Feelings over My Living Brother

My attempt at being Austin Stevens.

Its been a month or so since mother's death.  I don't remember anymore the date, I probably wrote it down here somewhere when it happened.  Not a single tear have I shed over it.  Not a party either, the day went by like any other day.  If I had to pick up milk, I picked up milk, if it was quilting day, I would have went to the group.  If it was time to do the laundry, I did the laundry.  I don't remember. It was just another day.

I'm wondering if my behaviour has appeared like I'm cold to the people on the outside here.  They brought it up briefly, then, it was gone, back to life.  It was not like I was having trouble coping, it was very normal.  I had no remorse.  I worry about my coldness at times, and I am needing to write about it.

The truth is, I don't even care.  I have not contacted my sister for the family pictures, my aunt has not called me about mother's life insurance, she assured me she will, so I'm not worried.  I do kinda worry that they have taken all the money, but too afraid to talk about it with them.

I told my husband this morning that I was scared of seeing my sister for the pictures, for I basically told her to "get lost" the last time I saw her.  He said that I did, and that I told my brother the same thing basically.

His mother's birthday was this week.  I made her a quilted tote bag, and we needed to bring it to her. We stopped at the store for a gift bag and a card.  I asked him to pick out a card and he picked out one that said, "From both of us."  I told him, "No, that is for two friends who get together and decide to gift someone."  Then he  smiled and picked up this beautiful card with roses on it, and more just a regular birthday card from one person or more.   I have to say that filling out the card was a very difficult thing.  When we got back to the truck, I opened the packaging of the card and got a pen and asked him to fill it out.  He told me to fill it out.  I asked him, "What do I say?"  He said to just put our names on it.  So I did.

When we got to her place, she was pleased by the quilting and the outside of the card and gave me a big hug.  I could feel my shoulders slump backwards.  She opened the card and spent a long time reading it, and I just needed her to put it down.  Then her brother called, and they spent a couple of minutes talking then proceeded with our visit.

At this point I remembered me telling my brother to get lost when he called me at the time of mother's death.  Then I just went on with what I was doing.  So yeah, I yelled at my brother then put the phone down and went on with normal things.  I think I was doing the laundry.  This is not outside of the notice of my husband who just sat there.  I could see his body shake a bit when I told my brother to get lost.  Then I witness what he is actually used to, his own elderly mother having a peaceful conversation with her brother.

Why does this look so weird to me.  An actual conversation with a family member but to him, this is normal and vice versa.  And why can't people just talk to eachother and give eachother gifts, why this hateful card thing?

I cried over my utter coldness, not over mother or my family.  But over my ability to even feel a thing about it.  I cried and prayed out loud to God to please help me.  I don't know what was going on with me.  Then with all things, I decided to wait.

We had our food bank meeting last night.  You know that malignant narcissist I told you about before that volunteers there?  Well, she decided to be very generous, and since we have a few money vouchers left, we should give them out first come first serve.  For Easter.  I told you of how I'm just letting my emotions take over and just learn to feel?  Well, I did it.  I don't know what happened.  This sound came out of my mouth and it said, "That sounds just horrible."  Without even thinking.  I don't know if I said the right thing.  Then others piped up and said it was wrong, "Either we give everyone one or no one."  I'm not even sure if it was from anything I said though, it was a purely emotional response from me, and my brain was shut off.  I wanted to just go with my emotions.  But everyone on our list is going to get a voucher for Easter.  And when I sat back and decided to think about it, this "first come, first serve" would have been horrible.  I can imagine the cut off point could be between two people who are friends who arrived together.  Or the most resourceful people would get the vouchers only, or the list goes on.  This would have been HORRIBLE.  As someone who has had to beg and fight for scraps my whole life, I knew this would be horrible.  Oh, no, no, no.  We have the money to give everyone a voucher, why would she even think of something like that.

I work continually on my emotions.  I don't know why I just can't stand my living brother.  Then it hit me suddenly.  He once hit me so hard in the face that I saw white stars.  This was normal in our family, but this one specific memory, I am keyed into right now.  I don't even remember my son hitting any of his sisters passed the age of ten.  He annoyed them completely, but everything was and is done in a state of complete acceptance and equality, even if they are mad at eachother.

I'll tell you what I mean.  I remember my brother hitting me and seeing the stars, but I remember more, the look on his face.  My last therapist taught me to explain a look instead of reacting to the fear of it.  He would half close his eyes.  then he would press them almost shut.  With his teeth clenched and his cheeks relaxed, no smile, no frown, nothing.  He said I was just a fucking bitch. Then he hit.  I bounced back, and I felt the room disappear, then I remember the screaming.  It was me screaming, trying to stay awake and ALIVE.  I was too scared to pass out, I fought myself conscience.  It seemed like everyone was in the room including my mother.  I remembered the argument at first, then she just turned her back and said she didn't want anything to do with it.  She said she tries too hard and if we can't get along it is not her fault.  Then I saw her smile?  I did see her smile and smirk.  Even after the hitting, while she was busy giving him a little shit over it, she was smirking.  She told him, "That's enough" with the freakiest look on her face.  But her eyes wide and staring down at me, sucking up the supply, it was like pure milk chocolate.

Do you want to know how the argument started?  I'll tell you.  His girlfriend went into my drawer and took and wore my sweater home.  I wanted it back.  This was the only sweater I had ever chosen for myself.  I don't know how I got to choose it for myself.  But I think it was because mother took me to a store to buy it and try it on.  It was not from the catalogue.  With salespeople watching, I got to choose the sweater.  It was funny mother never made me return it, guess she was just too lazy, and I hid the fact I loved the sweater.  I loved that sweater and never saw it again.  I tried to fight for it, but I couldn't.

So brother's girlfriend took and wore the sweater home.  I was angry.  I expressed that to him.  That's when the squinty eyes started and well, the rest of the story.  There was no equality between us.  Any time I got hit after that by a man, it was like I was set up for it by my brother.  Stupid brother.  His wife rules the roost, and he has yet to put on his big boy panties, and I can't figure that one out and I won't.

I was 15.  He was either 19 or 20, and well over the age of consent.  Well above the age of "knowing better".  I don't care about the triangulation.  I don't care about anything else.  In my emotions, it is placed where this "man" sits.  There is nothing that can be done about it, this is how I feel.  So when my brother called me and says he "misses me", he can go fuck off.  He has never visited me, and dodged any attempts of me visiting him.  It is final and it is done.  If I try to do anything, I would be doing it without authenticity, so that means its just bullshit.

Why can't I forget something that happened many decades ago?  Well, it wasn't just that particular incident, there were others, and that would make for a very long blog posting.  I am trying to remember other things from the others, what they did past the age of accountability.  I remember very serious things that would probably land the whole family in jail.

I really don't care about any of them.

I have to live a life now.  My children and husband.  I had a relationship issue the other day with him, long story.  Basically, when you are being authentic, sometimes its not always going to make them feel all peachy.  They get angry.  It was understandable.  It was all I could do to let it go till the next day, I just wanted to pick at the problem.  I wanted to tell him that he was the problem here not me, but I had to force myself to allow my feelings and respect his boundaries, and not blame him.  Still, after my expressing my emotions, and being vulnerable, I had to let it go till the next day.  Oh, no. Then after he went to bed, just forget about it, and not stew.  This was hard.  I have told my relationship guide about this before in the past, and all she says to me is "I know."  Or "uh huh, yes." That's it, that is all she says about it.

Or today it was my turn to bring the snack for our quilting guild.  No one ate anything while I was there.  Oh, no.  I wanted to pick at it, and try to get someone to eat.  Or feel horrible about it.  I just let it go.  I guess they just weren't hungry.  I didn't worry about it, I brought the snacks then no one ate, then I went home a few hours later, and we just leave the snacks.  It doesn't matter.

Or my oldest daughter and her ex tend to buy too much for the children.  You know, I can't buy any of her children a coloring book even.  It will simply fall into the pile of endless coloring books they already have.  And the kids don't even appreciate gifts anymore.  They have ten of everything.  I'm not saying she is teaching them to be narcissists, but well, seems like its going down that road.  We had a long talk about it and she is considering what I am saying.

One step at a time, one foot in front of another.  Mother who?  Brother and sister who?