Whatever whims move me to want to move back to Chicago are always erased after an extended stay at home. Continually I am accused (in laconically manipulative ways though not unfounded) of running away from responsibility and even with distance the guilt overwhelms any chance of true escape. But what would I gain by living here again, immersing myself in outright, never-ending confrontation?
I kept thinking that if I could just make it through Christmas then the rest of my break would be fine and so as family drama kept escalating and escalating, I continued to thwart it by numbing my emotional capacities further and further. Apathy was my default response to everything and by Christmas morning I felt enveloped by a serene indifference, imperturbable, so much so that I lounged around watching Superbad, completely unconcerned by my sister taking a whopping two hours to get ready. Her languid pace, just like my apathy, was infused by dread and we didn't end up strolling out the door until fifteen minutes before we were supposed to arrive at our father's, even though we live an hour away. Making matters worse, we weren't directly going there but instead had to stop by our great-uncle's apartment to drop off the gifts to the four blood-relatives we have left on our dad's side of the family. For reasons too exhausting to go into, they were not invited to Christmas this year, and though we haphazardly assumed we could just walk-in and do a quick exchange, we ended up staying there forty-five minutes talking and joking, feeling too guilty to leave hastily, on top of not really wanting to go where we were required to be. And sure enough on the car ride from our uncle's to our dad's my sister got the hostile call. Again we were embarrassing him. Again we were exceedingly delinquent. Yet another Christmas ruined at our hands. The dread swinging fully over to defeat.
We walked in the door nearly two hours late, our father fuming and a plethora of his wife's relatives yet again looking at us like we're the shittiest daughters in the world. My sister tried to apologize and reason with him upstairs but just ended up crying in the bathroom for a half hour, while I sat at the kitchen table ignored by him and unable to escape his wife's mother politely lecturing me on what a wonderful, wonderful man he is, how much he's been through this year, and how much he doesn't deserve our constant ill-treatment. I sat there with a stupid smile, grinding my teeth together in a silent fury as I stared down at the place mat on the table, knowing full well that it was just as impossible for me to explain my disposition to her, as it would be for me to do so to my father or anyone else in that room.
We can't win. Is our bias just as prejudice as theirs? I can't handle all the fighting, the siding, and forced fakery. As opposite as my sister and I are in personality, I find it amusing that we're dating the exact same type of guy: altrustic, unmotivated, reliable, and forgiving, i.e. the exact opposite of our father. Both of us shy away from our own family gatherings, our boyfriends' families, and from the desire to start ones of our own. Before I came home for break I was so set on initiating confrontation, but now I fail to see the point. Maybe it's because I selfishly don't care enough about the situation to set it right, or maybe it's because I'm already exhausted and I know it's a battle with no winners and no end. Maybe I'm just tired of beating myself up over things that I can't change.
I just keep thinking, "you can't choose your family" but we can be replaced. It really doesn't bother me at all, which makes me feel even more guilty. I just don't know how much more I can tolerate it being rubbed in my face.
I kept thinking that if I could just make it through Christmas then the rest of my break would be fine and so as family drama kept escalating and escalating, I continued to thwart it by numbing my emotional capacities further and further. Apathy was my default response to everything and by Christmas morning I felt enveloped by a serene indifference, imperturbable, so much so that I lounged around watching Superbad, completely unconcerned by my sister taking a whopping two hours to get ready. Her languid pace, just like my apathy, was infused by dread and we didn't end up strolling out the door until fifteen minutes before we were supposed to arrive at our father's, even though we live an hour away. Making matters worse, we weren't directly going there but instead had to stop by our great-uncle's apartment to drop off the gifts to the four blood-relatives we have left on our dad's side of the family. For reasons too exhausting to go into, they were not invited to Christmas this year, and though we haphazardly assumed we could just walk-in and do a quick exchange, we ended up staying there forty-five minutes talking and joking, feeling too guilty to leave hastily, on top of not really wanting to go where we were required to be. And sure enough on the car ride from our uncle's to our dad's my sister got the hostile call. Again we were embarrassing him. Again we were exceedingly delinquent. Yet another Christmas ruined at our hands. The dread swinging fully over to defeat.
We walked in the door nearly two hours late, our father fuming and a plethora of his wife's relatives yet again looking at us like we're the shittiest daughters in the world. My sister tried to apologize and reason with him upstairs but just ended up crying in the bathroom for a half hour, while I sat at the kitchen table ignored by him and unable to escape his wife's mother politely lecturing me on what a wonderful, wonderful man he is, how much he's been through this year, and how much he doesn't deserve our constant ill-treatment. I sat there with a stupid smile, grinding my teeth together in a silent fury as I stared down at the place mat on the table, knowing full well that it was just as impossible for me to explain my disposition to her, as it would be for me to do so to my father or anyone else in that room.
We can't win. Is our bias just as prejudice as theirs? I can't handle all the fighting, the siding, and forced fakery. As opposite as my sister and I are in personality, I find it amusing that we're dating the exact same type of guy: altrustic, unmotivated, reliable, and forgiving, i.e. the exact opposite of our father. Both of us shy away from our own family gatherings, our boyfriends' families, and from the desire to start ones of our own. Before I came home for break I was so set on initiating confrontation, but now I fail to see the point. Maybe it's because I selfishly don't care enough about the situation to set it right, or maybe it's because I'm already exhausted and I know it's a battle with no winners and no end. Maybe I'm just tired of beating myself up over things that I can't change.
I just keep thinking, "you can't choose your family" but we can be replaced. It really doesn't bother me at all, which makes me feel even more guilty. I just don't know how much more I can tolerate it being rubbed in my face.
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