The Cheese Stands Alone

Wedge of cheese in hero pose with a big smileAnd the Cheese would be me.

I’m likely not going to be too pithy tonight. I’m very close to speaking the truth. All of it? Most of it?

So.. my crazy, mean, violent, abusive, sexually inappropriate mother cut me out of the will and gave just about everything to my sister.

That’s a thing. I kinda figured she’d do something shitty. Didn’t imagine it would be *this* shitty.

Whoo boy.

And when I tried to talk to my sister about it? She became wildly upset, her husband yelled at me and we parted ways. Again.

I wasn’t going to come out with all of it, just wanted to ask her… Hey what do you think about making things a little bit more fair, FOR MY DAUGHTER.

Leave me out of it, take some of your 85% and add to her 15% but I never got to ask, because everything exploded, just like it always has when I started to ask. I was hoping for a gesture that said “yeah, the old lady messed us up, and did lots of unfair, even cruel things, but that doesn’t mean it has to continue.”

But it does.

We talked to a lawyer. A shark. At first I wanted to toss in the lawyer just to fuck things up, to drag things out and out and run out the money. I was/am hurt. I was/am angry –those feelings I didn’t have once I stepped away from Jackie and C. It was just one more slap in the face. One more fuck you to the daughter she spent so much time beating, lying to, lying about, calling names, gas lighting and other more disgusting things.

So here I am saying as much as I can right now. Because I don’t have anything to be ashamed of. I paid my way through school. I’ve worked since the age of 11. I’m kind to people and have a wonderful family who loves me for me. Who lifts me up and comforts me . Every time I think of the phone call with M, the Facebook facetime with J, or Ben driving me to the memorial or all those wonderful amazing precious friends who are my real family, who held me up when my legs were weak, who witnessed how I was treated and who gave me joy in a time of fear, I feel loved. Loved in a way only my Dad loved me.

So I’m talking to my therapist about all of it. I’m not being ashamed any longer. I’m not a victim, I’m a survivor and I’ve thrived. I am loved and I love so many people in return.

And trying to remember the mantra from my dearest M: Don’t return to the source of abuse for validation. Hey, at least now I can’t!

About that shark lawyer? As much money as it is, it isn’t worth my peace of mind. I *only* want to drink too much or drive into a wall when I interact with those two people or about those two people. So screw that.  My crazy job notwithstanding, I love my little family and  my amazing family of choice. I love living in Eugene, the only place other than San Francisco that ever felt like home to me (sorry Fayetteville, I love the people, but I never felt settled there). I am on the way to loving myself. We have wonderful cats a great home and when I’m not mucking about in the ugly past I’m happy.

So there it is, in my rearview mirror as much as I possibly can put it. It will get further and further away. She’s dead, she can’t hurt me any longer, she’s done her worst and I’m still here.

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