Literally.
So, yesterday we were supposed to go to a sit-down with mum and sis and two other rehab patients and four shrinks - we sat in a circle. I took a bus because I don't like mum's driving and she finds it funny I am uncomfortable when people swerving out of our way honk and flail.
It went about as fun as you would expect: ran out in tears, while the two screamed at me. Was not prepared for how much they think I am the worst part of this family. How *I* am the malignant narcissist and how mum drinks because I am crazy and not that I'm crazy because she's abused me for 20 years while being drunk. The things they said, and how they rolled their eyes and smacked their tongues when I talked, and how they belittled and gaslighted me, it was cute for a while, but after about an hour, they both started shouting and calling me insane and, since I was already hot and dizzy (when I tried to take a sip of juice, they sent me out, because that's against the rules. I was going to say: please don't talk to me like I'm the patient here, I am a guest. But I stopped myself. Alas, they came to get me after a few minutes.), I began to suffocate. It was a shock, really - they genuinely, truly believe I only liked dad and that I am the hateful one, the one who is making everything else bad. The one who won't let go and forgive mum, even though she is trying so hard. You know, again. This time.
Well, since they claimed I am hysterical, a drama queen and a quitter, my panic attacks always a source of entertainment for mum - and since this WAS a mental institution, I figured, fuck it. G is away for the weekend, he won't know if they lock me up a little. I certainly could use a break. I walked out, saying 'fuck this', but the main entrance was locked and I was trapped. There are only a few modes during a panic attack, flight being the strongest, and I was bouncing off doors, trying to find an unlocked one. The main one was glass: I began to consider breaking that. (You don't see Kill Bill fifty times and not know how to punch a plank.) But some of the staff came after me and were asking me to come back in. I spurted and raged a few more minutes, until they unlocked and asked if I'm fine getting to the bus.
There was a moment of revelation - I mean a positive one, not how ugly my mother and sister think I really am, inside and out, a fat nerd because nobody wanted to date me, so I turned to books, and how I make excuses for failing everything and how I married a loser the first time (Because, you know, the fifty dude's my sister's fucked were all Nobel prize winners) - when the main psychiatrist asked which one of us was the younger. I explained I appear younger because I am, emotionally, on the level of an eleven-year-old child. She said that may explain my anger, grief and reactions and if I would consider doing something about it. I said no, because those emotions may be deep, but I also have the curiosity, wonder and cheer of a kid.
What I need to do, is distance myself from their kingdom of ice and darkness - they don't need me, they think I am the problem our family is crap. There are no good days between us any longer. They were rare before, they are just dark now. The trick to rays of sunlight in a kid's life is a thousand tiny joys. And I have a thousand tiny joys. Even in the worst lonely hours, when G is away. I can do this on my own. I can. I feel them tinkling all over, look: stickers. Books. Brushes. The feel of handmade watercolour paper. Inventing a new paint. The sound of cats purring. When my dog obeys me for a change. Cool-looking clouds. Shitty popcorn and a good movie. A good Netflix show. Learning something awesome on YT. Fog over the fields or marches. Old trees. Acorns. Seashells. Non-toxic spiders. Little forest frogs. Pink paws. New Blizzard content. Wearing a woolly cap. Macro shots of grass. Photographing mushrooms that don't run away from me. Finding a new type of moss. The taste of cinnamon cookies when kissing G. Mixing inks. Not burning milk when making pudding. Trying to find familiar stars after months of cloudy weather. Warm drinks after a cold day out. A new mug.
Being eleven is awesome. It' when you feel like a wild west bandit for eating most of the cake.
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