Permission to Emote.

It's Monday night, the day after Kobe Bryant's helicopter crashed and killed him, along with 8 others. As usual, social media is divided: a group that is sad and mourning an icon from their childhood, a group that says as he was alleged to have committed sexual crimes he doesn't need to be mourned, and yet a third who are outraged that people are morning a basketball player when you COULD and SHOULD be mourning your lost military, etc.

There's also a smaller much more inclusive 4th group. The ones who were raised by abusers or narcissists. The ones who don't know if it's okay to show emotion, because they're not sure if it's ridiculous to be sad over a person from the tv, or if they should keep it to themselves. The ones who have been belittled for having feelings so much in the past, for daring to show human emotions on anything deemed less than necessary (by of course, the abuser/narcissist), and for daring to show less than adequate emotion when the abuser/narc decided it was time to show off.

How do you mourn when you've been told your tears make you look like a fool? That your vocalizing an emotion other than that of "blank space", the spot where your abuser/narcissist leaves you until they dictate the emotion and response that THEY choose for you is "ridiculous and childish"? How do you justify the fact that your heart is breaking for a wife and mother that you don't even know when you can hear that same voice in the back of your head "You're being stupid. They have more money than sense, stop being stupid, they don't care."

Because I can hear that familiar voice, as I have so many times in the past. Telling me to quite "carrying on" and act like I have some raising. I can hear that voice, accusing me of mental problems because of a void of emotion when that person deemed it needed.

If anybody else is out there that also has that voice that checks them anytime anything that requires emotion or emotional response, I'm here to tell you: you're ALLOWED to be sad, indifferent, mad, hysterical, HOWEVER you WANT to feel, you're ALLOWED TO FEEL THAT WAY. You don't have to check your emotions at the door. You don't have to force yourself into a frenzy of anger or sadness that isn't there. You are the boss. You are in charge. They don't have that control anymore. You do.

Susan and the Hemorrhoid I developed to ruin her life.

A quick background: I have always been a picky eater. Textures, smells, etc all bother me. After I had my second child I was diagnosed with ARFID and as a supertaster, and life suddenly made sense. I still don't eat a lot of things and can go 2 or 3 days without food before getting hungry. It's just my thing.

So, with that being said, this occurred when Susan was still married to my dad. She was of the idea that I was just being a stubborn kid (she didn't allow me BREAD till I was a teen because I would get fat, come on), and would often come up with stupid new shit to try on me (like eggplant casserole??) and then would make me sit at the table until I finished, which NEVER HAPPENED.

When I was about 7, I noticed some blood on the tissue when I wiped. I was scared to death and told Susan, who ruled it a hemorrhoid, and then screamed at me for an hour because "I caused this!" and it was going to "take up time and money!" and hemorrhoids happen when you 'don't eat vegetables, and if you don't start eating them you're going to end up not able to poop and your stomach will have to be pumped and you'll have to wear a BAG! And everyone will laugh at you!"

So, instead of taking her 7 year old with a hemorrhoid to a doctor or offering preparation H or a tucks pad or something, she made me feel like it was all my fault (and I actually would go as long as I could as a kid without eating because I didn't want to poop and hurt).

When I called her out on it when I was pregnant with my oldest, she laughed and said "well, you'll learn that us mothers have to do what we can to make our lives easier."

No. Just.... No.

Money is more important than Memories.

 Growing up, we wanted for nothing when we were with my dad, and Susan would sell anything she could get her hands on. Clothes, toys, dolls, you name it, it would be stuck in a garage sale immediately after we used it because she wanted that MONEY.

When I was a young teen I went to a friend's house. I was freezing has I wasn't expecting to spend the night so her mom told her to grab me "whatever sweatshirt I wanted". And... I learned for the first time that people KEPT THINGS that brought them joy. Her mom had a dresser full of college sweatshirts. Another friends' mom had throw blankets and quilts galore. As I became a mom, my eyes were opened to others passing down their toys and clothes from their childhood to their kids.

I don't even have many of my pictures from growing up, and while I didn't know better in my teen years, as a MOTHER, that's alarming.

Who is evil enough to do such a thing? To be more obsessed with 'money' and a 'clean house' than your kids' memories?

Susan thinks I'm stupid.

Susan thinks I'm stupid.

She's done her damnedest to try and make it be known she's "moving". She began in November, sending my dad texts and leaving voicemails to my brother saying she was moving out of the state BEFORE Christmas and to be sure to "let us know" so we feel "safe" to go home for Christmas.

Spoiler: we didn't go home for Christmas. And, because Susan insists that EVERYONE hates me and is just trying to get something from me, she refuses to believe that MAYBE, just maybe, I still talk to relatives on her side.

Of course, not one soul knows of her moving. Her husband is still patrolling the streets of my podunk hometown. Her stupid little car that's the only one in the entire town is still spotted often enough by friends who go out of their way to avoid her. And yet she's still carrying on that she MOVED STATES just so I could stop being a brat and go home.

Yeah, no.

We moved, again. Even further away. It's a 5 hour plane ride, a 21 hour car drive.  I live relatively remotely, where you can go out on my balcony and watch the snow fall and hear the coyotes howl. While I still don't have PEACE, I feel somewhat safe. Like I'm not currently in the fishbowl. I'm sure that'll change quickly enough.