Right now I am fighting two incredibly paradoxical ideas. I’m torn between feeling cheated that I wasn’t able to know a huge part of my family, the kind of family that has massive gatherings with lots of hugs and chaos and support and being very angry at the family that I do know, that I know will always be there at a moment’s notice to support me in a crisis because they were the ones who robbed me of this other family.

I feel distant and out of place with the family who I saw maybe once a year on Christmas Eve and at the same time I want nothing more than to have all those years back, to be part of that clan and be surrounded by cousins and aunts and uncles who claim that they care and that they really want to be in my life.

I am so incredibly angry at my father for telling me that I drive people away and planting the thought that makes me think every failed relationship is my fault – that I’m inherently unlovable. I hate him for making me have to choose and creating an environment where the only parent I could count on was an unstable alcoholic.

I resent my mother for keeping me away from people who could have been significant forces in my life. I resent her for every birthday I spent with hardly anyone to invite and all the holidays I spent sitting alone with her on the couch while I wish I would be included while my cousins played outside. I resent her for the memories I missed and the fact that because I chose her I spent so many nights cold and alone, stranded and hungry while she chased her boyfriend around the county.

I hate the psychiatrist I was forced to see for being exactly the wrong person for the job and I resent the adults in my life for not making sure I went.

I resent my grandmother for defending my mother’s actions and I resent my aunt for defending my father’s. I resent them all for every awkward morning I started in orchestra with a cousin who should have been a friend when we were afraid to even acknowledge we knew each other.

I am so angry and lost and confused that sometimes I can’t begin to decide what I’m feeling, how to express it or if I’m ever going to be okay.

And I really hate myself for all of it.


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