out_there: B-Day Present '05 (Heartbroken (by Celli))
[personal profile] out_there
I was talking to someone about those painful, wracking sobs that show up in fiction. I can only remember crying like that once. I don't cry a lot. I do occasionally cry at movies, that whole self-indulgent wallowing in the tragedy of it all, and I used to cry "crocodile tears" when I'd get told off, but those were just... feeling sorry for yourself and angry that someone else is pointing out your faults, and they came far too easy, even when I didn't mean for them to.

The only time I really sobbed, was the night before my grandfather's funeral. I was talking about how it felt so... wrong to be crying, that it just felt so hard, that just being held was more comforting than anything in the world, and then... tried to explain why it felt wrong. I got all oversharey, and a bit emotional over it, so instead of posting this as a reply, I'm going to post it here.

It wasn't because I've ever been made to feel wrong about emotion. I mean, sure, Mum's strong. She's not the type to indulge crying fits, she's one of those mums who taught us that tears need to be saved for when you're really hurt or sad, not just for whenever you feel like throwing a tantrum (Admittedly, this took until about... oh, until I was seventeen for it to finally sink into my head.) Sobbing felt wrong, but it wasn't because she didn't expect me to. In fact, she took it so much in her stride, just held me and made the world seem a lot better.

Now, I'm struggling with the urge to edit this. To make it less... rambley and self-exposed, and to make it more logical. I have the oddest feeling that I need to justify posting about this, that I should apologising to everyone for posting this (although it's your choice to read). Just to be contrary, I'm going to post exactly what I wrote as a reply. It's my journal. It doesn't have to make sense. *g*

"... oh, I don't know. It was... It was a weird combination of trying to hold it together, because it had affected mum badly. Not that she was totally falling apart, but... Yeah. I don't know.

I'm not so much on the... trying to be who I think... on who I think I should be for her these days, but that was a few years ago, and it just... I wanted to be emotionally strong.

And to be honest, it was... it felt lousy, because my feelings towards granddad weren't... I didn't genuinely like the guy, because I knew what type of a father he'd been to mum. I knew the stories behind the stuff, and... he could be boring and a pain to listen to old stories, and, to an extent, I humoured him and was nice to him because he helped us. Without Granddad I wouldn't have had braces. So, I felt... like a hypocrit to suddenly appear to mourn someone I hadn't made time for in life.

On the other hand, the fact that I wasn't really crying for him, I was crying for myself, for being so horrified at the way that the aunts and uncles acted. It felt like such a betrayal from the other relatives. Two of them were executors, and not telling the third, and all trying to grab at such... petty things. It was terrible. Not that I thought they were all nice people, they can be petty and mean and jealous, and they've given mum a hard time over the years, but... it was just *nasty* to see them like that, to see them revert to...

To be honest, it gives me the creeps just trying to explain it to an outsider. It's that whole blood is thicker than water and not airing your dirty laundry in public thing, and it just... Okay, the actions themselves? Weren't horrible. Weren't the stuff of nightmares. It was just petty and nasty and greedy... *petty*. To be distracted by who got what and who had to organise what and where the last will was, and *eurgh*.

I mean, I may not have love the guy with all my heart, but... he'd died. And, regardless of how much of a brute he was when he was younger, he was the one who tried to keep the family together as he grew older. He went out of his way, he was a definite presence that would be missed, even if it was mixed with some relief. It was a *person*, not just... some source of extra funds and it was....

They were petty and squabling as if... a houseful of possessions meant more than a person, as if an entire life was only worth what they could salvage. It was nasty, it was keeping secrets from each other, it was trying to give the extended relatives different impressions, and trying to play favourites to them, and. Nasty. Petty.

And yeah, if I step back from my own hurt and disgust over it, I'm pretty sure that it was just them greiving, just them dealing with the emotional overload. But there's a deeper part of me that just says that it brought out their inner natures. These petty, squabbling little children, trying to play games of oneupmanship, trying to get something that doesn't belong to them because they can, just grabbing out of no real need, just out of greed and selfishness. And all three of them bitching to mum, and trying to involve her in their pathetic little wars and fights, and poor mum being really damn hurt by it, feeling the loss, because yeah, he wasn't always a nice guy, but he was her father. He didn't always give good advice, but he was there to give it. And, yeah, he tried to buy his children, and he'd lend you money and expect obligation back, but he was there to help pay. Not always. Not everytime. And generally done imperfectly, and sometimes nastily, and sometimes just doing the wrong thing, but... all in all, she still loved him and forgave him. And it hurt her, and they were just...

*sighs*

We're not a close family (not with the extended lot, not with the aunts and uncles) and, yeah, they had a screwed up childhood. It's better for all of them to have distance from each other, and it's better for them all to be far away from mum. But still? I try not to hold grudges. Sometimes, I really try to be a nice person. But there are some things that don't get forgiven and forgotten. The best I can do is just not think about it, just not actively hold it against them, but... damn, I'm still angry and *horrified* by their behaviour, and I don't think that's something that will ever change.

Mind you, it doesn't mean I can't be polite to them, but I'm relieved and glad I don't see them. It's the same as my dad. Don't think about it too deeply, don't remember (don't remember how *hurt* and *angry* you were when he threatened to call the cops on mum, don't think about the fact that you know he'll *always* put gambling before anyone else, don't think about the time that he showed your eight year old brother the direction home and let him ride there by himself, just so he could get back to *work*) and things are polite on the surface. It's easy to get along.

But if it came to the crunch? I think I would quit my job, I would quit my study, I would move, if mum *really* needed me. If it was Dad? I'd sound sympathetic, and I'd be secretly glad I lived interstate.

...And, dude, that's a total overshare, so... feel free to ignore."

Date: 2004-02-04 01:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thete1.livejournal.com
Well, it makes sense to *me*... I just... *really* feel this. I have a locked post a few months back about how some petty, awful, *petty* behavior on the part of a few family members of my own just fucked me up *big* time. So yeah, I completely get it, *and* I get how hard it can be to share.

It sounds like you were grieving for some lost innocence, honey, and you know... that's never wrong. *hugs you*

Man, am I emotionally self-indulgent tonight.

Date: 2004-02-04 01:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] out-there.livejournal.com
Well, it makes sense to *me*... I just... *really* feel this. I have a locked post a few months back about how some petty, awful, *petty* behavior on the part of a few family members of my own just fucked me up *big* time. So yeah, I completely get it, *and* I get how hard it can be to share.

Sometimes it's not that the actions themselves are world-shatteringly horrible, or really that unexpected, it's just that... suddenly you can't quite give them the benefit of the doubt. It just makes it that much harder to be charitable, to be fair, to be *just* towards them. And it really friggin' hurts, because yeah, they're not perfect, and they're not always nice, but you never thought they'd be *that* mean, or that... uncaring? unthinking? Regardless of what you logically know about them, it's unexpected and it hurts.

It sounds like you were grieving for some lost innocence, honey, and you know... that's never wrong. *hugs you*

*hugs back*

*thinks*

That's a lovely way of phrasing it, and... it's very true, actually. The last time I was that hurt, was Dad threatening to call the cops on mum.

(As backstory, mum and dad were divorced, mum and us kids had moved to Melbourne. Dad stopped paying the mortgage on the house, which Mum was still legally tied to because he refused to change the title deeds, or sell it, or anything. He convinced mum to move back up to canberra, to take over the house payments (on the friggin' sole parents pension) and we all agreed. My brother and I moved up with Dad to enrol in schools, mum stayed down there to finish up the details of moving, to organise all that stuff. Two weeks later she came up by train to see us, expecting to move in, etc. He was refusing to move out, and they had an arguement and he left the house. He came back with a friend, as a *witness*, and talked to mum outside. And said that if she wasn't out of the house overnight, he'd call the cops for her trespassing. *Trespassing* on a house that was still legally in joint names! Of course, the icing on the cake was him saying that my brother and I could stay, that we were welcome, that we were set up there.

Dad talked to her outside, and didn't mean for us to hear, but I eavesdropped through the front door and heard it all. I don't think my brother even remembers it. But, we ended up freaking, and having to call Granddad for help. He came and picked us up, let us stay at his place overnight, and lent us the money to get back down to Melbourne, since mum hadn't brought her car, and only had a return trip ticket for herself, and hadn't budgetted for suddenly needing three tickets.)

It was horrible and petty and mean, and yeah, when I think back on it, it was the loss of innocence, the loss of belief that really hurt. That Dad was capable of scheming and being so selfish and so cruel. I mean, yeah, I theoretically know that when I was younger, Dad drank his money and literally didn't feed mum or me. (Which was basically why she left him back then. She came back to him because she had a run in with a violent boyfriend, and thought that I'd be safer with Dad, because Dad was never physically violent. Of course, at the time she didn't realise that he was lying through his teeth about giving up drinking. She also didn't know about the gambling.) I know that he lied about gambling debts for years, that he stole cheques out of her chequebook. I knew that he could be selfish and manipulative, but I just hadn't... seen it directly. I hadn't *felt* it before.

...

And, you know, now I'm thinking about this, about this loss of innocence, and thinking about the morose Samfic I wrote a few weeks ago, and seeing a little trend. It's intriguing... intriguing that this stuff has been under the surface.

Probably it's mainly because mum's moving in with the on-again, off-again second hubby tonight. Probably my subconscious reminding me that Dad was *so* bad for her, or not to judge on appearances. Or, not to be unsupportive, by remembering all the times she was there for me, all the times when she was always, *always* something I could count on, something stable and supportive, and protective, and there.

Heh. I think this is me just letting go of her, just a bit.
From: [identity profile] thete1.livejournal.com
Sometimes it's not that the actions themselves are world-shatteringly horrible, or really that unexpected, it's just that... suddenly you can't quite give them the benefit of the doubt. It just makes it that much harder to be charitable, to be fair, to be *just* towards them. And it really friggin' hurts, because yeah, they're not perfect, and they're not always nice, but you never thought they'd be *that* mean, or that... uncaring? unthinking? Regardless of what you logically know about them, it's unexpected and it hurts.

Absolutely. *Absolutely*. And if you can't be as charitable, as fair, and as just as you thought you could... the world becomes a scary, unfamiliar place.

And then you become a supervillain.

Er.

*puts the comics down*

I know that he lied about gambling debts for years, that he stole cheques out of her chequebook. I knew that he could be selfish and manipulative, but I just hadn't... seen it directly. I hadn't *felt* it before.

*nod nod nod* And for me, in a situation like that, part of the problem, part of the *pain* is the sense that I *should've* known. That it's my own fault for being so... innocent. ;-)

Nobody has to fuck us up in *that* way. It's human nature to hate and self-hate when we're tricked.

Heh. I think this is me just letting go of her, just a bit.

*hugs you hard*
From: [identity profile] out-there.livejournal.com
And then you become a supervillain.
Er.
*puts the comics down*


*laughs*

*hugs you*

*nod nod nod* And for me, in a situation like that, part of the problem, part of the *pain* is the sense that I *should've* known. That it's my own fault for being so... innocent. ;-)

Yes. That you knew, that logically you knew, so it shouldn't hurt, but it still does. You know that these people shouldn't matter, that you should be able to be sensible and step back and not *care* about their actions, but... you can't.

Which, in hindsight, is a good thing. You feel angry and hurt, and *stupid* for doing so, but... It does say something good about you that you *cared*, that you tried, that you trusted. Regardless of the fact that others betrayed your trust, regardless of the fact that they prooved that they were far more flawed than you expected, you would be far *less* of a person if you didn't care, if you weren't hurt.

It would be easier not to feel so deeply, not to care, but you'd be less of a person. You can't be passionate and inspired without being touched by the world around you. You can't hope, you can't help, you can't be happy, if you don't care, and love, and trust, and sometimes get screwed over and *hurt*.

And deep-down, I'm sure that regardless of how much the things hurt at the time, it makes me a stronger person, because I know that it hurt, but it sure as hell didn't stop me. It stunned me, and it felt as if the world was caving in, but the next morning the sun still shone, the world still moved, and I was... I was still me. Hurt, angry, hating my own idiocy and blaming myself for not being smarter, quicker and a thousand other ideas of not being *enough*; and sure, there's a little place deep inside that does still occasionally hurt when I think about it, but I'm still me. I still have a dodgy sense of humour that other people don't always get, I say things that are a little inappropriate, I sing under my breath, I get a real joy out of reading in the sunshine, and I'm a little warier, I'm not miss-emotionally-open, but I haven't shut down because of anything.

But I still get a real *joy* out of life. Little things like seeing someone laugh giddily, like knowing soemthing went well for a friend, like having passion for fandom and writing and characters. It hurt, and it still does a little, but the anger at myself is vastly tempered by the fact that being able to be hurt like that, says a lot about my optimism, about my hope, about a basic lack of shadow in my soul. I know this sounds wanky as anything, but sometimes it's hard to explain, but... the pain evens out. It's a small amount of pain, and it makes me appreciate how happy I am the rest of the time, it makes me appreciate that I still hurt a little because I still *feel* and that's and incredibly *good* thing.
From: [identity profile] thete1.livejournal.com
Which, in hindsight, is a good thing. You feel angry and hurt, and *stupid* for doing so, but... It does say something good about you that you *cared*, that you tried, that you trusted. Regardless of the fact that others betrayed your trust, regardless of the fact that they prooved that they were far more flawed than you expected, you would be far *less* of a person if you didn't care, if you weren't hurt.

*nod nod* Absolutely.

I still have a dodgy sense of humour that other people don't always get, I say things that are a little inappropriate, I sing under my breath, I get a real joy out of reading in the sunshine, and I'm a little warier, I'm not miss-emotionally-open, but I haven't shut down because of anything.

*beams* Yes. And *hugs you*.

I know this sounds wanky as anything, but sometimes it's hard to explain, but... the pain evens out. It's a small amount of pain, and it makes me appreciate how happy I am the rest of the time, it makes me appreciate that I still hurt a little because I still *feel* and that's and incredibly *good* thing.

Hell *yes*. And we're not far apart in terms of ideology...

Date: 2004-02-04 08:01 am (UTC)
celli: a woman and a man holding hands, captioned "i treasure" (Default)
From: [personal profile] celli
I don't blame you for being horrified by their behavior. Nor, for that matter, for crying; with the past history, trying to be there for your mum, and the antics going on around you, I wouldn't have blamed you for going postal. :)

(I, on the other hand, do the ugly sob thing at the drop of a hat. It's a stress relief, I think. Although when I put too much energy into it, it hurts. *rubs chest*)

Re:

Date: 2004-02-04 11:51 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] out-there.livejournal.com
I don't blame you for being horrified by their behavior. Nor, for that matter, for crying; with the past history, trying to be there for your mum, and the antics going on around you, I wouldn't have blamed you for going postal. :)

Awww! *hugs Celli hard* Thanks, hon.

(I, on the other hand, do the ugly sob thing at the drop of a hat. It's a stress relief, I think. Although when I put too much energy into it, it hurts. *rubs chest*)

Ow. See, I'm not big ont he crying for stress relief. although, during the teenage years when hormones run riot, I cried more. (To be perfectly honest, I used to mentally narrate fic stories to myself, those super angsty, kinda wanky stories that are so over the top you know you'd never write them, and cry over them. *snorts* Man, it sounds so dodgy saying that aloud, but it is true. Used to find it a great stress relief, because you go to sleep tired and worn out... Of course, these days there's other stress releifs and we're quickly approaching the TMI line. *g*)

But, yeah... *hugs*

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