Today’s the second day of a three-day round in my coveted short-story competition. I woke in a great mood, well-rested, but with nothing yet written. No huge deal. Just me and the existential-crisis-triggering blank page.
But then I opened my email, and there was a message from my mom. Oh, hell, no. I’d determined to avoid her at all costs since my last phone call with her.
So, and this is hilarious, I sent the message unread to spam. Yeah, I spammed my mother.
That was earlier today. Now it’s after 9:00 PM, and I have a solid first draft written of my story. So I decided to brave her email. Here it is, with some edits for grammar and typing:
Misunderstanding. I wish you could believe I was not trying to open old wounds or create drama in telling you about all the woes my sister is having to cope with these days.
I was honestly trying to elicit sympathy for her and support from within her family. Given my condition and my distance from her, [it] is the only thing I can think of to do for her. I talk to her on the phone and listen and I feel helpless. I had totally forgotten about the incident you thought I was referencing. You must think me to be a monster. I just wish you could see my motives for what they really were. I don’t know what else I can say. I am devastated that you think I am capable of treating you so cruelly.
As odd as it may sound, I believe her. Darn it! That means that I have to let her back into my life now. Oh, bloody hell. At least I marked the message as “not spam” and sent it back to my inbox. (Am I the only person who’s ever spammed her mother? Show of hands, please.)
So, I get the picture. My aunt is being an energetic vampire and sucking my mom’s energy away; and so Mother turned to me so she could steal a bit of my energy. And I don’t blame her, because energetic vampirism of that magnitude is hard to deal with.
She’s right about how she opened old wounds. My cousin, Andy, and I used to be good friends. He was my only friend for many years during my dark period when I believed in Evil Spirits (from 2005 through 2011). The fact that he dropped me like a hot potato when his new girlfriend (now wife) felt threatened by me is painful. I don’t feel guilty about anything, and I don’t think I did anything wrong. Reporting them to CPS was done for Andy. He loves his daughter more than life itself. (His wife has Munchausen’s and Munchausen’s by proxy.) And after the abuse I suffered as a kid, I’m incapable of looking the other way while abuse is occurring.
But still, it’s sad. Andy really used to matter to me. He’s four years younger than I am. We grew up together. When my older cousins (three years older than me) determined I wasn’t “cool” enough for them to want to hang out with, I turned to Andy and decided I wouldn’t treat him that way. Maybe I should’ve.
(Mother of God. Ashley Leia, your advice about writing my story first was primo! Geez.)
So, now I feel sad for my mother. My story’s in good shape (I hope), so perhaps I can visit her tomorrow. God. Maybe I can teach her about energetic vampirism.
I mean, I get why my aunt’s so upset. Her husband, whom I haven’t met, is having his second leg amputated. No more legs. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. It’s just tragic, and there are no two ways about it. In fact, my aunt’s whole life has been tragic in ways that are too scandalous for me to share here. But there was a point in my childhood where she could’ve intervened and staved off the same tragedy she suffered from befalling me, and she didn’t. I don’t hold a grudge, but I don’t exactly admire her, either, if that makes sense. And that’s what I’m saying about her granddaughter (my cousin Andy’s kid). I’m not that person who looks the other way while abuse is occurring. But my aunt is that sort of person.
Well, anyway, we can go back to letting sleeping dogs lie. Based on the circumstances, I feel morally superior to my aunt and my cousin, Andy, and everyone else involved. And that’s a good feeling, to be honest.