Tuesday, April 10, 2012

I am not like you

Sometimes, I try to see it from her point of view. She came into our family suddenly, she was different, we were different, and the chasm of differences between us were impassable. She was young then, she wore bad clothes and bad hair, her face was a fat blank and her eyes were wide. She learned us quickly. That we didn't talk much, say much, do much. We were quiet. We were simple. We didn't need much to enjoy each other. In just about every way we could be, we were different.

At first, she couldn't do much but stare. Year after year, she took it in, she brought babies to us and we loved them, but with her there was always something in the way, our differences, maybe, and it was hard. In some ways, what made it hard was her constant questioning, her expectations and her pointing out the differences. I feel badly that he had to bear the brunt of her assaults, that her insecurities made her such an intolerable person and it was all our fault. We didn't ever do the right thing, say the right thing, give the right things.

After a while, it turned. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, rolling whenever something displeased her, a tsk at the ready, a mean retort swallowed. I saw her agonize over and over about us, how could we, how dare we, why did we. So many things and yet she never said a word. She gave him every word like a lash, whipping him with the hatred of us, and soon he began to say the words she wouldn't.

Instead of being understanding, accepting, appreciative, she took our differences and turned them into a problem, a reason to be mean and spiteful, a campaign to wage against him, and the problem is, none of what she points out is wrong, but to be mad at someone for something they did not do, that they did not promise to do, that you expected and didn't get is wrong.

For a long time I defended her, having been in her exact state of mind over similar situations, knowing that what made me so angry wasn't them but the things they represented, the things I was not, the things I didn't have or know how to get. I have been different, a stranger, misunderstood, so I tried to explain her side. I made impassioned speeches on her behalf, I tried to reason with my family, I could see where she was coming from.

And now, now that she has attacked me, made me the scapegoat, asked me the questions, made me defend myself and my family, and given me nothing in return, no compassion, no efforts, even worse, she has made things more difficult for no good reason, she and I, we are done.