My uncle's fine now... I think he's getting discharged tonight or something like that.
As for me, things have been weird.
Ever since the Thanksgiving outburst, it seems like the entire house is walking on eggshells when I enter a room.
Mom and Dad both asked me if I was ok yesterday. They both hugged me and patted my head.
Dad even asked me if they had been mean to me at the gym, since he knows that's my one sacred ground.
Dad: Something is really upsetting you... I can see it in your face. I've never seen you this sad... you sure you're ok, baby?
Me: I'm ok, Dad. Promise.
Mom: Are you ok? Your little face is red... and your eyes are so, so sad... like... you're devastated. You're unusually quiet. It's like you've had a serious boyfriend all this time and he suddenly... dumped you. You didn't have a boyfriend behind our backs, and now he broke up with you... did you? I feel like you had a boyfriend.
Me: No, Mom, I didn't and DON'T have a boyfriend. I'm ok.
Rafa hasn't apologized and I'm sure he's not going to (we're just going to act like the fight never happened) since it won't help. I loathe apologies.
He has spent the last day and a half trying to make me laugh. Texting me every other minute.
I appreciate it... but you know, the damage is done. I heard the words and I saw the look on his face when he uttered the words. I understand he said what he did amidst his rage... but... you know... it's like that time Mom asked me if I had looked at myself in the mirror when my cousin asked me why I didn't have a boyfriend.
It happened, I heard the words, my heart broke, and my eyes were once again opened to reality... by my own family.
I get it. I cried about it for an entire night. Let's move on now.
One of the people I've admired most in this world, and whose back I've had since the day I was born hates me. He doesn't hate anyone... well, maybe Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck... but I make the list.
Damn.
But it does explain a lot.
I have this memory that haunts me a little... of a day in Mexico, when I was about 14 years old. We were saying goodbye to Mom's parents. I had said goodnight to Grandma, but was waiting outside on the porch, angrily, as the rest of my family was saying goodbye to my Grandpa.
Rafa: Aren't you going to say goodnight to grandpa?
Me: No.
Rafa: What's you're fucking problem?
Me: I fucking HATE that man. I DON'T CARE about that man. I want to be AWAY from that man.
Rafa: You're a fucking piece of shit.
Me: Yeah. I'm the piece of shit.
Rafa: He's old! He's not going to last forever.
Me: And when that day comes, when he dies, I promise you I won't shed a fucking tear. Not for him.
Rafa: You're crazy. You're a fucking idiot.
I knew he wouldn't understand. I didn't want him to understand. I don't want him to understand.
Keep thinking I'm a monster. I prefer you think I'm the craziest, most heartless monster, than to ever know what it's like to deal with the shit I had to deal with at such a young age.
If given the opportunity to go back in time, back to that moment in the truck, and trade places with one of my siblings, I'd still choose to go through that shit than have either one of them take the fall.
It will never be mutual, the hatred, but I'll get over it.
As for me, things have been weird.
Ever since the Thanksgiving outburst, it seems like the entire house is walking on eggshells when I enter a room.
Mom and Dad both asked me if I was ok yesterday. They both hugged me and patted my head.
Dad even asked me if they had been mean to me at the gym, since he knows that's my one sacred ground.
Dad: Something is really upsetting you... I can see it in your face. I've never seen you this sad... you sure you're ok, baby?
Me: I'm ok, Dad. Promise.
Mom: Are you ok? Your little face is red... and your eyes are so, so sad... like... you're devastated. You're unusually quiet. It's like you've had a serious boyfriend all this time and he suddenly... dumped you. You didn't have a boyfriend behind our backs, and now he broke up with you... did you? I feel like you had a boyfriend.
Me: No, Mom, I didn't and DON'T have a boyfriend. I'm ok.
Rafa hasn't apologized and I'm sure he's not going to (we're just going to act like the fight never happened) since it won't help. I loathe apologies.
He has spent the last day and a half trying to make me laugh. Texting me every other minute.
I appreciate it... but you know, the damage is done. I heard the words and I saw the look on his face when he uttered the words. I understand he said what he did amidst his rage... but... you know... it's like that time Mom asked me if I had looked at myself in the mirror when my cousin asked me why I didn't have a boyfriend.
It happened, I heard the words, my heart broke, and my eyes were once again opened to reality... by my own family.
I get it. I cried about it for an entire night. Let's move on now.
One of the people I've admired most in this world, and whose back I've had since the day I was born hates me. He doesn't hate anyone... well, maybe Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck... but I make the list.
Damn.
But it does explain a lot.
I have this memory that haunts me a little... of a day in Mexico, when I was about 14 years old. We were saying goodbye to Mom's parents. I had said goodnight to Grandma, but was waiting outside on the porch, angrily, as the rest of my family was saying goodbye to my Grandpa.
Rafa: Aren't you going to say goodnight to grandpa?
Me: No.
Rafa: What's you're fucking problem?
Me: I fucking HATE that man. I DON'T CARE about that man. I want to be AWAY from that man.
Rafa: You're a fucking piece of shit.
Me: Yeah. I'm the piece of shit.
Rafa: He's old! He's not going to last forever.
Me: And when that day comes, when he dies, I promise you I won't shed a fucking tear. Not for him.
Rafa: You're crazy. You're a fucking idiot.
I knew he wouldn't understand. I didn't want him to understand. I don't want him to understand.
Keep thinking I'm a monster. I prefer you think I'm the craziest, most heartless monster, than to ever know what it's like to deal with the shit I had to deal with at such a young age.
If given the opportunity to go back in time, back to that moment in the truck, and trade places with one of my siblings, I'd still choose to go through that shit than have either one of them take the fall.
It will never be mutual, the hatred, but I'll get over it.
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