Care package

My mom sent me a care package! She only sends one if someone is coming specifically to this country, because of the costs and what not. That’s not entirely true, but yeah. So, it’s been four years since the last one. This takes the grand total to two.

For the last one, I didn’t really request my pics, so it was mostly food and things like that. This time, I requested my diaries and some pics, plus food items. Amongst the pics she sent, there were two that shouldn’t have been there. The dog I briefly had when I was 14, posing in the picture with the rapist (my neighbor)’s dog. And another one, of me inside that house, holding my puppy. A family portrait can be seen on their table.

She sent like 13-15 pics, so this is no accident. I’m not sure what percentage of my C-PTSD is owed to the lack of support growing up but, furthermore, it’s the constant re-victimization at the hands of my shitty family that, combined, make for 40-60% of my mental illness. Obviously, I need to break my patterns and keep trying to pick myself up from the gutter but…yeah. The only direct relative I talk to anymore does things like this to me.

I know I want a family (as in, a partner I’m married to. Still unsure/unmotivated to have kids), but it’s hard not to crawl back into my shell and not feel like humans are just not worth it when shit like this happens, you know?

Now that I don’t allow her words to come my way frequently, nor do I allow her to speak to me in a shitty manner, she has found a way to be shitty via “care” package. I think it’s a perfect reflection of what growing up in that “family” was like. Rare caring, coupled up with abuse. You could never just get love. You had to be told just how much of an inconvenience you were being.

I’m surprised my attachment style isn’t disorganized. I’m firmly in the insecure category. I guess it’s mildly better than disorganized, but I’m still very much attracted to avoidant men -though that, thankfully, it’s quickly diminishing. I’m getting so fed up with how quickly they move to contempt instead of expressing they’d like some time apart, or anything, really. I want someone that understands that it’s nice, not stressing, to live with someone else, and to be able to easily express affection.

I’m trying myself not to be an emotionally stunted person, and very much trying to stay away -romantically or otherwise- from the same. I know bonding is needed to survive. If they think they somehow are the exception, kudos to them and I’ll try to miss them for a bit when their inevitable extinction comes to pass.

I’m shipping that picture off to a friend’s house. Right now, that list (for me to trust someone with something like this) is only comprised of two people. Whoever responds first, that’s where I’ll send it. I don’t want it here one more second than it has to. If I ever to decide to write a novel about that particular experience of abuse, then I want to be able to describe that apartment and, in that sense, that picture could be of use to me.

I wonder if I ever was truly optimistic or if that came to be as resilience. A self-protective layer against all the shit I get thrown my way regularly. I wish I could feel the way Hannibal does:

As a child, of course I was powerless. But it’s hard for me to feel like my own agent when so many things are put on top of a powerless childhood: racism, sexism, xenophobia, fatphobia. Ageism (which is crazy to experience, considering I’m 34).
Closest I can think of is reading about how to externalize oppression because the fashionable-psychopathic-murderous-psychiatrist route has been taken. Sadly.

But yeah, it’s sad to think that if I were to “eat the rude”, my mom would indeed make the list :/

Self-inefficiently yours,

L.