last girl on earth to dive under the gun
It's strange. I called home to let people know about Lauren, and ended up calling all of my siblings, and talking to them a slight bit. My sisters, I can talk to. My father, I can talk to. But, on some level, I no longer have a fucking clue how to talk to my brother.
We fell out of the habit of communicating a hell of a long time ago.
Hell, that can be said for my entire family (it certainly was true for the few people I considered friends in St. Louis). I always feel like I'm holding some pieces of myself back. Because they wouldn't get it, wouldn't understand--and might mock me?
Don't know.
Do know that I sometimes feel there's this huge gulf between me and my family. Especially my brother. Maybe it's because, on some level, I don't think his wife understands the sort of things we went through as children, as young adults... She's got no fucking clue what it's like to literally not be certain what's coming next--christmas, or just another boring day (not quite true. I think all four of us walked with mom to the toy bin at the homeless shelter. We didn't get to pick stuff, but they gave her a bag of toys for us).
I've said it before. Hell, I've nailed my own brain to the wall a time or two. Masks. I have a different one for every member of my family, I sometimes even have a different one for me.
My family doesn't talk.
No one seems to. We don't e-mail, we don't call. I know, on some level, that we care. WE have to, right? We're family.
We have shared experiences growing up, precedences set twenty-seven years ago and hammered into quick-set concrete. But we've all fallen out of the habit of talking. We talk to friends, our spouses, our best buds, our teachers and roommates and the people we work with.
Minutiae of our everyday lives whisks by on a breeze, and we don't share anymore.
Or maybe it's just me.
We fell out of the habit of communicating a hell of a long time ago.
Hell, that can be said for my entire family (it certainly was true for the few people I considered friends in St. Louis). I always feel like I'm holding some pieces of myself back. Because they wouldn't get it, wouldn't understand--and might mock me?
Don't know.
Do know that I sometimes feel there's this huge gulf between me and my family. Especially my brother. Maybe it's because, on some level, I don't think his wife understands the sort of things we went through as children, as young adults... She's got no fucking clue what it's like to literally not be certain what's coming next--christmas, or just another boring day (not quite true. I think all four of us walked with mom to the toy bin at the homeless shelter. We didn't get to pick stuff, but they gave her a bag of toys for us).
I've said it before. Hell, I've nailed my own brain to the wall a time or two. Masks. I have a different one for every member of my family, I sometimes even have a different one for me.
My family doesn't talk.
No one seems to. We don't e-mail, we don't call. I know, on some level, that we care. WE have to, right? We're family.
We have shared experiences growing up, precedences set twenty-seven years ago and hammered into quick-set concrete. But we've all fallen out of the habit of talking. We talk to friends, our spouses, our best buds, our teachers and roommates and the people we work with.
Minutiae of our everyday lives whisks by on a breeze, and we don't share anymore.
Or maybe it's just me.
