Family Time

I’m meeting my parents and cousins in Chinatown for dinner at 4pm. I’m excited about it and I’m very happy that I’m excited about it. 

I never felt like I belonged to anything in my life. I never thought my mom or brother liked me very much. I thought my dad liked me, but by the time he’d get home from work my mom and I would already be fighting so there wasn’t much of an opportunity for he and I to connect.

My relationship with my extended family was like this to; we didn’t seem to have the chance to really get to know each other. My mom and all her cousins grew up in the same building in Sunset Park and everyone ended up staying in either Brooklyn or Staten Island. We were the first ones to move out to Jersey. North Jersey probably wouldn’t have been so bad, but buttfuck Jackson was in the middle of well, buttfuck. I never really felt like I was “Cousin Thighs”, more like “The Cousin from Jersey.” I have no idea if this is what my family thought of me, but that’s how I felt.

Family means people I feel uncomfortable with, unconnected to (not disconnected, since I never felt connected in the first place), and misunderstood around. Get this, my cousins thought I was the shy and quiet one for years. SHY! QUIET! ME! It sounds crazy, but it’s true. I really was shy and quiet around them because I didn’t feel like I belonged.  As I got older I felt like we connected more, but I don't think I'll ever feel like I truly belong until I sort things out with my mom.

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I went to my parents’ house last weekend. My mom and I had a talk, the kind of talk you have on someone’s deathbed. It couldn’t wait.

I told her that I realized I don’t know how to love or be loved. The one person I really needed to love me and wanted to love back was her. I never felt either of these things happened. It’s the awful truth. I wasn’t sure if I actually did love my mother.

Then it hit me. This huge tidal wave of emotion, warmth, love, everything, came flooding out of my heart. I did love my mom; I just had to hide it for all of these years as a means to survive her rage. She hurt me so much growing up, made me feel so unloved and unworthy that the only defense I had was to pretend it didn’t matter. I always knew it did matter of course, I just never realized why. It mattered because I loved her and wished she loved me as I am.

I cried one of the deepest cries of my life. The tears came from the bottom of my heart, a place so heavily guarded that it felt like the universe shook when I opened the door.

I’m crying as I write this, so I think I should end here. I need to sit with it for a while.