January - Thursday/Friday
1560 Words
20/01/2020 - 21/01/2020
People are different and yet they are the same.
This was a statement my mother would always tell me when I was younger and having trouble making friends.
(I still have trouble making friends)
I can proudly say that as time goes on, I learn more and more how true this lesson is.
But the the first time Mother had told me the lesson, I had had no idea what she was talking about.
How could people be different and the same at the same time?!
It made no sense!
Mother had said that it was a lesson you could only learn with time and experience.
Regardless, I had asked her what she meant.
Mother had said that when you paid enough attention and were around enough diverse people, you started to find out that everybody was different and yet, everyone seemed to have the same ideas, wants, desires and needs to some extent.
She had said that highly sensitive people and Psychopaths noticed the same thing, and that was why Psychopaths were so good at hiding themselves.
I had asked her whether she knew any Psychopaths.
Mother had replied that her uncle was a Psychopath and that the institution where she worked had a few.
I had asked what they were like.
Mother had replied that to almost everyone else they seemed normal.
You couldn't look at a Psychopath and immediately know if they were one or not.
She told me that Psychopaths were manipulative, apathetic and were very good at lying.
They knew what to say and when to say it so that they could get what they wanted.
She said it was this manipulative attitude and keen awareness for things that revolved around themselves, that made it easy for them to make friends wherever they were.
I suppose Mother had wanted to warn me of the dangers of the world, but the only thing that had stuck with me was the initial lesson regarding people and the fact that her uncle was a Psychopath.
Mother never really mentioned her family.
From a young age I had learned that it was a sore subject.
It had been strange to live in a household with parents who were so completely different that even their backstories had seemed like they were from two opposite dimensions.
My father never went a day without mentioning his family back in Russia, while Mother always ignored questions regarding her family entirely.
I suppose I can't blame her for avoiding the subject.
Mother had been disowned by her parents and all her siblings had practically abandoned her.
All this because she had loved a man that her parents had disliked.
From time to time, I ask my mother whether she regretted her decision.
She would always give me the softest smile and she would say that she doesn't and would never regret anything she had done in her younger years since it had led to my being born.
I see now why Jeremiah has always taken a liking to my mother.
They are both so cheesy its ridiculous.
I am grateful for the sincerity though.
The only person from my mother's family that I had ever been in contact with for more than a short (rather snooty) phone call, is her younger sister, Elizabeth.
Auntie Elizabeth was a carbon copy of my mother.
They had the same pale complexion (though Mother seems to be paler than usual these days).
They had the same pale blonde hair (Mother's hair is short these days).
They had the same sincere hazel eyes.
Mother had said that Auntie Elizabeth had been the only in her family who had come to visit me when I had been a baby, or at all actually.
Auntie Elizabeth had visited us a few times in my life.
She had visited when I was a newborn baby, when I turned four, when Mother and Father divorced, and when I had turned eleven.
She also tended to call at least twice in three months.
I could tell that Auntie Elizabeth had meant a lot to my Mother.
Auntie Elizabeth had once mentioned that she and my mother had been the closest in the family, but they were not each other's favourites.
Auntie Elizabeth had mentioned that Mother's favourite family member had been their 'Psycho' uncle.
Mother would usually tell Auntie Elizabeth to stop talking about their uncle and then they would ask each other about life and such.
And of course, a visit wouldn't go by where Auntie Elizabeth didn't tell me that I had been named after her (the Russian version for Elizabeth is Lizabeta if you haven't already noticed).
Auntie Elizabeth was kind, but obviously had a life (she is married and has three children. THREE! That I have never met.) and could not visit us as much Mother and I would have liked.
Now, with all this information you can somewhat understand my emotions when my Mother had come home that evening with the most conflicted expression on her face and Auntie Elizabeth standing behind her.
David had schooled his expression to one of polite curiosity, but I knew he was livid.
Not only had Mother come home late, she had come home with an unplanned visitor he probably didn't know.
David had asked who our guest was and Mother had replied saying, "This is my sister. She won't be staying long, David. I promise."
David had simply grunted and headed upstairs for bed.
Klara and Odette had decided to stay to meet Auntie Elizabeth.
When Auntie Elizabeth came into the house, she instantly engulfed me in a huge bear hug.
She exclaimed that it was so good to see me and that she hated how long it had been since her last visit.
She also greeted both Klara and Odette who looked very confused.
I had asked why Auntie Elizabeth was here instead of France and she replied saying that she and her family had just moved to Quebec.
"Isn't it amazing?!", Auntie Elizabeth had exclaimed, "We all get to spend so much time together."
While the prospect of being with family had always been a comfort to me, the prospect of being in an unfamiliar environment with unfamiliar people only brought on anxiety that often trumped comfort of any sort.
Now I know what you're thinking (you're an inanimate object, you can't think), they are my family and I should give them a chance.
I know that, but I have never met or been in contact with any of the family members on my mother's side, besides Auntie Elizabeth.
To me, they are all just strangers who dislike me and happen to be related to me.
I didn't know what or what not to talk about with any of them.
I didn't know their preferences.
I didn't know their names.
I knew nothing about them.
The thought of having to interact with them at all while knowing so little, yet being obligated to know a lot made panic flare in my chest.
I was petrified.
I hated going into situations where I knew nothing.
Especially situations regarding people.
Mother had asked me whether I was okay.
I was not okay, but I replied that I was.
Both Klara and Odette had glanced at me suspiciously.
I told Auntie Elizabeth that I was excited to meet my cousins for the first time and I noticed my mother frown.
I obviously hadn't fooled her.
As promised, Auntie Elizabeth had not stayed long and after just fifteen minutes, she left for home.
Klara and Odette headed upstairs for bed and I moved to follow their example, but my mother had asked me to stay behind for a bit.
My chest seemed to tighten at the thought of having a conversation on meeting Auntie Elizabeth's family.
"You are going to meet them," My mother had said firmly, "They are your family."
I replied that they didn't feel like family since I had barely ever heard of them.
My mother had flinched and it was only then that I had realized that I had used a rather biting tone.
My guilt was short-lived and instead it was instead replaced by panic.
My chest tightened even more, my eyesight became blurry with unshed tears and my breathing became erratic.
I remember my mother saying something before I ran up the stairs and to my room.
I had locked the door and and flopped onto my bed.
I screamed into my pillow multiple times and I didn't care when someone (probably David) told me to keep quiet.
I screamed and cried, until I had no more energy to do so.
I then laid in bed doing nothing but stare out of the window beside me.
The view was nice.
The stars were not as visible as I would have hoped, but it was okay.
I vaguely recall Jeremiah sending me a text asking if I wanted to stay over at his house on Friday afternoon.
I did not reply.
My father had also sent me a few texts to ask if I was alright.
I did not reply.
My mother had sent me a text apologizing for imposing and making me feel uncomfortable.
I did not reply.
I refused to reply in fear of saying the wrong thing.
I hated it when I was like this.
I was either too aggressive or too emotionless to deal with anyone.
I almost always said the wrong thing.
I didn't want to risk it.
All I wanted to do was lay in bed and disappear.
Preferably forever.
My wishes did not come true.
And this is how I find myself writing in you, dearest Journal, at 02:34 on an early Friday morning.
My hand is aching from writing in such position, but I could barely care at all.
My emotions have been thoroughly spent for the day.
Whatever other bad things happen today, I hope it will at least be somewhat amusing.
-L.V
- Writer
