Done

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Houston, we have color. After a week of being whiter than a white sheet, I finally look a bit more normal. Laryngitis, followed up by the mother of all head colds. Gods! I hate being sick.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that my voice – a power center for me – went down first. I also noticed the prolonged head cold, which long ago I was told indicated uncertainty. Metaphysically, this illness fits. Birthday, bullshit from my brother, worry over, well, everything. Hate when that happens. It’s like an additional ‘I told you so’ from the Universe.

Been skipping everything. Staying under a blanket with tissues near-by, drinking juice, and eating everything, including a huge pot of soup my brother made for me. I feel fat and lazy and now that I’m on the mend I’m antsy as all shit. That does not mean I’m headed to my language lesson today. Nope. Yesterday was the first time I saw my face in the mirror and didn’t think I looked like a ghost. I need at least 48 hours post color before I’ll head out again. Otherwise, I’ll just get sicker.

Thank you, methotrexate. I hate those little yellow pills.

Been working on convincing myself that I’ve done all I need to do in regards to my eldest brother. Telling myself that I did send out that nasty letter and let loose with everything I ever wanted to tell him. I didn’t, of course. But I figure since he never really listened to me anyway that just posting the letter had the same effect as actually sending it to him. It’s hard to let go of. I want to beat him into a pulp until he just lays there and can’t say anything, can’t put up a protest, and then hit him with all that shit. Just shut up and take it. Listen for once. Hear me.

That’s a lost cause.

My bro, T, has been playing our ancient Mac with the original SIMS game on it. I’ve been reminded that if you make a neighborhood full of nasty people, they’re perfectly happy. Nasty people like nasty people in that program. But put one nice person into a nasty neighborhood and they’re miserable. I recognize myself in that programming. My misery with my natural family. They were shits. Sorry, dad. I don’t think you were a shit. You were just ineffective at standing up for yourself. So my models were my shitty mother, a dad who I loved very much but who caved at everything, an older brother who loved me like Nietzsche, and an older sister who made it her life’s mission to be a bitch to everyone. T and I are only 8 months apart, and I’ve never really seen him as older than me. We’re more like twins. And like twins, it always felt like him and I against the rest of the family. I’ve even experimented with the old SIMS game myself. Added in my ‘family’ to see how the program ran. My SIM looked as miserable as I felt growing up. So did T. We both run much better away from the rest of the family. You can run us as individuals, and we do pretty well. But put us in a house together and we become the dynamic duo.

It’s all in the programming. Btw, I’ve found my SIM lives perfectly happily if you leave her alone with a cat. Her only problem is making friends (gee, I got close with my SIM, didn’t I?).

Maybe I’ll put the theatre group into a neighborhood. Do my best to assess what I’ve seen of their personalities and see what happens.

*sigh* Yeah, I’m still thinking about that. Still thinking about my script (which I haven’t heard anything on), my interactions with them, etc. etc. Analyzing every little detail. Hoping I didn’t fuck up too much.

I need to get out of my head.

Not so easy to do when you’re keeping your body in down mode.

Somehow between my birthday and this cold, November ended (gee, imagine that). It’s full throttle Xmas from now on. I miss my fantasy of Christmas. I can never say it actually was as I remember it. But I believed. I believed in the holiday and the season. That it was time to put away old hurts, heal, reconnect with loved ones – even tho I never had a good example of any of that. I am old, and jaded now. I don’t believe. I acknowledge I still want to believe, but I don’t. Not really. Not with the family I’ve got. But I’m stuck somewhere between not believing and wanting to believe. I keep trying every once in a while because I can’t let go of wanting to believe. It’s real hard for me to say I’d be better off with zero contact from my family. Feels like a failure – probably because that’s the word I’d hear from them on the matter. You’re giving up again. You always run away. You’re such a baby we can’t even talk about this, huh? They make me the unreasonable one. They shame me. They throw guilt. They take the power position, and wield it unyieldingly. Gods, that is so ingrained in me! To let them do it all, and take the blame. Even tho I know that’s not healthy, I still do it. Knee-jerk reaction.

So I get to spend a lifetime talking to myself, telling myself I’m okay to feel the way I do, giving myself permission to walk away, and building up my confidence after every cheap shot they take.

If I could go back to the first time I decided to buckle under this pressure, I’d change it. Take it all back. Never let them start in the first place. Save myself a lifetime of conditioning. I know it began out of a want to save them pain. Don’t know what ‘pain’ I was saving them from, but that’s come up over and over for me – sacrifice to save someone else pain.

I’m done being hurt.

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