"A Matter of Respect"

As I write this entry, I am listening to "Father Lucifer" by Tori Amos off of her Boys for Pele album.

Last night my mother had a jewelry party at her house and I decided to stay there overnight afterward. My parents both had to work during the day today, so that left me alone with my aunt who was visiting. It is not a good idea to be around my aunt when no one else is home. She becomes incredibly bossy, telling me exactly what to do and how I am not doing things up to par.

My aunt must get some sort of kick out of bossing me around, and the fact that I usually just let her do it. Reason being, if I tried to not do what she was telling me to do, she'd give me a really difficult time and there would be a big fight. It's not what she had me do today, it's the reaction I got following it. She is a perfectionist, and my completed work was not up to her standards. In fact, she had the actual nerve to accuse me of being disrespectful to my mother because I didn't do a good enough job. That is somewhere no one should go. She started lecturing me, repeating: "it's a matter of respect." At that point I thought to myself about what Jeanne would recommend to do in that situation, and so I took off. I left the house as quickly as possible. The sick thing is that before I showed any signs of intending to depart, she asked me what was wrong. I didn't respond because I knew it would just start a fight. The easiest and nicest thing she could have done at that point was to say: "I'm sorry if I upset you" and let everything go.

Luckily for me, my aunt was still in her nightgown and robe, so she could not chase me on my way out to my car. There's been a history of her chasing me. How f^&%'d up was my grandparents' household with my mom, aunt, and uncle growing up. My grandparents, though very very nice to me and my sister, had to have been different to my mom, aunt, and uncle. You know, my uncle Steven, whom I mentioned in my last entry, had undifferentiated schizophrenia and committed suicide. Well, I get the feeling that he was the most sane one of the three. My aunt and my mom are so complex and bizarre, and happen to fool most everyone but me, my sister, and my dad. I am the least fooled though, and so they scare me. My psychologist that I was seeing about nine years ago told me that he could not figure out what was wrong with my mom. My mom actually came to a session with me and my psychologist could not get through to her. Her attitude in the office was as if the whole thing were a joke, and she kept laughing nervously. He told me that if I ever figured out what the deal was, that I should call him immediately. I haven't called him.

After reading this blog entry, and some of my earlier ones, it might seem as though I have been disrespectful to my family. This blog is my venting outlet and they shall never find out about it. In person with them, I am mostly respectful. But when it comes to my therapy and/or my venting, I need to complain. After all, I am sure they have called me 'crazy' and 'psychotic' behind my back more than once. So I suppose we're even.