I went to my doctor the other day, mentioned the whole thing with my mom and my FIL. He, like so many before him, told me not to “be so vocal about it,” and it’s none of my business. Gee, thanks doc. Now I’m definitely questioning if I’m right or wrong here. I’m not telling my mother who she can and can’t be with – she went on a date earlier this week; I told her to have fun and don’t come home and spoil the new Star Wars flick for me. I honestly just think it’s disgusting to date a family member! I think it’s disgusting to sleep with a family member! I don’t give a shit if they’re related by blood or marriage; in my case, once children happen – they would be related by blood which makes it worse.
It doesn’t help that I generally don’t like the doddering old bastard and never really have. He makes my inner anger look like chewed gum on a sidewalk. He goes on rants – over and over again – about the state of the world; he would have made a great op-Ed columnist for The Saturday Evening Post. These tirades continue for tens of minutes at loud and unnecessary decibels spanning important topics such as the obstructed views of Muslim women who wear hijabs and how this affects their driving, women and their cellphone usage and why they should be raped because of it, and how anyone who can turn on a television has the capability to work and should not be allowed to file for government benefits. …You know, re-reading that, I don’t know how I sat there and listened to all that repugnant shit all these years and didn’t walk away earlier; I could have saved a lot of brain cells.
I don’t know why I’m reacting to my doctor’s comments the way I did. I just sank into this depression. I feel like I’m the one who should have stayed quiet and let my mother speak for herself for once.
I’m always doing all the fucking talking; this is why we have the relationship we do and I have the trust issues I do. I’m always the heavy, I’m the mom until someone is able to take the reins every once in a while. That’s how I was trained as a young child; that’s my resentment.
Why am I paying for a crime I didn’t commit? I didn’t cuss anyone out or get touchy-feely at dinner after I hoisted back a bottle of Maker’s Mark. Where are his consequences for his fucky behavior (aside from losing my Netflix)? My husband is still talking to him. He hasn’t stopped going to the house and spending time with him. So much for solidarity.
I’m not saying he should choose, but I specifically remember a time when I felt I had to make the choice. My mother objected to our marriage; she didn’t want me marrying him and didn’t want me getting married without a fancy wedding that she planned. She threatened to object if I went against her wishes.
I told her she was not welcome at our tiny, tiny wedding. To this day, I have to hold back the tears because a bride should always have her mother if she can. But I made the choice to stick by my convictions and stand with my future husband.
I feel cast aside. Betrayed. Less than. Because I remember taking vows that bound us as one, and we’re split in two. I stood, yet again, by my convictions – but I stand alone. That is not what family is. That is not what marriage is. And this time of year is about family and togetherness and I’m not feeling it in the slightest.