WHY MUST WE ACT LIKE THE WORLD IS ENDING WHEN TWO SIBLINGS ARE NOT CLOSE AND DON'T GET ALONG.
WHY CAN'T WE JUST ACCEPT THAT SOMETIMES TWO SISTERS TOLERATE EACH OTHER AND THAT IS THE EXTENT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP.
WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SECRET AND PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE.
SO MUCH BULLSHIT RIGHT NOW.
I went downstairs to get a glass of water and Hazel asked me to sit with her and watch ET for a while. So I did. I love her and she's adorable. Then, when my cell phone alarm started going off, I told her I had to go back upstairs.
Sage: What are you doing are you going to work?
Sage recently got a new job that allows her to work at home most days. She makes fucking $14 an hour and it is eternally infuriating.
Me:... Not until 4, but I have some paperwork and stuff to fill out.
Sage: Well could you maybe fill it out down here?
Me:...
Sage: You know. So you can keep an eye on Hazel.
Me:...
Sage: You know, so I don't have to interrupt my work. Cause I'm making money.
Me: You don't have to guilt me into it, Sage. You could just ask.
Sage: I wasn't guilting you or anything like that!
Me:...
Sage: You know what just forget it.
Me: I didn't say anything!
Sage: No forget it!
I AM NOT YOUR LIVE IN BABYSITTER. IF YOU WANT ME TO WATCH HAZEL, JUST FUCKING ASK ME LIKE A GROWN UP. ASK ME TO DO YOU A FAVOR. DON'T PRETEND I OWE YOU SOMETHING.
I DON'T OWE YOU ANYTHING.
My sister's perfume is so fucking strong that she got ready and sprayed it UPSTAIRS and I'm DOWNSTAIRS and it's already given me a headache.
Oh and she's also gone out to smoke a cigarette twice in the last half hour.
PLEASE JUST LEAVE SAGE.
We all know you're going to hang out with your verbally abusive ex-boyfriend. It's not a fucking secret and you're an idiot for doing it.
But you know what?
You're 26 years old. You've got a kid. And you needing to grow up isn't my fucking problem. Now get out and take your repulsive perfume with you.
I've got fanfiction to write.
Just finished A Study in Pink and The Great Game with my aunt.
I swear to god the woman cares more about Sherlock and John's sexuality than Tumblr does.
"Oh no they're not making Sherlock gay are they? Cause the real Sherlock isn't gay. And Arthur Conan Doyle would have a fit."
"Please tell me they don't sleep together."
"Sherlock isn't gay!"
And when John said 'it's all fine' do you want to know what her response was?
"No it's not! It's not fine!"
And I still felt some of that stomach turning fear and pain
But mostly I was just pissed.
Why the fuck does she care so much if Sherlock Holmes is fucking gay or not???? Literally, why would that matter? Why would that change anything? It WOULDN'T.
I feared this happening for the longest time. I didn't want to be around my aunt Grace because I didn't want to become disillusioned with her. She helped raise me when I was younger. She clung to me when Frank died and I never wanted to lose the image of her that had been stuck in my head since youth.
But now it's gone. It's gone and I'm kind of glad.
Eventually I said to her, when she asked for the umpteenth time if they were making Sherlock gay,
"No. He's not gay. John was just saying that if he were gay it wouldn't be a problem. You know, they don't know each other. They've just met. They're gonna be flatmates. He just wants to make sure Sherlock knows he'd be fine living with a gay man. That's it."
And then she mostly shut up. But still. A part of me just wanted to jump up onto my chair and scream at her. A part of me wanted to tell her that her behavior and her prejudices are far more disgusting that homosexuality could ever be -- especially given that it's a natural fucking thing that has been happening literally since humans first spawned all those years ago. Although, let's be real here, any mention of evolution would probably send her into a similar tizzy.
I mentioned "adaptation" earlier today in response to her wondering why the geese here no longer fly north in the Summer and I thought she was gonna explode.
Thankfully she just shut her mouth and we continued to talk. I continued to listen to the same old stories about Uncle Frank and my sisters and my father and when she took care of me when I was a baby.
She asked me about what movies and music I liked.
She was shocked when I had bands like Journey and Queen and Foreigner listed among the likes of Tilly and The Wall, Ben Folds, and The Cardigans. She doesn't know me. She hasn't known me since I was about eight and that's not my problem. It isn't my responsibility to make her like me. It certainly isn't my responsibility to have a relationship with her if I don't want to. And I see that now. I'm seeing it for the first time.
It's taken me so long to fully accept that the people I share my genetic makeup with don't have to be my family. And they aren't. They really aren't.
I don't wish that Aunt Grace and I had a better relationship.
I wish Aunt Grace was a different person.
And that's not happening anytime soon.
She's said so many off color things today.
"You're so agreeable, Tori. 'Yes, yes, yes' all the time. You sound like a Mexican."
"Wait, so season 1 of Sherlock ends like that!? Well that's what you get for having socialist television."
I wanted to punch her in the face.
I wanted to flip the lights on, dance around the room, and sing "I like girls and I'd like to marry one some day and not a boy and also work for the BBC because their socialist television produces far less unbiased news and better programs than the television in Ameriiiicaaaaaaaaa! Oh also your racial stereotyping is completely and utterly offensiveeeee."
And after singing this song I would have thrown open her front doors and let a huge gay pride parade stomp around on all of her nice, expensive things!
And after they'd sufficiently destroyed her beautiful lake house I would have screamed, "GO BACK TO HIGHLAND PARK YOU IGNORANT TWAT."
Maybe then she would have understood what her forcing her viewpoint down my throat feels like. Maybe then she should have gotten it.
But I doubt it. And that's fine. I'm realizing just how fucking fine that is. I hope she's happy with her choices. I hope, when it finally makes its way down the family grapevine that I'm queerer than a bat in the day time, she understand how much she's missing out on by not wanting to be a part of my life.
Because I would love to be close to her.
I would love to be her niece.
If she'd let me.
But she won't.
And that's her loss.
So fuck off you bigoted upper class piece of shit.
I'm your fabulous, gay, atheist, liberal niece.
And I won't change for you.
There is nothing wrong with me.
I found myself whispering this as my Aunt retired to her bedroom for the evening.
As I've mentioned before, Grace is a huge movie/tv/literature buff and she absolutely LOVES Sherlock Holmes. So I popped in the first Season of Sherlock and we started to watch.
She made comments about all of the canon references and adored Cumberbatch and Freeman. She talked about how the set for 221 B was modern yet still victorian and I wanted to jump up and down and shout "Yes! It is! And they meant it to be! And you appreciate that! GAH!"
And everything was going well.
Until it wasn't.
Sherlock and John arrived at the crime scene. Sherlock asked John if he'd gotten anything wrong in the deduction. John revealed that "Harry" was short for "Harriet." This of course meant that Harriet and Clara were married.
"Wait, so she's gay?" Grace asked.
"Yep!" I said, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
"Ugh! Creepy!" She said.
Creepy? I thought. All of my organs sank to the bottom of my gut like stones. I tried to focus on the episode. I tried to focus on the humor and the acting and the cinematography.
All of these shots follow the rule of thirds.
Creepy? She thinks...
The way Martin props up his leg there is a perfect manifestation of John's "injury."
Is that what she'd say to me if I told her... Creepy?
That shift in Benedict's body language is impressive.
There is nothing wrong with me.
I thought I was going to throw up. And there was this third voice pounding away at the back of my skull. It told me to stop being stupid. It told me I was dumb for getting upset over a little comment. It told me my hurt feelings weren't valid.
In the dark of my aunt's large media room I tried not the cry. I could feel the tears well up. I pushed them back. Stop being stupid. Stop. Stop.
"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic."
"I'm not his date!"
Sherlock and John were at Angelo's. I knew what conversation was coming. I knew that I would have to sit through John telling Sherlock that him having a boyfriend would be "fine." I didn't want to hear Grace's response to that. I didn't want to here her make jibes at a line that gives me so much comfort and strength.
It's all fine.
I repeated the line in my head a few times.
"Why do people keep thinking they're gay?" Grace asked. I couldn't help but hear the accusation in her tone. Like it was a bad thing. An annoying terrible thing.
It was coming. The conversation was coming. I tensed in my seat. I hadn't thought about this. I didn't want this.
"I gotta go to bed sweetie. We can finish this up tomorrow."
I released a long sigh. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. I didn't know whether to feel relieved or not. She stopped the DVD, said goodnight, and left. She closed off my wing of the house (yes I have a whole wing) as she went, telling me to make myself at home.
I was sick to my stomach. I was shaking. I was on the verge of tears and she wanted me to make myself at home. That was an impossible task. I texted a friend. I had to tell someone. Chandler assured me that her comments were ignorant and that I had every right to be upset. I felt a little better.
I stole a handful of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups from her kitchen in a passive aggressive attempt at payback. I smirked at the thought of writing slash fiction in her precious, conservative home.
And now I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. How I'm supposed to proceed. I love Grace. I wish I could hate her for this, but I love her. She's always been there for me. She's a good person -- she is. I just hate this. The whole thing. I hate that it matters, but it does doesn't it?
Everyone else on my Dad's side of the family could denounce me, outlaw me from family gatherings, berate my parents for supporting me and I would laugh at their stupidity. But Grace is different. Grace doing those same things to me would hurt like the worst sort of burn. There is no aloe vera for this. I don't have an exit strategy. She may not find out this week, but she will find out eventually.
Because hopefully one day I'll meet and fall in love with a wonderful girl. And I will marry her. And I will send off an invitation to my Dear Aunt Grace and hope beyond hope I get an RSVP in return. That day of rejection or acceptance is coming. It's only a matter of time.
And that's terrifying. I'm scared and I'm hurt and I wish the world was a wish granting factory.
It's not.
At the lake house. Grace and I went out to dinner and we had a nice time. I was a little uncomfortable when things strayed to talk about therapy. I know that Grace has dealt a lot with depression, particularly after Frank died, but she has some views about the whole thing that I definitely don't share.
1. She thinks counseling should be faith based. As in Christian. As in not me.
2. She believes that when seeing a therapist you must have "an end game." She basically asked me when I was going to stop seeing my therapist and go off my medication. Which is not how chronic depression works. I likely am going to be seeing a therapist for the rest of my life. That doesn't mean I won't be "making progress." I will be making progress. Lots of progress. I just know realistically that my disease isn't going to disappear. It will mutate and grow as I do. I will have to find new solutions and I'll need a therapist to do that.
Other than that though, things have been good. I'm having an okay time. And my god is this place gorgeous. I've had to dodge a couple questions about boys I'm "interested in," but I did so expertly.
I did flinch a little inside when she told me "when you get married and have children you'll get to bring them down the lake house too."
Because, if I do get married and I have children, we most likely won't, in fact, be welcome at the lake.
But I'm trying not to focus on that.
My aunt's about to pick me up to go to her lake house. Graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
I'm excited because I do like my aunt
and her lake house is more like a lake mcmansion
and it's really peaceful out there so I can get a lot of writing done
but I'm also not excited because I'm just worried about socializing. I'm not allowed to be my whole self with that side of the family. And I'm not just talking about my sexuality. I can't speak openly with them about things. They're very conservative in all senses of the word, you know?
So yeah, while I've gotten much better at being myself around strangers, whenever I have to go back to faking it? I feel like I'm moving backwards. Because I just got over faking it around people who weren't my close friends. I just got over all of that bullshit and am able to come out of my shell now. I'm finally getting an idea of who I really am.
And now I have to shut it away. It's not even that I want to. It's a necessity.
It just sucks. And I feel like I'm being so whiny about the whole thing. I feel like I shouldn't care, that it shouldn't matter. And for the most part I don't care, but with my aunt it's different. Because I want to be close to her and open with her. I wish I could be my self around her. And to know that I can't? It's upsetting.
And maybe it's stupid to be upset about that, but I am.
blargh.
I burnt the first season of Cabin Pressure so we could listen to it on the ride to Athens. She seemed very interested in that so I'm hoping that'll keep us busy for a while. She also is a huge Sherlock Holmes fan and loves the Jeremy Brett Holmes. Her and my late uncle used to be obsessed with the books. So I've brought along Sherlock too.
She's movie buff as well. So I figure she'll appreciate it. I brought Winter's Bone and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy as well -- because they're loooooooooooooong and are also two of the more appropriate films I own. And by "appropriate" I mean "nonsexual and non-vulgar." I thought about bringing Third Star and then I went -- no God the language in that one is pretty raunchy. Plus there's full-frontal male nudity. Thought about bringing Hard Candy and then laughed because there's no way I'm gonna watch THAT with my aunt.
There's just a lot she doesn't know about me. I've been told I'm a very dark person when it comes right down to it and that's not something I put on display for my extended family. I don't talk about my politics. I don't talk about my beliefs. I don't talk about my passions or my sexuality or my interests beyond the surface.
I avoid my family because I don't want them to see any deeper than that. I don't know how long I could keep up the charade if they started to dig.
And that's what makes this trip worry me.
It's only two days, but two days can mean the difference between continuing to sit silently through family functions and hearing my parents attacked for supporting me all while understanding that I'll probably never be allowed to see any of those people again.
It's just fucking stupid. I just don't want to have to deal with it.
Anyway. Grace should be here any second. Better pack up the laptop.
He just came to the door to tell me everything was fixed and show me the pipes and he was super apologetic.
"I'm so sorry about the water, I rang the door bell to try and ask you guys but I guess it didn't ring?"
"Oh no, don't worry about it. Its totally fine. My sister is... yeah."
"...Yeah, well let me show you what I did!"
Gotta love the fact that Sage's personality literally defies definition.
So we've kind of had this massive hole in our front yard for a while because our water pipes were leaking and turning it into a grassy swamp land.
And the guy's finally here to fix it.
And my sister starts complaining because we don't have any water in the house right now and she needs to get Hazel ready for school.
So she walks outside and snottily tells the guy, who is super nice btw, that he needs to turn the water back on.
And it took him literally like, 6 minutes maybe, and Sage was like
"Well I appreciate the effort, but we've got to go now so, thanks anyway."
And i JUST--
There's this part of me that just wanted to stick my head out the door and yell,
"SORRY MY SISTER IS RAGING BITCH! YOU'RE DOING A GREAT JOB! THANKS FOR FIXING OUR SHIT."
I've been in my room all day with my window open to let a breeze through. And instead of yelling up the stairs as he normally does, my dad just walked outside and called up toward my window that "dinner is ready."
I had a bad day...
Why does my family think I have to tell them all about my mental health issues???? Why does that fucking worry them that I don't talk about it with them.
I talk about it with friends. I talk about it occasionally with the internet and I talk about it to MY THERAPIST.
YOU KNOW
THE PERSON I PAY
SO I CAN TALK ABOUT MY MENTAL HEALTH TO THEM
AND THEY CAN HELP
I don't know what my family expects! Particularly what my sisters expect! My sisters have never been my sisters. Jill more so than Sage, but still.
Growing up we didn't hug each other. We didn't tell each other we loved one another. We didn't share secrets or give advice. I was too young for them to care about. They were 5 and 6 years older than me and they had each other.
And I had no one.
I grew up an only child, except I grew up believing my relationship with my sisters was how family was. My friends became my family. My friends became my sisters who I shared things with.
And now my sisters suddenly want relationships with me??? As if they've earned some window into my life???
When? When did they earn that? When they ignored me and left me alone during the financial grief my entire family suffered? When they complained about watching me during the summer I had a fucking psychotic break down at the age of 12?
When in all of that time did they earn the right to give me advice and to help me with my problems? They didn't. And maybe that's why i have such a hard time opening up now. They weren't my sisters. They were strangers I lived with and now?? They're strangers who insist they're my closest friends. They're not. They don't get that privilege They have to earn it like everyone else did: with years of friendship and hard work. And I'm not sure they're willing to do that. Jill is certainly. But not Sage.
I'm just so tired of people wanting me to open up to them, like something's wrong with me. I was an open book for years and it destroyed me. I was an open book when they wanted nothing to do with me. And now I've set boundaries. They have walls separating them from me now and finally, finally, they see. Finally they want to be my sisters.
Well tough shit.
Get in line.
I was eating lunch at Jason's Deli and went to the restroom before my meal arrived. When I went to the sink to wash my hands there was a girl washing her hands at the other basin. She was tall with cropped black hair and wore this awesome trench coat that was corset tied in the back. I was fussing with my hair in the mirror when she turned to me.
"Where did you get your shirt, by the way?" I smiled. It was my "I Don't Have FRRRRRIENDS" shirt.
"Ah, there's this site called redbubble.com. They've got a bunch of awesome shirts."
"Oh!" she said. "I know that site!"
It was quiet for a second and then I, rather inanely, asked, "Do you watch Sherlock?"
"YES," she said immediately. "I'm only on the first season, but I'm on Tumblr, so I've seen it ALL."
"Gotcha," I chuckled. We didn't say anything else and before I could properly think of some way to continue the conversation, I was already back in my seat. She was cute and I thought about walking over to her table and giving her my tumblr URL or possibly even my phone number, but I couldn't quite pluck up the courage.
When I got home this evening I told the story to my mother, after which I proclaimed that I wanted to ask the girl to "be my best friend."
"Or 'go on a date with me'," my mother supplied. I stared at her for a second, just a second, before laughing and agreeing.
My mother and father have been very open and accepting of my sexuality from the beginning, but there definitely has been a learning curve. Both of my older sisters are straight and my parents weren't raised in the open fashion that I was. I've had to instruct my mother on what might be offensive to say to others about the matter. I've had to teach her that my sexuality being what it is doesn't change anything about me or the way my life is going to progress. I remember just after I came out to her having a conversation like this:
"Well," said my mother, "It's not what you dream about for your children."
"... what does that mean?"
"I just mean, I don't know, you want your little girl to get married and walk down the aisle and have children."
"Mom... you realize that all of those things are still possible if I fall in love with a woman right?"
"Huh?"
"Mom gay marriage is a thing now."
"Not in Texas."
"Yeah, well, I'm not going to stay in Texas. Also, by the time I'm ready to get married, I'm hoping America will have made leaps and bounds when it comes to gay rights. I can still have a wedding - a gay wedding! And gay weddings are ALWAYS fabulous. I can still even have children! I can adopt, or my wife and I can use a sperm donor, or a surrogate. Nothing would be different."
So for her to openly suggest I ask a girl out... It just means a lot to me. I've been thinking a lot about my sexuality lately and starting to make a lot of discoveries about myself. I'm starting to think that I'm actually just gay, which I know sounds weird given all of the pictures of Benedict Cumberbatch on my blog, but, honestly, as much as I admire his talent and his beauty and his awesomeness... I don't really think I am sexually attracted to him. Or any guy for that matter. There was always a hollowness in any relationships I had with boys and when I imagine myself with a women that hollowness disappears.
So, in thinking about these things, I've come to the conclusion that I'm probably going to end up with a woman. To know that my mother has really come to embrace this part of who I am... It's just a blessing. I am so blessed.
