I’m like a bi-polar schizophrenic with regard to my sisters. I mean how I feel about them.
And it amounts to not being able to settle on one meaning for the event. One view that provides a filter to see my sisters through.
I either decide it’s OK and I forgive them, or I admit that what they did was unforgivable and I walk away from them all together.
I’m aware there are more nuances to the decision than that, but let’s just stick with the polar opposites today.
I am not being successful with the forgiving. And I’m aware that the reasons I want to forgive them are not all very nice.
One is the habit of that connection. It would be like reaching up to scratch your nose and finding it wasn’t there if I suddenly didn’t have sisters.
I don’t want to cut off that much of my history, my life. It would be like negating a huge portion of my life, if I just decided they weren’t worth this pain.
I also don’t want to cut off my niece and nephews. I love them and they didn’t participate in the decision to let me be homeless.
And I do love my sisters. I do not want to hurt them. And this would hurt them.
They didn’t do this because they hated me. I’m not convinced they did it entirely because they thought it was the best thing for me either.
I think they convinced themselves it was for the best because they projected me living in their basements for the rest of my life. They assumed I was a fucked up failure from the get go and didn’t want to support that forever. And from their point of view you don’t help failure. You punish it. It’s the best thing for the failure. Also, it avoids having the failure living in your basement.
All the while, of course, you say you understand. You say that depressions is something you struggle with too. While sitting among people who would support you through this nightmare and who would not allow you to be homeless.
But of course, they didn’t owe me anything. This pain is entirely due to my expectation. And that was mine, not one that they produced by promising to house me should I become homeless at some point in my life. No one has those sorts of conversations. I just assumed that so deeply it was part of how I structured my world view.
I thought that this was the way life was. And it wasn’t.
Which means that I have no one in my life that means what I thought they meant. A safe harbor. An unfailing hand in case of need. Understanding.
My pain is also about that sudden awareness that I have no one like that in my life. There is no one who will grab me when I fall so hard that I’m facing homelessness. No one who will stop me from ever getting that deep to start with.
The problem is that I have assigned my sisters as the goat for the pain that is me being alone and afraid. Me being hurt by my own unreasonable expectation.
I still hate the idea that they think they did the right thing. That they would EVER feel any smug satisfaction for this is a huge source of rage to me.
I still think that morally it is wrong to turn away someone you love from shelter. I don’t care how much money you spend in guilt, shelter is too basic to turn into punishment.
It will never be a good choice to throw someone suffering from depression into a homeless situation.
The sense of injustice I feel over this overwhelms me. But there is no justice. And the only way I can get any sense that they accept and acknowledge that what they did was wrong is to tell them how I feel.
And that will end one of two ways - I will hurt them deeply or they will deny that they were wrong.
Neither is a great outcome.
Which leads us to just accepting the anger and not forgiving them.
It’s an easier road. I just walk away from them all together. I throw out everything in this apartment that reminds me that they were willing to spend a lot of money to protect my things rather than me.
I stop answering their calls. I stop involving myself in worrying about them. They are dead to me.
That is easier. The anger supports it.
There are iterations of course. I could blow out the anger at them, and then walk away. But again, that is more selfish than I can be. I would get all the benefit of having let go of my pain and they would be left with the guilt.
And lets face it, it’s not their fault I have depression and my life imploded. Again, it’s not their responsibility. It’s not their fault that I’m struggling with the pain from my own misinterpretation of the world, such that I expected my family to protect me when I was most vulnerable.
There was no contract for that.
No one is going to ever take care of me but me. And I’m abysmal at it. But at least I know I fuck it up and let myself down. No surprises there.
Surprise. That is what hurts. Surprise.