Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped at the bottom of an endless well of powerlessness, staring upwards towards a pinhole of light with a never-ending hope that only blinds me in the darkness. Accepting powerlessness is supposed to be a good thing for us, it’s supposed to set you free, heal you, lead you to God. It’s the first thing they teach addicts and alcoholics… the first step to overcoming your demons is admitting you’re powerless. But somehow my powerlessness doesn’t feel like any of those things.
When I was a child, I watched the familial dramas unfold from a distance. Even if it was something I felt passionate about, I never seemed to be involved. And now, I can’t escape it. I know what I would have to do to get out: I would have to not care. But, I do care, it’s supposed to be my family. Somehow I’ve found myself in an entire family full of people who do really malicious things to one another (and me) and then pretend it never happened. Some things are subjective. People always have different impressions or opinions about situations, but purposefully malicious hatred, gossip and lies are just black and white. It’s plain evil, and I may not carry around in my heart with resentment every day anymore, but I sure don’t know forgiveness for it.
So, here I am after 10 years of it, delicately sidestepping the majority by isolating myself from it. When my Grandmother died, my family wouldn’t even call me to tell me. When someone from my family finally called me, the conversation was more about how I had found out on facebook and they felt bad, and about what a horrible person I was for making the decisions I had made to keep away. I didn’t attend her funeral in order to keep myself safely away from it. Still, it hurts you no matter how hard you try not to let it.
Now her sister has died and I have to go to the funeral because she wanted my husband to be a pallbearer. It’s really an honor. It means a lot. So, I’ll buy a new dress, and go sit amongst the people who believe that my grandfather was a horrible person that deserved to suffer his horrible illness and said so, who felt righteous in threatening to kill my mother and then sue her, the ones who called me a thief and the ones who listened in agreement as it was said, and all of the people who think that the ones that did those things are all just peachy. I’ll sit by myself and try to mourn a lady who was really nice to me, even though she believed that I took everything that was once her mothers for myself. I’ll offer up my condolences, and my friendship, and just sit in the judgements of spite and hate and jealousy… and the powerlessness of not being able to defend myself or the truth.