Life seems to be a process of letting go. Over and over and over again– and over again. I am barely growing accustomed to not having my mom around. I still miss her so much. Long for her phone call. Long really for someone who really gives a fuck about me. I don’t mean to be crass, but it’s true. My mom. Moms in general. Really are, for the most part, the ones who really care about what happens to us on a daily basis.
So, in an attempt to be a good daughter, I have tried to keep the little family I have together. But to be crass again, they are assholes. Self-centered shits. Some therapists say, whatever you think of others, may be what you think of yourself. Well, that may be true, I am an asshole and a shit and sometimes a big murky pond of diarrhea, but you know what, I, at least try to care, or pretend to.
This past month has been yet another of separation. I see my therapist on a weekly basis. Sometimes, I think it’s good; other times I think it’s bad. But, I hope for the most part it’s good. Recently, in one of our sessions I came to the realization that my objective to keep the family together – in writer terms—has been in the “right-wrong-way”. At least that’s what we call it when our protagonist/hero, is trying to resolve their objective with proper intention and bad thinking coupled with some bad actions.
What have I been doing?
No. No. Not sleeping with another married man, but trying to salvage my relationship with my brother. How have I been accomplishing this you ask? Well. Emails, texts, phone calls. Reminders of our youth. Nostalgia. Words. Lots of them. Recently, all he has been able to say to me is, “the only thing we have in common is that we came from the same parents.”
OUCH. What a shit! Right?
So. I’ve resolved to do as he and my stepfather do and (yes, we don’t share the same father, but I guess he forgot that, I have no relationship with said biological dad either— another shit, right?), anyway, I have resolved NOT to give chase. I’ve resolved not to beg my object of affection, my dear brother, to be a part of my life, instead, I am releasing him while leaving the door open in case he wants to come through again. Life hurts, but begging is a form of self-flagellation I don’t need to participate in anymore.
I ‘m learning that family isn’t a blood relationship; it is a bond between two people or clan of people who want you in their lives. Who care about you. Who love you. This is all I want, and let me tell you, it’s liberating. Maybe, now, romantically I will call the right one in, now that I am no longer on the right, wrong way.