ferrydust

09 June 2004 Wednesday

Wroth Countenance

Last night was not a good one. I’d think that at some point, you’d just kind of run out of tears. But I guess that over ten years of accumulation make for special exception. I look worse than I feel today; I feel pretty bad. Kind of a like a hangover.. only minus the alcohol, and move most of the headache to my cheeks and eyes. Driving was worse this morning than last night. I’m fine, really; I don’t think I’ve ever spent a night alone in a car before, but aside from that this was just another painful experience of many to the same cause. I always wanted a brother. And I’ve always loved mine. I just never really accounted for that he might not love me. Or care. It’s very strange… actually, this all seems much more familiar than ever before. One of my greatest failings as a person, my mother believes, is my inability to forgive. She misunderstands me a lot; her mind is such that her assumptions/guesses immediately become absolute educated truth. In any case, it isn’t true that I can’t forgive/let go.

Briefly: I am not easily offended. When I am affronted, however, I can become extremely resentful. I can forgive, and I do. I want to say that the issue is not that I don’t forgive, but that I don’t forget. But that isn’t true either. Of course I forget. I forget, and live to be hurt the same way, another day.
So here’s what it is: I forgive sometimes. I forget often. ...I most always remember again.
Things pile on me, compounding. Like I said, I’m not easily offended, but past offenses do accumulate with me. A month of stress and frustration will wash upon me in a single day, and my composure will flail. And I’ve rarely been afraid to cry. So what does the accumulation of 10 years of transgressions by one of the people I’ve always loved most in this world add up to? Please. Last night was not even dramatic anymore; first time I’ve reacted …like this’ or not. Every one with a sibling knows what a fight is. Every one with a sibling knows what it’s like to be mistreated.
My case isn’t so much more terrible than anyone else’s. But it is terrible for me.

I place particularly high value on: intention, responsibility, and consideration. Oh, look at what three things my brother has none or terrible concept of. I’m not writing this to rag on him. That’s not the intention anyway, though I concede that is the direction it is starting to go. He’d look at this or look at me and make a comment about how I always write and no one cares and I always cry and no one cares. Maybe. But my primary issue is that he doesn’t.

Heh, and now that he’s bigger than me, he thinks threatening to physically toss me outside or getting in my face and looking down at me is the way to go. It’s the last way to go with me. There’s always a final straw. With family, there are many of them. With him, they’ve been infinite. But not everything else is.
. . .
I’m wearing Mongolian baseball cap. I managed to grab that last night, while leaving my flannel shirt behind. I really really missed that shirt last night; every time I woke up.
. . .
This is a whole lot more exposure than I would have thought to present in an online journal. ‘Far more braver and rash individuals than me, in the (we)blog community. This is my current mood; I may or may not leave this post as it is.
. . .
This will all make sense to me, anyway.