I am the middle child in a family of three girls. My father was a refugee from Hungary. When he arrived here he could not speak english. He was 12 years older than my mother. He had that eastern european charm and an accent to match. My mother ran away from her own homeland to avoid a father who married his other woman, shortly after her own mother's death. I think my mother was addressing her daddy issues with him. He was a compulsive gambler and workaholic. My mother too is a loving generous and kind, spend most of her time, making up for the loss of income my father spent on gambling. She was also the buffer to my father's controlling and traditional expectations of women's place and role in the home. Equally children were seen and not heard, unless of course you were my father's favourite, which was my younger sister. My older sister had my father's expectations placed firmly on her shoulders. Perfection at all costs. For her his love was completely conditional on her success. This is her legacy from him. I was not worth my father's attention at all. I was invisible except for when i wasn't. And when I wasn't it was consistent criticism. So I was a very good, good, good girl. Did I mention I was a very good girl.
He passed away in 2005. I had not seen him since I was 15 years old. My choice. The two years before he died, after having three serious strokes in a row, he asked to see both of my sisters and not me. Guess who took the call from the hospital social worker to hear this proclamation. Me. They called my mother first and my mother gave them my number because " I was the one likely able to manage it the best". Funny. I was 28 then and it still hurt. Now not at all.
So what did I learn from my father. I am expert at not being seen, remaining under the radar. Apologetic for taking up too much space or time of anyone. When I receive attention it feels uncomfortable and undeserved.
As for being deep Ancaire. Yes I would agree there is no superficiality about me. I share Zues' intensity and yes I scare people away. I'm exhausting to be around for too long because other people cannot sustain the level of emotional intensity I have. I find too that those I would enjoy spending time around, extroverts, people who naturally know how to be lighter and who have more fun in life, are exhausted by me. This is why connection with people is not my thing.
I naturally have quiet a reflective outlook, coupled with fortnightly episodes of deep sadness. I'm not fun to be with and people feel that I wallow. I see the word used here, never with me, but posters towards other posters when they are frustrated by another's immovability or insight issues (slow to see the role they play in their own demise because of blocks). It breaks my heart.
I don't wallow anymore, maybe in the past. But not right now. I know my pattern with sweet sadness now. She arrives the the beginning of the two weeks before my period and she stays for 10-14 days. For that time, my life becomes not my own. She is like the young adult that moved out, but whenever she comes back home, she uses the laundry, uses all the powder, basks on the couch ordering pizza watching tv, asks for money, leaves towels on the floor in the bathroom, Basically creating complete chaos and then leaves just as fast, with a bomb site behind her, saying thanks very much, see you next time. Reeking havoc like a tasmanian devil. And then I spend the next two weeks finding my peace and calm.
I am not surprised I can find no forward momentum in my life. There is no time to do so. I spend two weeks trying to haul my ar*e back from the brink. To understand why for two weeks out of every month I could throw a bottle of pills down my throat, or some alternatively silly gesture. This time for first time, I thought about cutting myself to release some of the pain. This is new and a bit scary. I think it is in response to knowing that I can rationally manage the irrational thoughts about dying. I know they aren't real and treat them as such. This time last year I believed everything they told me.
I know what the pattern is now. I have it handled on it most of the time. I'm quite practiced. I don't talk to anyone about it, because it worries people and also people are very judgmental. It would change my friends view of me and I don't that. My family don't know, my mum knows I get PMS, but not the extent and only one friend knows about the demons in my head.
So I guess there it is. That's all the broken bits for everyone to see. Lol.
You are good to me Ancaire. Thank you. I would love to read your story.
