I’m Not Even Going to Bother to Pretend Otherwise

Today I go back to work and everyone goes home and thank god. Jesus Christ, I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m tolerating this bullshit.

They have their own issues, of course, but mine are why I can’t assert myself when I’m with them and that I just fall into old self-destructive thought patterns.

And the worst part about having such a long-running blog is that I can see this is just the same old bullshit. I haven’t progressed in any way. I haven’t found ways of dealing with them that make my life any easier.

I just batten the hatches and try to make it through the storm.

There has got to be a better way.


3 thoughts on “I’m Not Even Going to Bother to Pretend Otherwise

  1. My Aunt Jean always says, “No one can hurt you like family.” You’re seeing it and that is progress. A lifetime of the same behavior won’t go away quickly, and especially when the rest of the family is still in the old behavior. BTW, I got your latest book and LOVED it. You’re brilliant, and they are just jealous. <3

  2. I have just finished your “Jesus, Crawdad, Death” book and absolutely adored it.

    You are an amazing woman and I agree with katesmithnc: The fact that you can see it, and comment on it, is the most important step. And having lurked at your blog for many years, I for one can see the subtle changes in how you write about this stuff – there is a definite progress. I am in awe of you and your talents, but most of all for your ability to see through the family bullshit (and we all have some), even if you still get bogged down by it.

  3. I keep trying to think of something wise to say, but there isn’t, really. I’m sorry that your family is trapped in their old bullshit, and that they can’t see how it hurts you, or can see it but are scared to change. But as their kid, you should never hold yourself responsible for their bullshit. It’s theirs, it has their name on it. Imagine it packed into a big canvas bag, with their name embroidered on it. You can’t pick it up! It has someone else’s name on it! They have to haul that smelly bullshit around themselves. It’s hard to watch them do it of course, it hurts them too, and it’s sad and depressing, but; it’s theirs. Only they can rip off the name tag and drop it.

    (Metaphors are my coping mechanism, clearly.)

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