Quarter-Century Tales

Two things led me here: one was a conversation with Katie, and the second was watching Running with Scissors.

I'm fairly estranged from my family. It's a theme so common that all my friends know about it, even though I don't bring it up much anymore. On a day-to-day basis, I'm fine with it: I don't sit around wishing my family would call; in fact, I wish they wouldn't. It's easier when we don't talk.

My home wasn't a happy one. There were fights, distrust, anger, miscommunication, manipulation, and emotional abuse. Really, it went in all directions, and I was as fantastic a source as anyone else. I'm not sure how it began, but it was always there. It just got worse over time.

My mother has a list of issues beginning most notably with learning disabilities and lack of positive attention while growing up. According to the story, she was born with hearing problems that were easy enough to fix, but they went unnoticed for several years. She didn't learn to speak until she was four, and she didn't learn the alphabet until fourth grade. Understandably, she was a bit behind.

I'd have to say that her other problems would have almost certainly existed without hearing issues on top, but I'm sure speech deficiency exacerbated everything. Being unable to speak tends to put you at a disadvantage for social development, and she's been behind in that area all her life.

She's a bit obsessive-compulsive, paranoid, manipulative, deceitful, and racist. Growing up in a house is hard once you realize—at the age of eight, no less—that you've surpassed your own mother in both intellect and reasonableness. A slight exaggeration, sure, but it wasn't difficult to start putting pieces together at an early age.

Things came to a head during my senior year of high school.

If I recall correctly, the particular incident that set me off was a fight following a day out with a friend. I went to the preceding class's graduation with one of my best friends, and the two of us spent the afternoon together. It was a wonderful day, one I wasn't used to because my mother was forever hesitant on me going out with friends (or to their houses, where their fathers would rape me, of course). When my mother found out what happened, the shit hit the fan: my friend was a black girl.

The only conceivable point for a white boy to go out with a black girl was, in her words, "pussy." Damned to hell if her son was going to be seen out in public with a black girl. She was furious. She kept screaming at me, asking why we couldn't just be friends at school, why that wasn't good enough. (It's helpful to note here that my mother and I had already been through a similar incident when she found out that my same friend and I been talking on the phone for hours everyday after school.)

For the remainder of the night, she went away, came back, called her sisters and mother to spill, came back, screamed at my father, and came back again. This culminated with a physical fight in my bedroom that broke my desk. It carried out into the hallway where I was so livid I crushed an aluminum can on her head and fantasized obsessively about throwing her down the stairs.

Instead, I chose a different path: I left. I didn't have a car, and I didn't say where I was going. I just left. I ended up walking down to the grocery store and calling a friend from a pay phone. He came to get me, and I stayed at his house for the night. His family was poor, and his house was a shithole for certain, but it was one of the most comfortable places I had been in years. Being rescued and accepted left me feeling incredibly loved.

Purposefully, to spite my mother, I didn't contact my parents until well into the next day. Apparently, they showed up at my girlfriend's house that morning looking for me. Even she had no idea where I was.

I met them in the park that evening. I laid down my position, that I couldn't bear her oppression any longer. Things would have to be different, and sadly, there was no way to have a life free of her influence while remaining close to the rest of the family. That was the day I let them go.

I left for college a few months later, and with the miles on my side, I created as much distance as I could. I pulled away forcefully. The saddest part is that my father and I used to be extremely close, and that friendship was destroyed by the fallout. I've never been close with any of them since.

It took years for the fights to stop, but despite the calm now, it's still awkward. I can't see us ever being close. I'm so different from them now, while they all continue to evolve (or devolve) together.

I sometimes say I don't have a family, but what I really have is a family I don't want. We don't share the same dreams, desires, or beliefs. I can't relate to them anymore, and I know they have trouble doing the same toward me. What am I supposed to do with this? Where am I supposed to take it?

Offering them as few details about my life as possible makes everything easy, but it means I can't share some of the happiest parts of my life. They don't know that Katie and I have been together for the last two and a half years and that we lived together for eight months. They don't know that we talk of one day buying a house and getting married. I don't know when I'll tell them if I ever do.

I can't tell if it bothers me enough to do something about it, but something tells me I'll need to deal with it someday, in one fashion or another.

I figured this would happen. I thought Vox was cool enough, but I knew I wouldn't post here when I have my main blog to neglect. I barely write as it is, but if I'm going to write at all, I'm going to write for the tree; I feel like I owe it more.

Speaking of barely writing, Katie told me my writing of late hasn't been very good. The truth is I didn't take it that hard because I agree with her. Everything that comes out seems choppy and clunky, but I imagine that's what happens when one never writes. I think it's connected to my general trend toward stupidity.

Ever since I started cooking, I've lacked meaningful and deep conversations with others. Most of the people I'm around aren't academic or mentally-oriented people. It's not to say they're not intelligent; it's just that their conversations revolve around football, television, drugs, and sleeping.

I need more than that.

I've already complained about lacking friends here at school, and it's this disparity that's responsible for the drought.

This week, I've been hanging out at Muddy Waters in Burlington, and all around me, I hear people discussing academics and current issues. Just being in earshot of these conversations makes me feel better. It's like reassurance that people still discuss things beside their bong.

All of this seems terribly judgmental, I'm sure, but all I mean to say is I lack both companions and mental stimulation, both of which I crave.

Why is it I want to write something only at an hour when I'm too tired to do so? It's totally frustrating.

What movie would you really recommend renting or seeing this weekend?

The Squid and the Whale

The last movie I truly loved was The Squid and the Whale. All the characters were excellent, and the relationships between them were intricately intertwined. Issues tackled were both provocative and intriguing.

All in all, it was a wonderful snapshot of a totally dysfunctional and struggling family.

Current favorite lyric:

"Hey remember that time we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth?"

So, I don't know what exacty to use Vox for. I've seen lots of people maintain multiple blogs, and I always thought it was a bit odd. I mean, why go through all the trouble when one blog will take care of it all?

But that's just the thing: one blog doesn't take care of it all. Things can get complicated, can't they? My family has never found my blog, not that I ever expect them to (nor do I care). My friends are a different matter.

Sometimes I've wanted to talk about a friend or discuss something sensitive about someone I know reads the tree, and I've held back. Sometimes I've wanted to talk about my girlfriend and how hard it's been to live without her, and I've held back.

So, I'm not sure I'll use this to discuss the non-discussable, but I like the idea of it. It was worth it to me just to mull over.