I saw someone else's thread having to do with being distant from family, and instead of dropping a personal MOAB on her discussion, I figured I'd make my own.
I've been distant from my family, with the exception of my mother, for many years, decades, now. Two older sisters and a passel of nieces and nephews. I used to blame them, but I understand now that if anyone is to blame, it's me, my depression. I removed myself from their lives the same way I removed myself from the rest of the world, because interaction with them, like interaction with everyone else, was too painful for me.
I've had specific moments in my life where I reached a new plateau, or sunk to one, that I've always remembered and they've been transitional points. Nothing would ever be the same after these specific moments on these particular days.
The moment that altered my relationship with my family forever, and ultimately led to it's disintegration, came in my late teens. Though I didn't realize it at the time, I had already been descending into the vortex of depression for years. It was a day like any other that had come before. The whole family was gathered at my sister's house for dinner. There were already a nephew and a niece running around, and it was a boisterous, noisy family gathering same as always. I was sitting in the dining room from where I could see everyone in the kitchen and the living room, and that's when it struck. I looked around at them all in amazement and wonder, thinking, "They're just people..." I had already started to distance myself from others, outside of the family, but they had remained special to me, until that moment. "They're no different from anyone else. They're like everyone else in this world, who I can't understand and who can't understand me."
They of course had no idea that I'd just been struck by lightning and severed from them. The day proceeded normally, everyone else had a nice time. But for me the process of separating myself from them had already begun. I had already started down that road. It didn't happen all at once, it took months, maybe a few years before all of the ties were cut. Cut by me, not them. And for the rest of my life, I've had no family.
It's done and can't be undone. I'm still me. It's been a part of my existence for many years now and I came to terms with it long ago. It is what it is and I accept it.
The only thing that's changed is that now I understand that it was me who did it, not them, and that understanding helps. It's good to put to rest negative feelings about others, especially when those negative feelings are undeserved. We only harm ourselves that way, and the less harm and pain we deliver to ourselves, the better off we are and anyone who comes into contact with us.
My family aren't bad people. Neither am I. We're just people.
I've been distant from my family, with the exception of my mother, for many years, decades, now. Two older sisters and a passel of nieces and nephews. I used to blame them, but I understand now that if anyone is to blame, it's me, my depression. I removed myself from their lives the same way I removed myself from the rest of the world, because interaction with them, like interaction with everyone else, was too painful for me.
I've had specific moments in my life where I reached a new plateau, or sunk to one, that I've always remembered and they've been transitional points. Nothing would ever be the same after these specific moments on these particular days.
The moment that altered my relationship with my family forever, and ultimately led to it's disintegration, came in my late teens. Though I didn't realize it at the time, I had already been descending into the vortex of depression for years. It was a day like any other that had come before. The whole family was gathered at my sister's house for dinner. There were already a nephew and a niece running around, and it was a boisterous, noisy family gathering same as always. I was sitting in the dining room from where I could see everyone in the kitchen and the living room, and that's when it struck. I looked around at them all in amazement and wonder, thinking, "They're just people..." I had already started to distance myself from others, outside of the family, but they had remained special to me, until that moment. "They're no different from anyone else. They're like everyone else in this world, who I can't understand and who can't understand me."
They of course had no idea that I'd just been struck by lightning and severed from them. The day proceeded normally, everyone else had a nice time. But for me the process of separating myself from them had already begun. I had already started down that road. It didn't happen all at once, it took months, maybe a few years before all of the ties were cut. Cut by me, not them. And for the rest of my life, I've had no family.
It's done and can't be undone. I'm still me. It's been a part of my existence for many years now and I came to terms with it long ago. It is what it is and I accept it.
The only thing that's changed is that now I understand that it was me who did it, not them, and that understanding helps. It's good to put to rest negative feelings about others, especially when those negative feelings are undeserved. We only harm ourselves that way, and the less harm and pain we deliver to ourselves, the better off we are and anyone who comes into contact with us.
My family aren't bad people. Neither am I. We're just people.
