Once Upon A Time... When I was a sprog, the adults devised an
ingenious plan to get kids to give them some peace. The object of The
Quiet Game was to sit as still as possible, and not speak, for an
extended period. I forget what the prizes were, but they could have
been things like money, marbles/toys, or simply the satisfaction of
winning over the others - proving a higher level of self-control.
We actually asked to play, because we liked the challenge. We didn't
really realize that the adult designated as a judge often didn't
watch too closely, because they weren't as into it as we were. We
just accepted that sometimes the judge would miss something or other,
didn't see when someone tried to make someone else laugh, or pulled
some dirty trick. We knew that if we could still win, even when
others cheated, it was more impressive.
When adults are silent, could it partly be about ingrained lessons
about self-control? But can it go so far that people can't
communicate, even when it comes to life and death matters? I have
been trying to address communication issues in my family of origin
and in all my relationships throughout my life, but it usually ends
up the case that while it's a priority for me, it isn't for
others.
When I found out my father had died in October 2013, it took quite a
while (a few weeks) to get many details, and even then, I felt self-conscious about
asking, because it seemed to be a strain for the one person who did
discuss it. Through all of that, I came to see that one of the
reasons I did not know my father had been ill (for a few years) was
that death is an extremely difficult topic in my family. He had told
everyone he'd been given an 'any day now' sentence early on, but he
kept outliving the predictions, and it seems that everyone eventually
assumed that he was just being dramatic, and that he, like them,
would live forever. I think that might also relate to why I haven't
had much feedback from my family regarding what I've put online. It
is probably or would probably be seen as overly dramatic, nothing
real, and it might very well also be seen as a kind of betrayal of
family honour codes (a defiance of the rules of The Quiet Game). My
website is about my isolation and struggle in life, but to those I
have known, it does not look like anything real, and it is not
something they want to discuss. Cancer is something real, physical
illness is something real; depression is something people make up in
their heads and use as an excuse.
When my father died, I didn't have anyone to talk to about the death,
but I spent a lot of time writing. I experienced a lot of conflict,
but I did find myself wishing that he had been happy in the overall
sense with his life. That is something I wished I had known. And even
though my assessment of our relationship was kind of like he was
Frankenstein, and I was seen as a monster-child, and the reason he
wasn't speaking to me (and as the leadership of the family he at the
very least unconsciously influenced all the other members) was that
he realized it would be better for everyone if I killed myself - I
still wished for him a happy, fulfilling life, that the good had
outweighed the bad.
He told my siblings of his illness, but not me, so it seems possible
that he either thought they'd pass the info on (they didn't), or that
he didn't consider me one of the family.
I don't really feel like a member of the family, and haven't for a
long time.
This death more than any other family death made the reality of death,
seem real. I am not sure how I want to express this. But I went
through my memories of my father and family, I spent a lot of time
questioning myself about what I really felt and I thought about who
my father really was. I thought a lot about death, I thought a lot
about my life, and the reality of my own death, and how unhappy I've
been, and it seemed unfair, and I really badly wanted to have at
least a few moments of happiness or connection, and I felt that I
deserved at least that.So, I made the death all about me? The thing
is that I was excluded. I was excluded by everyone. And I was not
allowed to complain. It was like I was supposed to understand that I
'deserved' this treatment, that through my actions I had brought it
on myself, or I was supposed to know somehow telepathically that
people were angry, or were afraid of disrupting me, or something, and
that I was not allowed to ask anyone about it. If I tried to bring it
up, I was ignored, which would send the message to me that my
questions or comments were not to be dignified with a
response.
There is one member of the family who did respond to my questions,
and who through the last few years has made an effort to communicate
in a real way. One person can only do so much, and I want to make it
clear that this is not about him.
The truth is that I felt angry with my family, and my father. I felt
I had been treated as if I were subhuman. I realize this treatment
had to do with unconscious family prejudice, and societal prejudice,
and each member also facing peer prejudice/pressure, and I also
realize why no one else would have seen it that way.
Some topics just seem to be off-limits. For example, when in email I
tried to explain that I wasn't a Christian, and that I'd prefer not
to receive certain messages, I thought I did it considerately, and
that I left the discussion open. The problem I had was not really the
religion itself, but how it was being used. There seemed to be a
common theme that if you are unhappy in your life, unloved, etc, it
is because you need to work on your relationship with Jesus. I would
have been willing to discuss it from this angle: even if I am not a
Christian, I can adopt some Christian ideas related to how
to treat others. In discussing things that bother me, I am in a sense
treating others how I wish to be treated. I am trying not to assume I
know what other people are thinking or that it is impossible for
either of us to see more sides to any situation. But when I tried to
open this discussion, I was completely ignored, and never received
another email from the person I tried to discuss it with.
I do understand that many people find my long and/or serious emails
overwhelming, and I do accept that I might not ever know for sure how
they were taken. However, I do sometimes think that even when people
say they accept me, they don't.
I have lived permanently in Australia since 2000. In that time, 3
family members have died: my paternal grandmother, maternal
grandfather, and my father. There have also been a few other
significant deaths. On a couple of occasions, I received a notice a
few days after a funeral took place, but in some cases I was not
notified of a death. I had not received notice of illness or death on
the day of death or when anyone was ill. What is this about? Is it
that I am not really considered part of the family? Is it that nobody
is comfortable enough with email to use that format? Are people angry
with me or punishing me in some way? And if so, how can I even find
out why if they won't answer when I ask?
If it seems unfair for me to discuss family history on my website. I
do agree that it would have been better if I could have discussed
things with individual members in private. However, through the
years, everyone brushed me off, and I could not resolve the issues on
my own. That is ultimately why some of that subject matter is online.
I put it out there, knowing my memory might be off on some things,
but to make it possible that people could contact me and discuss it
all with me. I had no other options left. And I couldn't just get
over it all.
It might seem like I lack emotion, but in part that might relate to
having my actual feelings discounted or dismissed as dramatic or not
real. When it goes on for long enough, maybe the natural outcome is
that people lose a sense of what they feel because they have been
told what they feel is wrong or isn't relevant.
I do understand that all of my messiness might be hard on others, and
that for their own survival it is best to keep clear of me and not be
drawn into all this. While I do understand, at the same time I can't
be quiet for everyone else's sake. I think what I'm writing and
expressing actually is for the good of the family, in the long run.
It is difficult for me that others can't seem to see it. Those
outside the family reading this might assume that what I'm leaving
out is some horrible behaviour on my part. Owing family members tons
of money, destroying property, putting kids in danger, or
irresponsible/destructive behaviour when drunk or in a psychotic
phase.. but there is really nothing like that, and when it comes to
behaviour they observed with my ex they might judge me for - there is
no way they could know the truth of that situation because my ex was
not communicative enough. I was for the most part ignored, for years,
and as far as mental illness is concerned, I was pretty convenient.
My crime is, as far as I can see, breaking the rules of The Quiet
Game.
How much of my website is a betrayal of my family and others I have
known? Was it necessary to communicate what I did? If I didn't say
it, it would have remained buried. But has it helped me? It seems
like I have driven everyone away. Is it time for me to accept that I
gave it a shot, but NO ONE relates to me, likes me or wants further
contact, or that further contact will only bring them down? So, my
original instinct, to always destroy and delete everything, including
myself, was better? If I had never posted to a.s.h, and never flown
to Australia to meet GK, where would I be right now? I seriously
doubt that communication with my family would have been better.
In a larger sense, that feeling carries over into every other area. I
gave it a shot on my website, I gave it a shot various places online,
and in one way or another, the pattern seems to be the same
everywhere? I really try to communicate, but the authentic outcome is
frustrating, for all. I either have to change myself to fit the
world, find another corner where I fit better, or leave altogether.
What's the most realistic solution?
It is difficult to work out if it's 'important' to keep trying to
communicate, even when I think no one cares. What if what I'm saying
needs to be seen, that is relevant to the situation, and family, as a
whole? Maybe everything in this article is something I've said
before, but should I say it again?
Part of being silent seems to be about waiting for the other person
to 'attack' - and then the other party will feel justified in finally
saying what they think, letting the judgments rip, or intensifying
the commitment to the silent treatment. My approach to this through
the years has been to see outside this pattern, and be the one to
absorb the insult and try to elevate the situation. But in the
passive-aggressive universe, silence in itself is a kind of 'goad'.
If I were to have lost it, there would have been no chance for a real
reconciliation. I went to the very foundation of what I thought I
wanted, I tried to face it, and to offer the relevant info, to at
least make it possible.
Perhaps it's a fine line.. maybe in time I will continue to be seen
as a horrible family embarrassment, or perhaps there will eventually
be descendants who see even if I'm an oddity, or whatever, it's like
I'm 'different' enough to stand out, when people are looking for
something interesting in their backgrounds, something that makes them
feel their history is less boring.
The pattern is so predictable that I am at a place where I don't see
the point of bothering to put things out there 'one last time'. Maybe
this is who I am, maybe this is all I can be, maybe I should just
stop fighting, or trying to explain anything, and quietly go away and
stay drunk until I die.
But it will nag at me. And I know that once I get something uploaded
to my site, I will feel at first maybe scared, and that maybe it's
good to be scared, but also a bit relieved or as if pressure has been
relieved, and then after a bit of time has passed, I will feel maybe
an alternative 'sense of accomplishment' to see that my site is still
here, and that I have added something new to it, something that is
maybe not saying anything so new, but that this is my way of taking a
walk around the neighbourhood, or getting a haircut and keeping
going. But underneath that, it is like I can see that I am trying to
build something, starting with the foundation, trying to examine the
ground and conditions and materials, factoring in what I know about
architecture and engineering and sustainability, and that until I get
that combination right, until these fundamental issues are resolved,
the rest of the building can't realistically be expected to stand and
persevere.
For me, none of this is a game. I'm still trying to make
communication possible, but I think I understand why my methods don't
work with family members. I realize that they must do their best to
survive, and I really don't want to bring them down or contribute
intense stress to their lives. At the same time, I hope they can
understand that I need to write, I need to express, in order to help
myself.
->exile on meme st: a diary
->xesce.net
