I tiptoe around ‘family.’ Who are not my real family, only those who I had the unfortunate luck to born unto. But two nights in a row of waking at 2am. unable to sleep, I wrote an honest email to the second wife of the brother who once was father-like to me. I loved who he was then. Who he is now I don’t know, other than a bit scary as I find I am still child-like in my need for approval. And he inter-acts with Tom and has all along. I feel treated as if I am the problem because I do not welcome monsters into my life with open arms.
I am tired, and worn, from leading two lives; one the pretend, one the real. I want to live whole, real, and who I am. Not placating the men who are biological brothers, yet not brothers in the real sense of the word. I lived my life pleasing others, placating them, protecting them and their family name. I want to live. And live as me. This is my email to her after calling up to check in and hearing news of Tom mainly. Not her. But Tom, his ex-wife, and their daughter. None of which I have contact with, nor want to. They are not ‘family.’ None of my ‘family’ is family. Not really. I have had to make my own.
“I don’t suppose you meant anything, but hearing the ‘Wilkins’ news is not something I am interested in. It would have been nice to hear about you, your art work and latest projects in your studio, things like that we share, I’m all ears. But Tom? I don’t care, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be reminded of the person who has caused the most damage and pain in my life.
You don’t know much about me, or don’t care. After Mom died I finally no longer had that one person shoving Tom down my throat, wanting everything all better… not for me, but for her. That is until you. I don’t have a relationship with him…or his ex-wife. She washed her hands of me long ago. And Tom? Have you even read my book? Do you know nothing about me? I cannot play two me’s anymore. The one pretending. The one I am. My brothers have ripped my life apart and in ways that I will deal with my entire life. And not in a fun way, but in a very destructive way. Life- long damage.
I do not hate Tom. I do not wish to tear him into pieces like I once did. I wish him only good things. But he is nothing to me. I don’t feel good, bad or indifferent. Maybe pity.
I do not want to hear updates in the life of Tom.
You, yes. You, your kids, my niece and nephew, Don, but why would I want to hear about those who have only caused great, and incapacitating hurt, pain and damage? Pain and damage I still have to work daily to overcome. I don’t. Please don’t give me updates about people who have nothing to do with me. It feels like an intentional jab though I don’t believe you did so as one. Perhaps you don’t like sharing about you, and your own life.
I wish him well in whatever he does, whatever endeavors, or wherever he goes. But I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want reminders of his treatment of me through the years. “
And no one cares that I wrote a book about the truth of my life. No one asked the name of it when I said I wrote it. I care. I also sent the Amazon link to Seth while up in these wee hours of the morning, whether he reads it or not. I am tired of living in pretense. Come what may. Take me or leave me. In all respects they left me a long time ago, at the age of eight years old.