Broken Hearted

Sometimes I am feeling so sad about my family of orgin that I want to die. I have no idea why I am the one they all love to hate.
There are only two of my sisters left. Two have died.
Looking back I have no idea where I got all my ideas from. I felt that when my sisters had children they were also mine. I wanted to be a huge part of my nephews and nieces lives. But my oldest sister taught her children to fear and distrust all family members. She also had none of the love for my child that I had for hers.
My second oldest sister, was self absorbed and never even cared to get to know anyone else’s children.
My third oldest sister came closest to my idea of what it supposed to be like. We lived together and she had children and I was unmarried. She could trust me with her children. I loved them as if they were my own.
I am the fourth child. I lived a misguided idea that I would love all my nephews and nieces not matter what they do. They are equal to my own child.
My youngest sister has always hated me. She always made my life a misery whenever she could. My mother did not improve this relationship by telling her to be more like me. When she had her child I treated him like I would my own. I love him deeply and mourn the loss of him in my life. This sister has passed her hatred of me on to her own child.
I guess what I want to tell you is that I am now in my 60’s and the pain I feel today is every bit as painful as it could ever be.
I have my own child and my grandchildren and I have a loving husband. So why on earth do I feel this deep pain in my heart and in my gut.
It must be because I have been so open to the abuse that I am feeling sorry for myself. When my sister died recently I spoke at her funeral even though I was not invited to do so. I felt I had to. Now I feel like an asshole for doing that.


Is Your Heart Broken?

A lot of us feel a broken heart is between a couple. I think we are overlooking the other kind of broken heart. For instance the broken hearts over family relationships. There has got to be a lot of people out there who suffer from separation in broken families.

As for me, I grew up in a violent household. Everyone was violent. Father, Mother, sisters everyone was violent.

If you can imagine father and mother fighting all night almost every night. Children sitting in stress and fearing that the night would turn a sunny day into a hellish nightmare. There were fights in the day time too. Mostly it would be the sisters fighting each other physically. Screaming, yelling, punching, beating.

There was no peace in my life. I can’t speak for them. It seems to me it is violence they needed because it never quit. The odd time they would all be out and that was heaven to me.

I found times of peace when I would go out into the muddy dirt yard and make cookies using the mud. I would place them all along the fence to dry in the sun. And perfection was taking those mud cookies one at a time off the fence without breaking them. Those were my finest times. The best of accomplishments. No I didn’t eat them; nor did I feed them to anyone. I can still find that peace in making cookies today.

Finally I have managed to sever all relationships with them as they have been cruel and violent to me all my life. But the pain of being the outsider just will never go away.

I watched as my mother rub my sisters faces into their pissy beds. What a disgusting way to treat your children. I cannot imagine ever doing that to a child. I have done it to a doggie and I am ashamed of that. I will never do that again.

Can I say my poor mother was a victim too. Yes I can. But I cannot excuse her behaviour towards her children. Fortunately I did not wet my bed. Or I would not have been the favoured child. I did not make my mother angry by staying out late or becoming pregnant before marriage. I would never break her heart that way. I had learned from the experience of my sisters. They did it all.

My younger sister would pee her bed in the night and then climb into my bed because she was cold I guess. And then she would pee in my bed. I must have gone to school smelling of pee a lot. I remember laying there and feeling this warm surge come over me. And then I would feel the wet. It angered me too. I would push her outta my bed and it was all too late. She hated me for that. And I never hated her for anything.

Mom would not let us shower and we were not encouraged to bathe. We were stinky kids. She moaned about the amount of water and the shower being a waste of water. It went on and on.