My head is fizzing with thoughts about my mum and dad, my brothers, my family history and my place in the world. Reading Adler at the same time as this big family event takes place is a blessing because it's helping me understand the intricacies of the familial influence on my thinking. I don't think I'd have been quite as aware of my feelings as I am if I wasn't in the middle of What Life Could Mean To You.
The fizz is made up of many aspects:
- Regret and disappointment
While I know this separation is definitely for the best, at least for my mother, in some ways it's a shame my parents have split up. All the way through school I was proud of coming from a complete home, while all my friends suffered the ignominy of their parents splitting up, bouncing from mother to father every weekend, divorces and arguments and tension.
I suppose I had many of those things anyway, but within a closed system. I think that probably makes it worse - at least if I'd have grown up with them apart there wouldn't have been a constant tension. I feel like I'm picking holes here, and that's not really the focus of this paragraph. It's more about reflecting on the idea that everyone would have been happier had they been apart. Life wouldn't be as it is now, that's for sure, so it's hard to regret the past when the present holds so much wonder, but I suppose it's a pride thing. Funny that this should come to mind when the actual event holds so much promise and positivity for my mum - I feel kind of selfish. Then again, this whole blog is selfish in a way, so... whatever!
I do kind of feel like I've lost a father. It doesn't have to be that way of course, I could make an effort to stay in touch with him, but I don't really like him so I have to reconcile myself with that and get on with my life. Right here, right now, I couldn't care if I never saw him again. This final act of mum's, of leaving and breaking free of 35 years of oppression and anger, is the release of so much feeling for me and my brothers, for my mum and probably my dad too. Although a large part of me believes that dad wouldn't know a feeling other than frustration and anger if it walked up to him and spunked in his face. - Happiness
Mum and all three of her sons have said "She should have done it years ago," so we're all chuffed to bits that she's broken free and is having the chance to find her feet as an independent adult woman. This really is the best thing, despite all the hopes and fears and confusion that might be running around my head. I'm sure mum's head is a million times more fuzzy than mine, but she's got a support team around her of others in a similar position, an outreach worker and staff trained to deal with her situation.
Mixed in with my happiness are all these other emotions, and I'm finding it hard to let the happiness come through. Combined with being tired and up-and-down on caffeine and poor food, it's all a bit of a dither. Blogging here is an attempt to sort it all out and clarify it, because if there's one overriding emotion I want to feel about all this, it's happiness. - Fear
What will he do? How will he react? I think this is an infection from my mother - she's always been terrified of him hunting her down and doing nasty things to her if she left him. I've never really believed that. He may be a cunt, but he's not a horribly vengeful creature, just locked in his own head.
Interestingly, my brothers outwardly profess a distinct lack of fear - "I'm not scared of him" one said, and the other projects an air of aloofness. Sorry guys, I fucking am scared of him, yes. I wish it wasn't the case but there it is.
There are so many ways this could go. The most likely is he'll sit and stew in his own anger and regret for the rest of his life, but there's a chance he'll snap. I don't know what form that would take, but I imagine mum will spend much of the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. That's properly shit. No-one should have to live like that. - Uncertainty
How will this all play out? Where will mum end up? Will dad stay in the house? Where will George go if not? What about divorce? Selling the house, splitting the assets etc? Will dad disappear? So many questions, so few answers.
Unfortunately, despite my mum's assurances that she's left for good, even the fundamental idea that they've separated is not, for me at least, certain. The number of times this has happened and she's gone back... well, I think I'd run out of fingers if I tried to count them. I sincerely want to believe what she says, that this time there's no going back, I really do. I guess I just need to trust her and be there for her if she needs me. In fact, that's exactly what I'm going to do. - Character assassination
He's an angry boy with a superiority complex, no social skills and a distinct lack of regret. He's told me before that he came from a strongly patriarchal family, that his dad hit his mum and step-mum and possibly him too, and that he did very heavy drugs in his teens. He seems to be locked in a bubble of self-importance, trapped in a time warp, a personality fixed when he started doing drugs as a teenager and hasn't stopped since. I recently used the analogy of a middle-aged hippie still with the long hair, the leather trousers and the Hawkwind teeshirt; even though that image, music and lifestyle disappeared twenty years ago, something about that person keeps them locked into and the drugs they use help maintain their personality and identity as it was "back in the day."
He'll never grow as an individual. He'll never change, he'll never find regret or balance. He'll always be trapped in the world where he's right and he can't see what he's done wrong. He's had every opportunity to sort his life out, to change his ways for the better, to try and keep his marriage together. The few times he attended anger-management classes, he thought it was "pointless" and didn't see why he had to go. I can't really fathom that, but I guess I was in a similar mental state as few as five years ago, so I can somewhat relate to it. The difference? My conscience wouldn't let me stay stuck in that bubble, I had to change not only for my own sake but for the good of those around me, those who loved me and saw my potential as an individual, hiding under layer after layer of shit, neuroses and depression. And I did change, and I'm proud of myself for that. Standing on the edge of an escalator that would take me back down that path, I turned back and called for help to stop it happening. It does take strength to do that, and now I see that he has no real strength. He hides behind his bark and his bite, he voluminously verbally bullies his way to his goal and would probably lash out physically to get his own way, but inside is a cowering, frightened little boy who is too scared of his own mind to face up to his past, his guilt and his personality.
Something that has always amazed me about him is that he has no friends. I mean, none. He has no social life whatsoever - I can't remember the last time I saw him in a pub, or at a social function other than a funeral. If I asked him out for a pint his misanthropic demeanour would take over and he'd decline. Actually, the last time I saw him in a pub was thirteen and a half years ago at Sophie's christening. The time before that, fifteen years ago, meeting Sophie's other grandparents at the Wheatsheaf. The time before that, probably at a canal-side pub during one of our holidays more than twenty years ago.
I know that pubs aren't a measure of a man's sociability, but he truly does have no friends. I was thinking yesterday, who would he turn to, who would he go to talk to about all that's happening now? The truth is, he doesn't have anybody, and he's alienated the one person he could have leaned on in a time of need - mum.
I've got to know the man more over the past couple of years, having been out with mum and dad walking across the local countryside. In the most part it's been enjoyable and he does seem to be at his most relaxed and in his element when he's outdoors. Mum said something during a brief moment we were alone in a shop on just such an expedition - "He's doing my head in. He hates everything." I can relate to that. Few things make him happy, but almost anything can piss him off. He doesn't like people at all, makes every effort to avoid contact with anyone outside of the family, the general public annoy him, other drivers, pedestrians, shoppers, kids, grown-ups and old people are all victims of his vocal scorn. I've no idea how I managed to grow up being altruistic at all with that as a role-model. Oh, yes I do: mum.
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