New  »   Sunshine Jen  ·  Robot Journal  ·  Post-Modern Drunkard  ·  Poop Beetle  ·  Gator Country
i'm a brown recluse, just in time for Christmas

«« past   |   future »»

comments[2]
all comments

post #18
bio: vera
perma-link
12/14/2004
02:36

archives
first post
that week


Santa?

Category List
Dying Young
Good Earth Good Quotes
Life
Santa?
Think About It
Torture. Spies. Dumbass.


Previous Posts
History lessons continue
Friday Night History Lesson
Recommend your favorite poet?
Repeating a rite of passage
Write it over the top she said
Animal House


Favorite Things
drinking
· wines of Oregon
eating
· food I make
listening
· organ blasters
reading
· Fidel Castrol "My Life"
watching
· movies starring Sean Penn



It never has been a good thing that right before Christmas, someone you love dies. This is especially hard if you did not know you painfully loved this person until they permanently withdrew from Earth early. Unbeknownst to me ahead of time, I became very upset by the death of this person because, not only is it a permanent Death of Hope, He's Gone For Ever.

Bottle flu, when running rampantly unattended, can escalate into a serious problem; a 20-year-long problem. He and I knew this together, but he never checked with me first before he did his final checkout. I'm mad at him and I may desecrate his grave by going to the head of his coffin, estimating where his head is and jumping in place there while I scream, "**& &#@@!!** #@&!@." However, it might make more sense to jump in the area of his heart, rather enlarged towards the end, because then he would have some cushioning and thus the jumping wouldn't hurt so much. Or then, maybe I could go ballistic and dig a little hole next to his coffin and bury a segment of my own heart there, since it left with him anyway.

It also never helps matters at Christmastime that families joyously find things to fight about. They seem to glorify in the results of word wars which, in fact, really hurt. "Hey, I have pissed my sister off and she won't speak to me!" "Guess what, I let both barrels loose on her because she has deserved to hear this for 20 years and I don't think she will come for Christmas dinner, after all." (On cue, their little kid yells "whoopee!" since he thinks this is fun, all those video games have him primed.)

My story is an undelicate example of how one person (me) is righteously upset over a death, confidently expecting emotional support from the family, then when it doesn't arrive, the person(ooops) lets some anger out about this, and then the world as this family knew it is devastatingly over, and I mean hell's bells are ringing, I'm stamped with a scarlet letter on both cheeks, and Santa Clause will never come down my chimney again.

It was extremely inconvenient for my family that I didn't know beforehand that I would have a "death" right before Christmas, because I could have announced to the family: Alert! I am going to be upset within the next five days, and I may continue grieving without relief or relent; please shield yourselves from Hurricane Juan because he's erupting—in me. In five days. Beware and take care.

What we learn in hindsight is not what we ever wanted to learn in the first place or we would have learned it in foresight. After (G) died, I checked out of reality for a short 48 hours. Although this was unforgivable in the eyes of my sister, whom I can't name (it's too vulgar), my legs and arms did move during this time, my lips spoke words, I went to and fro about the home and town, and under a rock in the back field, I cried a lot.

There just wasn't any other way to go about handling (G)'s death than succumbing to the grief. I've had classes on grief and what I learned told me that crying, anger, remorse, guilt, sobbing, all that--is very normal and most of the world would agree that it's "okay." (Except for my family.)

It is not a known Christmas crime that when people we care about die, under sudden, alarming circumstances, we fold our tent and crash our canteen. Crying is one of those things we do because we are made to...it releases everything...we have tear ducts...as the tears gush from our eyes and roll down our cheeks, or just spray straight out, they prove that we are real and we feel, that we care, and someone is home inside us even though someone we loved is under us.

After the hate mail died down and the phone calls never did happen (no, not a single family member called me, just overindulged in email because they didn't approve of my angry outburst "why haven't you let me know you care?") I had to find an alternative relief mechanism.

What I found is that I can be a brown recluse spider and my example is one which anyone in same circumstance could use. You just have to be hurt, angry, attacked for who you are when you never knew you were such a problem, dried up from crying, and dead inside all at the same time.

How to be a Brown Recluse in Less Than Five Minutes.

"Brown recluse spiders are...rather secretive in their habits."
(Cry in private. Don't tell anyone you cried. If they ask, say "I am fiiinnne, just dandy." Use your Jim Carrey voice.)

"Brown recluse spiders are...nocturnal spiders that actively attack prey and subdue it with venom." (I was accused of verbally attacking family members, I apologized, it did no good, and now I have to subdue them with venom to make them get off my case so I can get back to my grieving like a normal person.)

"Brown recluse spiders are...found under rocks and in crevices." (They will never look for me under my rock collection nor will they notice me in the crevice outside my back door; they are way too wrathfully incensed to look, so maybe I won't have to get dirty and do this one.) (Save for later.)

"Brown recluse spiders...show prevalence for hiding in boxes which allows them to be transported out of their range by commerce or residential relocation." (A new filing cabinet arrived at my office today and I have reserved the box it came in for my own use. I want to try this idea. I have New Mexico in mind as I don't know a soul there and it's a bone dry climate and Georgia O'Keeffe is one of my favorite artists.)

"Brown recluse spiders...occasionally bite humans." (Consider this a done deal. My family is in great self-declared pain because I lashed out in anger and grief and this inconvenience is unforgivable; next time I see them I will bite them so they are assured that I am truly venomous. They always handle it better when I admit to their accusations.)

"Brown recluse spiders...are rare and almost every collection is that of a single itinerant spider." (So true. My mother, sisters, and their families are only ever going to have one of me. There are no replicas or klones of me available at this time. We can look at it two ways; one, they love this fact that when I am zilcho, I am ilcho, or two, they suck and I want a divorce.)

I am opting for the Christmas divorce.



If you would like to see a picture of what I look like, follow this link.

http://dermatology.cdlib.org/DOJvol5num2/special/recluse.html


«« past   |   future »»