I’m making the right decision regarding leaving and ceasing contact with my family.
Today was the day mom had to appear in court to fight our eviction from this trailer park. While I know the panic attacks are associated with that time of the month, I’m in a slight panic. Trying to find jobs, housing, and all other things remotely is scary. We could make a day trips to our previous long distance moves to arrange things, here it has to be done entirely remotely.
Since I’m having so many panic attacks, I asked mom if I could remain at home. I’m not good to anyone if I’m completely panicking over every little thing. I don’t trust myself out in public when I’m like this. (Yes, I know it only enforces the behavior. *sigh*)
So anyway, Poppa calls to ask if mom is ready to be picked up to go to court. He’s completely dismayed when I answer the phone. I do live here, I do kinda of have the right to answer the phone in my own house. I make a remark that “mom is out shredding a few papers” and he’s aghast… outside? Sure, the paper shredder is kept out in a far out remote location and it takes us 7 hours of trekking through deep snow — uphill — in the middle of searing hot sun to shred our credit card offers.
Not long after they leave, I look at the time. The court summons say 1:30pm and it’s 1:30pm and they left only 2 minutes ago. >_< So I pick up the phone and dial his cell phone number. Holy attitude, holy hostility. In face of that kind of gruffness (for a sec I think I may have dialed one of our other friends), I stammer a “Poppa?” Yep, right number. I stammer meekly again pointing out the time and asking if this means we’re in trouble. Attitude. An angry “maybe yes, maybe no.” I sigh, “Sorry for bothering you, won’t happen again” and hang up.
This man, my grandfather — Poppa, used to be my hero. A safe place to fall. He was in the military and into drug enforcement, very scary work and I admired him for it. I told him he was my hero and role model. He was someone I could call if I was scared and needed some reassuring. I’d like to know what happened to him. While I was packing a found a picture of him holding me when I was a baby, us both taking a nap.
At some point, he began to hate me. I can’t identify when or what happened to cause this, but it’s grown until I get hostility when I attempt to contact him. Even without my monthly hormonal-caused panic attacks, just knowing he’ll be dropping by the house causes me to panic. Part of me wants to blame Caroline — my step grandmother; some of the behavior started after he married her almost 15 years ago.
It came to a head when I went away to college and Mom — and later Jasson — followed me north. No matter how it was justified as “he’s just passing a kidney stone” — what was the statistical chance he was passing one each and every time he’s spoken with me for 10 years or so?
I wish there was a way to communicate with them and find out what the exact problem is. But, it’s time for that long vacation away from them. Maybe permanently.
