Feeling low - NBR, rant

overtonhayes

I can't sleep because I have about a hundred thoughts flying through my head all at once. I need to vent. I guess it's a little sad that I'm not venting to my friends but what can I do, it's gone 1am and to be honest I just feel the need to vent to strangers. It's going to be long, I'm sorry. There's a lot of childhood bull coming into play here.

It sounds silly, but I was lying in bed and somehow I got to thinking about how my brother has always been given special treatment for no apparent reason. I know I probably sound like a brat. For the purposes of not making this even longer than it already will be, I'm cutting all of the details there. Let's just say that we're talking everything from the petty, to the very, very serious. My first car had a major fault that made it completely unsafe to drive. That was acceptable, apparently. I had to drive to work and back in that car every day. I couldn't afford to fix it and my parents refused to pay for it. Now my brother has that car. But oh, no, it's not safe enough for him. I'm not claiming I had a terrible childhood or went without. In fact, I never wanted for anything, at least nothing material. But nothing I ever do is good enough. Even when I got a damn scholarship to come study in the US, and spent my freshman year studying senior and even post-grad level French while battling an eating disorder, my parents were furious that my GPA was 'only' 3.0.

Which brings me to the most hurtful part: how they've handled my, shall we say, past instabilities. When I was 15 I was in a really dark place and was suicidal. Somehow they didn't even notice. They didn't even notice that I was always drunk before I finished my breakfast, or that I was cutting myself daily, or that I was starving myself. I remember we were redecorating my room at the time and for a while it had no lighting, and I used to just crawl into an alcove and sit there in the dark all night crying. After this had been going on for a while I decided I should get some help. I knew my mum had a friend who was a therapist, and I asked her if she could get me a visit. She pressed me again and again for more details, getting angrier and angrier, until finally I blurted out that because of *I don't really want to share, I'm sorry* all I could think about was taking my own life and just days before, I stood over a highway bridge wishing I had the guts to jump. She told me, I quote, "people like you don't need counselling, stop being so pathetic", and that was the end of the matter. I still don't know how the hell I got out of that. I sure as hell didn't have any help, least of all from her.

When I was growing up, sometimes as often as once or twice a week she would make me eat in a different room from the rest of the family, in front of a mirror, telling me the way I ate was "too disgusting to watch". This went on from when I was about eight to I don't know when. She used to tell me I ate too fast and would tell me when it was alright to take a forkful of food. When she decided that I was 'just gulping it down', she would make me chew every mouthful a certain amount of times while she watched my jaw move. She would always tell me to suck my 'disgusting' stomach in, and say things to my dad, who is blind, like "darling, sort her out. She's just sitting there with her stomach hanging out of her jeans and it looks absolutely disgusting". Are any of you surprised that I wound up with an eating disorder? I'm not. She was. In fact, when I worked up the courage to tell her (over skype because I was out here and she was in the UK), she hung up on me and told me not to talk to her until I'd "got over it". The funny thing is I must have legitimately repressed those memories, because I didn't remember the mirror thing until a few weeks ago, when DH and I were eating in the car and he randomly pulled down my sun visor, and I saw my reflection in the mirror. I cried so hard it was a full ten minutes before I could tell him why. (Of course, my brother is allowed to come to the table without his shirt on; spit his food out; chew with his mouth open; throw food around and pick his feet or pop zits at the table. But "it's different for him")

Christmas 2011, DH (who was DF at the time) came to the UK to stay with us. Three days before Christmas, my mother and I got into a fight over - get this - the way I loaded the dishwasher. Out of nowhere, she started telling me that because I 'dropped out of college' (read as: my scholarship, which was always only going to be for one year, ended; but instead of coming back to the UK to study law I decided to... Not run off to the circus or get knocked up by some crackhead, but... Stay in the US and study law) and she was absolutely ashamed of me, and "mortified that thick as sh*t (my cousin/her neice) was going to get a degree and I wasn't". She then threw me and DH out. Told me to get the hell out of the house because I wasn't welcome. This was three days before Christmas. Luckily, I worked in a hotel. If I didn't, I would have had nowhere to go.

I guess what's brought all this on is it was Mother's Day in the UK a week ago. I'd been on skype with my grandma, who was at my parents' house. Immediately afterwards, my dad called me out of the blue to make sure I would be giving my mother a card (believe it or not, somehow we're not only still on speaking terms, but she thinks we're friends). I told him that because I have 26 cents to my name, no, I probably wouldn't be, but I'd make sure I would skype her on the day. He told me that wasn't good enough, I had to get her a card "at the very least". I again stressed that I have less than a dollar in the whole world. He snapped at me "well you said on skype that (DH) is being paid in three days, so you can get her a card". I tried to make it clear to him that not only is it not up to DH to buy a card for my mother, especially since he completely supports me financially anyway because I can't work (hence the 26c); but we have our own expenses to pay for first and every penny of that money was needed just to pay the debts we'd racked up that month. Well, my dad got extremely sh*tty with me and said I "better get her a card". Blame hormones, but despite all my mother's done to me I was feeling guily I couldn't be there with her on MD, so DH, out of the kindness of his heart, saved a little of his paycheck so that I could send her a card. As I said, Mother's Day was a week ago. My mother has Facebook, email, and Skype. I have heard nothing from her. Not even a reply to the "happy mothers' day!" Facebook message I sent her.

To top it all off, as I posted previously, I was involved in a wreck on Thursday. Thankfully, baby, DH, and I are all fine. I got a phone call from my dad the next day asking if everything was alright, and what happened. As soon as I told him "yes, yes, we're alright, don't worry", he cut me off. "This is costing us $5 a minute, hurry up". He asked me what happened. He wanted to know. Yet he cut me off once he knew I was alright. When it comes to bullying me into buying a card for my mother, it's fine to be on the phone for ten minutes at a rate of $5 a minute. But when it comes to making sure that their only daughter and grandchild are safe and unhurt, suddenly my parents (who make almost $90,000 a year, by the way) are worried about money.

How can they be like this? How can parents love two children so incredibly differently? I know that my parents weren't married when they had me, and I can only assume they had no intention of staying together and then I 'ruined' that for them. No, really, I'm not even trying to be funny. That's the only conclusion I can draw here. I just don't see any other reason that they can shower my brother with love and gifts and whatever he wants, and scorn me; tell me nothing I ever do is good enough; and basically not give a sh*t.

Thanks for listening, ladies. I'd be lying if I said I feel any better, but at least now I can sleep. I had to get all that off my mind. Maybe I'll talk to DH about it in the morning, too.