Last night, my sister took away the car I use to run errands for my parents, and then threatened to call someone to have me put out of their house as a danger to them.
She later explained all this as her being bad at emotional manipulation. Their goal was to strongarm me into engaging my personal bankrupcy, so apparently an amateur intervention seemed good, threatening to take away what I care about, errands and a bed.
I gave her the keys and chose to walk away. This was not the desired result.
My sister has explained to me that everyone fears me. They fear me for the same reasons others fear me: I see clearly, remember clearly, I am very hard to manipulate, and I am very strong in battle.
Problem is that I have been feared for those reasons since before I was eight, when I hit my father in the breadbasket and he then chose to stay away from me.
My historic defense, as I have said here before, was always a very sharp brain and knowing how to push buttons while I stayed centered. I used these to try to try and control my world by manipulating people around me.
It’s been a while since I pulled that crap, though, somewhere around fifteen years. I came more out, got more centered and learned lessons that God put Christine in my life to teach me.
But there are a few things I hold close. I am stuck here because after spending time falling off the grid — I needed that to let go of desire — I was evicted from my apartment soon after my landlord’s husband saw me as a tranny. I exposed myself to that possibility, sure, by falling off the grid, but it was there. That winter, my parents away, I came to shovel and pick up their mail and slipped on the ice, really messing up my ankle. This put me into large medical debt.
I ended up staying with my parents, sleeping on a couch, and doing the work that needed to be done. I remember crawling along on all fours with the laundry basket because I couldn’t carry it on crutches, my parents watching as I then crawled up the stairs.
The work here was clear and clearly needed, so much more today. But it is work not valued, and I am well, I am feared.
I left last night; walked 7 miles away, then 7 miles back. But that doesn’t mean people cared for anything other than their own comfort. They didn’t try to call until after I called them, didn’t ask where I was and if they could pick me up, didn’t empathize or anything.
Of course, it was because I scare them. Too big, too smart, too overwhelming. They can’t imagine coming into my world, no matter how much they claim to love me; it’s just too queer, too intense, too emotional.
This is all bad family dynamics, me the scapegoat since I was very very little. My father wants to fix it by “sending [me} to a shrink,” as if I am not one of the most therapied people ever. He wants the shrink to fix me so I won’t “hold a grudge.” I invite therapists to read this journal; I suspect they will come away with the same conclusion that other counselors have come to, that I am a challenging person dealing with extroradinarily stressful challenges in a clear way.
My family doesn’t read these blogs; my family finds me too much to handle, no matter how useful I am at eating shit. I suspect that a theraputic professional would tell me to get away from the family dynamic to claim my own life. I only have one, you know, and unless you take it, you lose it.
I sent Rachel my narrative from last night, 16 minutes of messages from me. And I asked her to write a story about “The Girl Everyone Saw As An Ogre.”
You know, if you are seen as an Ogre for long enough — a half century, say — it is easy to believe that there is no way out.
My sister devalued even my last role as a caretaker, later saying that I was good but that she feared the resentment I hold, especially against our mother.
Yeah, there is meaning in what people say. People want the problem that is me to resolve in a way they find comforting. Emotional blackmail is a perfectly reasonable weapon.
It all blew up when it was clear she wasn’t going to listen to me. I told her that she wasn’t safe for me to be around, and then she proved it by attempting massive emotional manipulation.
I know, she probably felt challenged and afraid, pushed into a role she could not handle. But the people who abuse you worst are always the ones who believe that whatever they do, they do “for your own good.” And it is those people who you can’t fight back against, because they do love you even as they act out their own fears and frustrations against you, no matter how much you are left with the scars.
Here is my one bit of advice to you: Never say anything to someone that you wouldn’t write on their head with a Sharpie. Words count and words cut, and most often those words are more about you than you you target them at.
I look at my skin full of scars and it is very easy to believe that no one will ever see me as anything but an orge.