Friday disorder
Tonight I did something for the first time: I went to a support group for depression. Well, I actually had to attend the "newcomers" group, which includes depression and bipolar disorder. Next time I would be able to attend the group for depression. I learned that the facilitators of the different groups are not therapists, psychiatrists, or social workers, but rather just people who suffer the disorders themselves. Our facilitator wore cargo shorts and among his many tattoos sported the numbers "666" on the back of his hand. Not really exactly what I think is appropriate as a first impression. After telling us all about the organization's history, purpose, and activities (all of which is on the web site and also in the handouts we all received upon arrival), he then regaled us with the highlights of his own history. On the rare occasion that one of the four group "participants" said something, he answered with another extended excerpt from his own life. Not really what I think is appropriate for a facilitator. I was having a tough time not just walking out.
Before that I had had my own therapy, in which we talked about good stuff but I didn't bring up something that is foremost on my mind. For the first time, I emailed my father that I found his wife sometimes overwhelming and draining. This was in the context of not wanting to have brunch with them and her kids, who are visiting. I've been very depressed lately and told him I wasn't up for crowds. Then he wrote back that I should force myself to get out, and I wrote back the stuff about his wife B.
It's not exactly news. Before they were an item - when my parents and her and her husband were all still together and good family friends, and I had to spend holidays with them along with my own family when visiting from college - I would always rant to my father about how much she drove me crazy, how she never stopped talking, how annoying she was, how obnoxious. Daddy would always laugh.
When he was see-sawing between leaving my mother for B and staying with my mother out of a sense of obligation, he would call me nearly every day, asking me whether my younger sister would still love him if he left. Whether she would forgive him. Whether she would understand, still talk to him. He never asked me how I felt about it. He never acknowledged that this was the woman I loathed. And he's never acknowledged it in the many years since - that I may have any feelings about her whatsoever, except for positive ones, I guess.
So when I emailed that about B., I was anxious about what he might respond, and hoping that he might express some understanding. I've been doing my damndest for over a decade to hide how I feel about her. I've asked my therapist, my sister, family friends, my own friends whether there was any way I could tell my father how I felt so that he wouldn't always assume I wanted to spend time with both of them. Everyone always advised against it. I think I've believed, deep down, that if I let him know how I feel about her, that he would reject me. Her or me. So I've been doing my best to keep up the game. I resent that he conveniently forgot all the things I would say to him about her once he decided to spend his remaining life with her. I think that somewhere he does know how I feel about her, but he expects me not to feel that way.
He responded, "Sorry you find B so overwhelming."
I feel betrayed. Way before there was her and him, there was me and him. I'm not asking him to change his feelings about her, just acknowledge mine.
gertrude
Before that I had had my own therapy, in which we talked about good stuff but I didn't bring up something that is foremost on my mind. For the first time, I emailed my father that I found his wife sometimes overwhelming and draining. This was in the context of not wanting to have brunch with them and her kids, who are visiting. I've been very depressed lately and told him I wasn't up for crowds. Then he wrote back that I should force myself to get out, and I wrote back the stuff about his wife B.
It's not exactly news. Before they were an item - when my parents and her and her husband were all still together and good family friends, and I had to spend holidays with them along with my own family when visiting from college - I would always rant to my father about how much she drove me crazy, how she never stopped talking, how annoying she was, how obnoxious. Daddy would always laugh.
When he was see-sawing between leaving my mother for B and staying with my mother out of a sense of obligation, he would call me nearly every day, asking me whether my younger sister would still love him if he left. Whether she would forgive him. Whether she would understand, still talk to him. He never asked me how I felt about it. He never acknowledged that this was the woman I loathed. And he's never acknowledged it in the many years since - that I may have any feelings about her whatsoever, except for positive ones, I guess.
So when I emailed that about B., I was anxious about what he might respond, and hoping that he might express some understanding. I've been doing my damndest for over a decade to hide how I feel about her. I've asked my therapist, my sister, family friends, my own friends whether there was any way I could tell my father how I felt so that he wouldn't always assume I wanted to spend time with both of them. Everyone always advised against it. I think I've believed, deep down, that if I let him know how I feel about her, that he would reject me. Her or me. So I've been doing my best to keep up the game. I resent that he conveniently forgot all the things I would say to him about her once he decided to spend his remaining life with her. I think that somewhere he does know how I feel about her, but he expects me not to feel that way.
He responded, "Sorry you find B so overwhelming."
I feel betrayed. Way before there was her and him, there was me and him. I'm not asking him to change his feelings about her, just acknowledge mine.
gertrude
posted by Gertrude at 9:48 PM
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