So…here she is telling me her opinion, with genuine concern. And truly…I appreciate my family members’ input on these things, I just also know to take it all with a grain of salt. I’m agreeing with her, but she thinks (in fact hopes ) that I’m disagreeing…because that would be far more comfortable than having to acknowledge that I’m legitimately having a hard time right now. Awkward, but nothing I can change. Tomorrow I’ll talk to my prescriber and hopefully we’ll come up with something useful to address the things in life that are mine to address.
In the meantime, I’d like to discuss the family business. No no, not the family business I discussed in my last post. I mean THE family business. Because I am refusing to go into THE family business…and really…THAT is what the conversation with my mum was about.
My family, on both sides, are experts in chaos creation. They specialize in the manufacture of chaos, wackiness, and for some, an altered version of reality. They’re all pretty amiable and funny, and smart and interesting…until you suddenly realize you’re in the middle of someone else’s chaos-producing agenda…an agenda that they may not even realize they are having, which makes it even less comfortable to engage with. I feel I can also say with pretty high confidence that many members of my family, on both sides, are living with OCD, ADHD, bipolar disorder and other related issues, which doesn’t help, and may start to explain some of the seemingly inexplicable chaos that marks the lives of generations of our family.
Alcoholism and drug addiction are just one manifestation. Prescription drugs, alcohol, psychiatric hospitalizations, possible bipolar disorder, and a few others quirks. Women in my family have a gift for choosing hazardous intimate relationships. The family tall-tale telling habit runs in degrees throughout, from amusing storytelling, to manipulative and habitual outright lying. I don’t see much difference between the two myself. Even “storytelling”, when it involves stretching the truth, qualifies as lying in my book. I’ve had disagreements with family members about it…but like I said, I’m not much interested in the family business. I accept it…I acknowledge it…but I refuse to engage it, trust it, or relive it.
So. Here I am talking with my mother. Knowing that it must be hard for her to see me moving yet further away from “the family business” because to her, that is what is familiar, even though I also know that she sees its dark side. I truly believe that both of my parents have “the ADHD gene” or something very similar that I am not able to distinguish – though THAT really isn’t my business either. But I am taking these demons by the horns and saying no for myself, in any case. Others can decide if they wish to pursue that for themselves.
So I turn my back on the “family chaos business”…and whether she chooses to remain at this time is her right. I won’t say that it creates tension…at least not for me, because I know that what I’m doing for myself is good. There’s a few awkward spaces between the words though, when we talk like this. As much as I want their support, sometimes I see that it’s really better for me to cut the cord for a bit and take my space.
A few years ago mom’s brother, a young man, committed suicide after a lifetime of doing battle with anxiety, depression, alcohol, drugs and codependency. I know this, too, weighs heavily on her mind, and worries her just a little extra when she knows that one of us is having a hard time. What she doesn’t seem to be able to trust…is that by going through what I’m going through, I am actually doing direct battle with evils that have devoured generations of my family. I refuse to be eaten alive by preventable disease.
You can’t turn shit to gold. I have watched generations of my family try. I would rather just turn and stare the shit in the face, roll in it, get to know it really well, and then figure out what to do with it. I mean…you can fertilize all kinds of good stuff with processed shit, right?
I had a dream after my uncle died, that we were all together without him, standing on the land that my grandfather used to tend as a garden. As they all talked about “what to do” and made proclamations at each other, instead of listening to one another, I stood separately, and laid myself face down in the green grass of the overgrown garden plot…and outstretched my arms, and just soaked in the energy of the earth, because I knew that this land was the dirt that had brought us all here, that the garden was one positive thing in all of our lives, and that land had been left untended. I just lay there, face down, wanting nothing more than to reclaim that land, and make it my own, and truly give it the nourishment that it deserved.
Here I am, finally. Letting shit simply be shit, and learning how to make beautiful things grow from it–while my family wanders around me, offering themselves up as sacrifices. I’ll keep them company, if they can stand my smell…but I won’t offer myself up that way. Call me selfish, but I won’t do it.