I can’t imagine going back there unless one of them is gravely ill or dead.
I’m so done.
It’s not their fault, I guess. It’s not mine, either. The Universe threw us together into this thing called a family, which somehow takes on this “till death do us part” kind of promise, which is completely unfair when we don’t get to do the choosing.
So a lot of us suffer through these awful, dysfunctional, outgrown relationships for the sake of having a guest list for Thanksgiving dinner and people to buy useless Christmas gifts for, or because we feel some sense of social obligation to these strangers who share our blood line and our name.
Throw in a shitty childhood and tell me why I should ever have to return to the scene of those crimes? Now that we’re all adults I’m supposed to just forget the atrocities and play nice because my parents probably won’t be around much longer? And because they’re family?
Fuck that shit.
But it’s hard not to have a family in this society. Better to be homeless or terminally ill than not have a family. People are sensitive to the homeless and the sick. No one seems to care if you don’t have a family.
I have completed my obligatory visits for 2014. And it may very well be my last trip, at least for a very long while.