Not my fault

Living with a crazymaker

Not once in over 40 years did I hear the words “ I am sorry”.

But constantly “ It is your fault”

It is your fault because you didn’t wake me up

It is your fault because you didn’t remind me

It is your fault because you talked to me

It is your fault because you rushed me

It is your fault, because it is your fault….

 

Not once in over 40 years did I hear any “ Well done, thank you”

Mostly lack of any acknowledgment prevails, but often enough “Why?”

Why did you do this?

Why did you not do this?

Why did you do this this way?

Why didn’t you do this that way?

Why did you choose this?

Why did you not choose that?

 

For over 40 years a constant challenge and questioning of my beliefs, choices, likes and do’s as well as family and friends.

 

Then come the unprompted verbal attacks where victory flag is my sulk or anger. Or the untimely lectures when locked in the car of even in bed.

But it can morph into deafening and lasting silence, for me to backtrack as to what I did that could have triggered it. This time the reward being, God forbid, asking loudly or silently “ What did I do?”

 

And the blind spots, like a house transformed into a kennel, where dogs take precedence over people and cannot be wrong.

 

And the illusive life on the net until the small hours, where all people are nice, like each other, comment politely, friend and un-friend themselves in an illusion of frozen smiles, ticks, tags and measured in friend numbers. Against a reality  of family members challenged, in turn, one by one, until they rebuff and get parked in the doghouse, the remaining ones being favoured and used as a crutch by fear of ending up alone.

 

However there are also nice cards with words written by others for the ones that cannot be said, for the feelings that cannot be expressed and there are great presents to patch over cracked relations.

 

And, indeed, there are lovely times too, for what they are and last, until crazymaker comes out again.