Normally, I would start this week by saying that it is one of the worst weeks of my year, I would bemoan it in fact and start to annoy myself, never mind what I mayor may not be doing to other people in my life and the one or two strangers who may read the things that I write here.
Now while I will not go as far as to say that things this week aren’t going to bother me, I think I have hit a new point that I wanted to write about. Plus, since I haven’t written here in a bit I thought I would try to write more than I normally would to shake off the dust and see if I can get something decent put out into the world.
A little backstory to those new to the cluster fuck that was my early adulthood.
My dad died almost exactly two weeks before my eighteenth birthday and my mother, not to be outdone, died about a week before my twenty-fifth birthday. Seeing as I am turning forty here in a few weeks, this wasn’t precisely yesterday by any stretch of the imagination.
For years I would devolve into this puddle of sniveling shit every third week of February. some of you may have been lucky enough to even be with me getting drunk on those auspicious days.
This year though, it isn’t there. The overwhelming feelings, the neato panic attacks at three in the morning, absolutely nothing of that sort at all. This doesn’t mean I won’t be affected on the days in question, it just means I have not been as of yet.
See, my parents were not good people. My brain, finally getting this through to the weird lizard brain part of my psyche, is happy that I am firmly ensconced with the knowledge and while celebrating the death of a parent is beyond what I am going to do, I am not going to mourn the people who systemically abused three children for nearly twenty solid years in one form or another. Do you cry for the mosquito who was stealing your lifeblood when you kill it? Do you weep when the serial killer gets caught and killed?
No, I will do what I need to get through the days in question, be it laugh or drink or do one while doing the other. I will not sit around and muse, wax poetic or romanticize people that I have never once denied despising.
I understand that some people, including wonderful people I deeply respect and love, might be very confused by this, so, breaking with my normally “suck it up and deal” attitude when it comes to these things, I feel a compulsion to tell them that it isn’t that I do not feel thoughts at the mention of their deaths and that I did not weep when it happened. I cannot justify the morality, albeit skewed, that I have developed to celebrate the lives of two people who hurt me in every way imaginable. The people who were supposed to protect me from the world merely hid their crimes from it.
No, no I will not ask them to rage against the dying of the light, just to go to their infinity and leave this world to try and heal from their existence at all.
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