Family is Hard

I haven’t posted in a while, and admittedly that’s pretty sad because this blog is for me. It’s for me to feel things and express them because having conversations is really difficult. I’m a communicator at heart, but not everyone is a fair communicator, so…conversations face to face are difficult. Messy. Sometimes even more trouble than they’re worth.

Now that I’ve grown up some, I’ve realized that communication doesn’t have to be face to face to be valid. It takes maturity to acknowledge that some conversations will only make things worse if both parties aren’t capable of keeping their explosive reactions in check.

So, yeah, it’s easier for me to express myself through written words. Where I can’t be flustered into losing my argument, and I even if I’m sobbing my words are still concise and no one can claim that they don’t understand what I’m saying.

What I’m saying today is that family is hard.

I found out last night on Facebook that my older sister is trying to adopt a child from South Korea and is taking donations because she can’t afford the home visit. And you know what, I have a lot to say about whether or not I believe my older sister is capable of raising a child from a different culture, but I’m not here to talk shit about her. I could talk about how she outed me on my 21st birthday and cut me off from her, or any of the emotional manipulation tactics (yes, that’s what they were) that she used on me growing up, but honestly I’m really freaking tired of giving her the time of day.

What she did to me is water under the bridge. The effects of her actions, are definitely still relevant.

I’m really, truly hurt that I found out that my older sister is trying to adopt by reading it on Facebook. No one told me. No one. And yeah, I get that I posted that I’m gay online and you felt betrayed but there’s a difference. I was a child figuring myself out and posting in a safe place while I prepared to lose everything and tell you. You threw me out of the closet and didn’t even have the decency to do it in front of me. This, you cutting me out of this, is just you being petty. You’re 26 years old, aren’t you a little old to be doing this type of thing?

Why, sister, are we even doing this? What’s in it for you? Why are you tearing apart our family because I fell in love with a person and didn’t care that their gender is the same as mine?

Better yet, why are our parents letting you?

Let’s be honest, older sister. I’ve given up on you. But, why, god why, are our parents letting you do this?

So, yeah, Mom and Dad. This post is about you too.

And if I’m honest, I have a lot to say to you and I actually wrote you a letter, so here it is.
Mom and Dad,

If you’re reading this, I’m not sorry that I’m gay.

Really, truly, I am sorry about a lot of things but definitely not the fact that I’m gay. But this isn’t about me being sorry, because all I’ve done is made my own decisions about how to live my life. This about the fact that I really hope you’re sorry too.

I should have handled the confrontation about my sexuality better, I admit that. And I should have told you myself, I wanted to tell you that myself, but I didn’t get the chance to do it myself. I was ambushed, and that was not fair to me. That was, in no way, fair to me.

I was just a kid. I was 6 days past my 21st birthday, came home to spend a weekend of my birthday with my family. I wasn’t prepared, and I was in no way mature enough to face you yet. But you made me face you. You, who had over a week to prepare against me, a kid who was still reeling from betrayal and shock.

What you did was unfair. The things you said, were cruel.

You told me that the reason my arms were injured and I was incapable of lifting them myself was because God was punishing me for being gay.

You asked me how I was supposed to teach if I was gay, because who would want their child being taught by a lesbian.

You said that I wasn’t really happy, and everyone could see it but me.

You told me that you were heartbroken and my sister was heartbroken that I was gay.

Well let me tell you this, Mom. You may have been heartbroken, but you will never understand what a true broken heart feels like after that. However hurt you felt in that moment, multiply it by 500 and that’s how heartbroken I am today, 2 and a half years after the fact.

You threw me out of a closet, stripped me of my security, attacked my happiness and the source of it, and then you ripped my heart out of my chest and you can never, ever take that back.

I will never, ever forget that.

Maybe I disappointed you by turning my back on the beliefs you raised me under, but I never turned my back on family.

That was all you.

You let my sister throw me out of our family. I don’t get to come home for Christmas or any other holiday or birthday because S will be there, and I’m not allowed to see her family. I don’t find out if I can come home or even when until right before the event, depending on what S wants to do.

Are you really so blind that you’re unaware of the consequences of your actions?

I wanted to kill myself after what you did. After what you let my older sister and her husband do to me, say to me. I wanted to kill myself.

And it didn’t even matter because I was gay.

I want you to know that Arlene is a great person. You would be thrilled for me, if only she was a man. But you can’t even talk about her without getting mad at me, and it’s not about you.

All of this, everything that has happened, it’s about me.

It’s about who I am, and the choices I’ve made, and the things that have been done to me. I haven’t made any decision to hurt you in any way, every decision I’ve made has been for myself. Some of them, I’ve even made for you. Not that it matters.

So I’m sorry that I’m not the daughter you thought I would be. I’m sorry that I disappointed you, and that I’m everything you never thought I would be.

But really, I’m mostly sorry that you can’t see past the gender of the person I love to see me. To see how I feel. To see how much you hurt me every single day.

I love you, but this is not okay.

I do not forgive you.

P.S. If you’re wondering why you had to read this on the internet, it’s because you asked me how the hell you’re supposed to take me seriously if I’m crying. Well I’m sorry, Mom, but when you hurt people they cry. And you have hurt me irreparably.

Wading through life isn’t always easy.

Today I feel like I’m seeing the world from a glass bottle.

The past 48 hours or so have been very uncomfortable for me. I’ve spent that time feeling almost black out drunk, which is one of my least favorite feelings in the world.

You know the feeling?

Your body is slow to respond, you feel like you’re floating, and some part of you knows that what’s happening shouldn’t be happening but overall your mind is in the clouds.

That’s how I feel. I even almost fell because I couldn’t coordinate my legs with my sense of direction.

I don’t even have advice for the situation either. I’m sorry, if you feel this way too. I’m so sorry if this happens to you. It’s really terrible, and I understand. I understand the frustration that it happens, and I understand the frustration of those who can’t afford to see a doctor and get it checked out.

I’m 23 years old and uninsured. (I’m not required by law to have insurance due to tribal membership.) I don’t work enough hours to be covered through my employer, and I make $200 less per year than I’m required to make in order to qualify for reduced rates. So I make less than $12k a year and would have to pay $300/month on insurance.

That’s not happening for me.

So I’ll stay in this glass bottle, trying my best to see the world through the warped distortion. Really, that’s the best thing I can hope to achieve.

Venus de Milo who?

Today I feel like the Venus de Milo.

A bit of background, the Venus de Milo is an Ancient Greek sculpture that has had its arms broken off since the moment of its discovery. It’s widely accepted that the sculpture is of Aphrodite though there’s no way of knowing for absolute certainty.

When I was around 21, something happened to my wrists that I never got an explanation for. Doctors eventually declared ‘deep bruising’ since x-rays didn’t show anything and I was too broke to see a neurologist, but for about six weeks I was unable to lift either arm because of excruciating pain. I literally cried every time someone had to help me get my shirt on or off. I wore braces 24/7 and while they were comfortable, the palms of my hand were blistered and rubbed raw from them. I was losing feeling in my fingers because I had to keep the braces so tight just to stop the the throbbing pain.

It went away, but my wrists have never been the same.

Sure, I can lift my wrists and move them just fine most of the time now. However, some days, like today, I can barely function because my body hurts so badly.

Today it started with pain in my neck and back that gave me a headache. I took some Excedrin (neck pain always leads to migraine for me) and then my left knee started throbbing. This is bad, but I made it to my truck to get to work. By the time I got to work, my right knee had started stiffening up and will soon be making me limp. As soon as I sat down, phantom aches started in my right wrist and now as I’m writing this, my right collarbone is beginning to hurt, as is my right elbow, which will eventually leave me unable to use my right wrist. Also my hands are shaking so badly that it’s hard for me to drink my hot tea.

The fact of the matter is that I’m scared.

This is actually a really normal day for me. I’m 23 years old and I’m already suffering from pain like this. By the time I’m 30, I’ll probably be basically immobile.

So yeah, I feel like a sculpture that’s missing its arms. I might as well be missing my arms today.

But what really matters to me is that I still have value. I’m kind of messed up and I’m on the verge of tears because I hurt so badly, but I am still a piece of art.

I may no longer be what I started as, but I am still worthy of the Louvre.

(For inspo please see Lorde’s new song ‘The Louvre’.)

Real talk I’m terrified of bleach

Today I feel like I could maybe touch a bottle of Clorox.

Alright, so one of the weirdest stories about me is that I’m seriously terrified of bleach. I won’t touch unopened bottles in the store, I won’t go in bathrooms that even vaguely smell of bleach, and I most certainly will not use it. Yes, I am 23 yrs old and terrified of a cleaning product.

But why, Kat, are you afraid of bleach? That’s a little silly, isn’t it?

YES IT IS. IT TOTALLY IS.

When I was like six years old, my dad decided on a whim that the best way to make sure I didn’t play with the bleach under the kitchen sink on my quest for a sponge was to tell me that if I touched the bottle I would die. My sister reiterated that fact multiple times, trying to scare me into staying far away from the bottle of bleach. (What can I say, I was a curious baby.) As a child with anxiety and paranoia, this basically ruined all perceptions I will ever have of bleach.

This is a ridiculous fear, I know this. I am 23 years old and freeze up at the mere thought that bleach could have been used where I’m standing in the last 24 hours.

But my point is that everyone is scared of something stupid. It’s kind of impossible to go through life and not develop at least one irrational fear. 

And it’s totally okay to be scared of something stupid. I swear, it really is. 

What’s important is not letting fear stop you from doing what needs to be done. I won’t disinfect with bleach, so I use vinegar. I will do any complicated procedure to get around using bleach for something. I’m respecting my fear, but also doing what I need to do.

That’s what being an adult is, kids.

I would like a refund on adulthood

Let’s start this out with the acknowledgment that I like to describe how I’m feeling every day in one very specific sentence (for the anxiety, obviously).

Today I feel like adulthood is a lot more boring without a wine glass.

I’m at work right now, literally doing nothing because there was a problem somewhere that ended in all of the daily appointments being cancelled. That’s fine with me, whatever, five hours that I get to literally just sit at work on my iPad and get paid for it.

The downside is that just sitting around on my iPad is very boring without something to do, like make a snack or drink a glass of cheap wine.

So instead of getting fat or drunk, I’m searching for jobs because I graduated a year ago with a degree in communications and there is literally nothing in this tiny town for me to do with the degree I spent four years earning. However, because I’m in a small town with absolutely nothing to further my career, I don’t have that necessary experience to get a good job in a bigger city.

So instead, I’m writing a blog to bitch about how I don’t know what to do with my life or what to do for a career.

That millennial curse.

Much easier to deal with when there’s rosé in hand.