searching for good in yourself and in the world (even if I know you only rarely believe that it exists in you) — is that you write like a motherfucker while you’re away.
Every.single.chance.you.get — write and write and write and write. Put yourself down on paper (up on the screen) so that you can see that you are not disappearing, that you have merely put up a protective shell to allow for your own sanity.
You know that bullet-proof glass that they use around the POTUS and the Pope? That’s what all the pretending/squelching of self is. It’s protection. And it’s protection from people from whom you most certainly deserve protection. They didn’t protect you when you needed it — hell, they were the problem! Some of them, anyway. So you are protecting yourself.
But your Self — the good stuff, not the demons who you fear are more real than anything else — your Self is still there. Write her down, so that you can see her. So that you can know she’s there, even when she’s in hiding.
And then come home, and unpack her, and go back to building your own family, of cats and friends and lovers and strangers on the internet — people who know that not only are you good enough for us, you’re good enough for you.
Minna, girl. Your being isn’t going with you to Taiwan, so you don’t need to worry about it. You’re taking the fake Minna, the facade that is “acceptable” (I have one too, remember!), and that’s what will be seen. The real Minna will be here in your blog, it’ll be on FB with your friends, it’ll be on the other end of the phone. The real Minna will be safe, secure, and treasured here with the people who love you. No reason to let people who wouldn’t adore and respect the real thing have any access to it. They aren’t worth it.
As for being a “bad” influence…hmm.
Well, I have three kids, over whom I am a complete Mama Bear. I’m not a helicopter Mom, but *no one* fucks with my Kellions without serious repercussions. I have worked my non-existent ass off to raise them well, with only the best examples of adulthood to emulate, and only people whom *I* trust and respect in their lives. I’ve messed up a few times over the years, and I beat the hell out of myself for it. It made me even more reserved, and even more mistrustful about who gets access to them.
And ya know what? My oldest wants to fly up there to visit you, and if I have the plane ticket money sitting in my sock drawer, I’d’ve sent her by now. Sight unseen, no hesitation. Because you ARE a good influence on them. They read your blog, they are FB buddies with you, they think you are amazing. I consider not just myself, but also them, very lucky to have a person like you in their lives, as an influence, a friend, and an example of strength and intelligence honesty, along with humor.
Anyone who thinks otherwise? Fuck ’em. Why would you want to try to be something you aren’t, for people who will always find you lacking?
ellaesther, I like your image of the protective glass around the prez. Me and Barack–like this. I also like the idea of teh hawt Secret Service men and women protecting my ass.
It’s funny how a change in imagery shifts the emotion response as well. Instead of envisioning the real me locked up in a cage, starved, beaten, and battered, I can put her in a room with black flannel sheets (hey, my fantasy, my sheets), chocolates, the Secret Service, pizza, and Alan Rickman.
I will write as much as I possibly can while I’m there. It will most likely save my life. You are right that I need to do what I can to protect the real me as best I can. Thank you for continuing to support me. I am so glad to have met you over at BJ. Happy Hanukkah.
Kel, my twin. Yes, we are alike in many ways. You, also speak the truth. The real me needs to survive this, by any means necessary. If that means lounging around in sweats while eating chocolates, pizza, and Alan Rickman (in my mind) with teh hawt Secret Service people watching over her, so be it.
You can send Kali here at any time–as long as you give me a week’s notice (need to clean). I am extremely lucky to have you and the Kellions in my life. Merry Christmas, Hibiscus Girl.
Thank you both for helping me see that I need to do what I can to protect the real me. A shift in perspective is exactly what I needed.
This is why we’re twins, love. =) And those of us who love you will keep the real Minna safe and warm and cozy right here with us, and send the Fake Minna over to Taiwan to be the sacrificial lamb for her family.
I’m not rude enough to type Internet posts in all caps, so just consider the following to be so, ‘mkay?
Not being what your family wants you to be != being a failure, period, full stop.
You should know that, Minna.
they are so worried about me contaminating their children with my godless, heathen ways
Which says a lot more about them than it does about you.
Remember, no one is a failure who has friends.
And one more thought for the trip: take a couple of tea candles with you (or small scented candles if you like scented candles) and take a few minutes alone every day or night to sit with yourself and the candle. Let the flame remind you of the power of your life that your family cannot extinguish… and let those moments connect you more deeply to your real self. Your refuge, your candle. A little thing for yourself — a few moments of primal beauty to counterbalance the effects of the family.
Kel, thanks. I will do what I can to protect her.
Gregory, what I should know and what I actually feel are two very different things. It’s hard not to feel like a failure when I haven’t accomplished a single thing that they would wish for me.
And, thank you for not yelling.
Well, I am a godless heathen, to be sure, but I take your point.
I am glad to count you in that number (my friends).
Alex, does a lighter count? That’s a good idea, actually. I love candles. Fire is good.