Edited to add: If anyone on the Illinois side of the family is reading this, don't take it out on my son. He has nothing to do with this, my opinions are not his opinions, and he has no say over what I publish on my blog. And really, family, get over yourselves already. You've got your knickers all in a knot over what I post on my blog because you think everyone in Pana is reading my blog and they'll know all the family dirty laundry. Do you really think our family is all that interesting? Only if you're in love with soap operas. As for all the shit that went down when I was a kid, I'm sorry, but it was known among the people who knew Mom how she treated me. How do I know this? When I was an adult, I don't know how many people came up to me and told me it was a shame that my mother abused me (these were people who babysat us kids, were neighbors, etc). So anything I've posted on here about Mom is old news. Get over it already.
I tried to call my aunt today because I was told she was mad at me, about the shit that went down with my niece. Well, she only has my niece's side of the story and I wanted to tell her my side of the story.
I hadn't said anything to her about any of this bullshit because she was in the hospital recuperating from the accident and I figured she didn't need to deal with family drama on top of everything else. But no, my niece had to stir a turd and go tell my aunt her side of the story and make me out to be the big bad bitch, saying I told everyone in the town where they live all the family dirty laundry. Supposedly all of this was posted on Facebook (my niece unfriended me, BTW).
My niece was the first one to post anything on Facebook, in a passive aggressive way, about me duping her (because I'm not devastated by my mother's death). All I said on Facebook was that she was talking about me, that she didn't really want to go there on Facebook, and if she did, I would air the dirty laundry there. That if she wanted to cut me out of her life, to go ahead and do it, that I had lived without her in my life for 17 years, I could live without her in my life for the rest of my life. That anyone who knew my mother (her precious grandmother) knew how she was and wouldn't be surprised by anything I had to say. Or words to that effect. But I did not air any dirty laundry on Facebook at that time.
So I called my aunt today to talk to her about all this shit. All I got to hear from her was how disappointed she was in me, that they had to live in that town. When I told her Traci started the shit on Facebook, she hung up on me. This is the aunt that stuck up for me against my mother, says she loves me, but won't listen to my side of the story. I guess I'm supposed to forget 40 years of abuse like it never happened, let my niece take over abusing me where my mother left off, and not say a word about it. Well fuck that shit. I worked too goddamned hard to get away from that kind of abuse and find my self-esteem and I'll be damned if I'm going back to it.
I cut my mother out of my life because of her abuse of me, and NONE of my family gave enough of a shit about me to call me or look for me or write to me, not even my aunt, when I left Illinois 17 years ago. If I want contact with my aunt, I have to call her, even though she's had my phone number for years (every time my phone number changes, I call her with the new number). In 17 years, I can count on the fingers of ONE fucking hand, with fingers left over, how many times she's called me. As for the rest of the family, they've never called me (well, Traci called to tell me Mom had died, BFD). They called a couple of times to let me know how Dad was doing after the accident, now I hear nothing from them about how he's doing because they're all pissed off at me over what I said to Traci (my niece). I'm sorry, if the truth about my mother hurts, TOUGH SHIT, BITCHES! I had to live through that shit for 40 fucking years, none of them have the right to tell me I can't talk about it on my blog or anywhere else, for that matter; none of them lived through it, none of them know what it was like. It just happens to be common knowledge in that town that my mother was a bitch and abused me when I was a kid - if they want to hide their heads in the sand about it and think it's forgotten, well, sorry, everybody else might have forgotten it, but it's something I'll never forget and I don't think it's something I'll ever get over, no matter how hard I try (and believe me, if 10 years of therapy couldn't do it, I don't think anything can).
So you know what, family? You can all SHUT THE FUCK UP! You don't really give a shit about me, you never have and you aren't going to convince me otherwise. The only person in the family in Illinois that I care about now is my dad, the rest of you can do whatever you want. I have my family up here and they're all I need now. I thought I needed you guys in my life, but I don't need more abuse and more bullshit. If you can't face facts, and want to think everything has always been fine and dandy, then go for it. But I know what the truth is, I've faced it, and I'm trying to deal with it, and most of the time, I deal with it just fine - until I run into people who deny the reality of my existence. Well, get over it. It was real, it happened, and I'm going to continue to talk about it.
You think these things need to be hidden and kept quiet so that no one knows, because it shames you. You should be ashamed, you let it happen and didn't do a damned thing to stop it. For years I thought I deserved the abuse, that there was something wrong with me, that I wasn't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, thin enough, whatever enough. That if I could just change, the abuse would stop. Yeah, right. It wasn't something wrong with me, it was something wrong with the person who was abusing me.
The more people speak out about abuse, the more people who are being abused will know that it's not something they deserve to have happen to them. Then maybe people who are being abused will find the strength somewhere to leave their abusers, get help, and find a way to make a joyful life for themselves. You seem to think I'm blogging about this to make your lives hell, but really, I think about your lives just about as much as you think about mine - in other words - not at all.
And you know, it just hit me, I think y'all just might be a bit jealous. I left Illinois 17 years ago and made a life for myself and basically told Mom to fuck off. You all stayed there and kept kissing her ass so she wouldn't treat you the way she treated me. That's really a sorry way to have to live your life. And when she was dying, and you knew she was dying, you kept right on kissing her ass. You all kept asking her if you should call me and let me know that she was dying and she said "What for?" Even though you all thought I should be there, or at least be told, NONE of you had the balls to go against her and call me until she was dead. WTF could she have done to you if you had called me against her wishes? You didn't have to tell her you had called. Did you really think I would have come down there? And if I came down there, did you really think I would have made a scene? Come on, you can give me more credit than that. I might be a bitch, but I'm not that big a bitch. If I had come down there and she had said she didn't want to see me, or had said anything nasty to me, I would have said "Sorry you feel that way" and walked out. I tried twice to make up with her, and she wasn't having any part of it, so why would this time have been any different? And why would I have made things hard on Dad? Making a scene with her would have made things hard on him and I have no reason to do that to him. Which is why I was civil to everyone at the memorial service. Yeah, it would have looked real good if I had gone around singing "Ding dong, the witch is dead" wouldn't it? You all said it was so great to have me back in the family, but you want me back in the family on your terms, which means I have to toe the line just like I did when Mom was alive. Sorry, I quit toeing that line 17 years ago, and I'm not going to start toeing it again just to be part of a family that never really wanted me in the first place.