She lives!

It's been one of those days today where nothing seems to get done when, in fact, you have not sat your ass down all day. It's now past five o clock and I'm still wearing what I slept in. Daniel nudes up to do a poop, which made tossing him into the shower easier, but he's still wearing the towel I threw over him-pretty much like one would throw a blanket over a budgie's cage- HOURS ago. At least one of us is clean though, right? And somewhat dressed. I never went to a toga party back in the eighties, but when I found Daniel reclining on the sofa a while back, gnawing on a chicken bone and looking like he fell out of a scene from I, Claudius, I totally wished I had.

Quick update: Nanna isn't dying anymore. She's made a miraculous recovery and her kidneys are all "what failure?". The hoardes of specialists called in to to consult on her case these past weeks concluded it was the radiotherapy that nearly killed her which, are they fucking NEW? NO SHIT is was the radiotherapy. Fuck, I worked that out, weeks ago. Where by "weeks", I mean "the second mum told me nanna's kidneys were failing".

The trip to Sydney wasn't entirely made of suck. Seeing nanna was good, and we had fun between hosptial visits. My uncle Mike was down from Rockhampton,and he drove us places and made sure we all saw things and did things and was generally a great guy. I liked spending time with him because, despite only six years between us, we hardly know each other but I've always had the feeling we were more alike than any of the other freaks I'm blood related to. Daniel LOVED him, and spent the entire time attched to him one way or another. Mike's around six foot four, which helped with the dogs (one little floofy thing that pooped on everything, and one MAJOR Gerkman shephard who was HUGE) and Daniel's fear of, because Daniel literally CLIMBED off me and over to and up to the top of Michael the first time he met the dogs.

Daniel went over well even with my other uncle, the one who hates kids. He and I only ever got along for, like, a year or two year of my life. Once I was hit sixteen, we got along, then once I got sick, I may as well have been dead to him already. Mum told me once that she begged him and BEGGED him to help me (dude is awesome rich)(and also, what kid of retard TELLS their kid that?)(HINT: My mother) and he refused, saying he didn't like my attitude. So there's that. He'd rather I died of my eating disorder than help me because of my attitude.

So anyway, OtherUncle doesn't like kids, and one night Daniel ran into OU's bedroom, the one with the wall sized flat screen. OU was in bed and Daniel hopped up, snuggled up to him, took the remote, pointed it at the tvand announced "LET'S WATCH CARTOONS!". OU didn't set the dogs on him and ended up even talking to him most days, all "And how are you, Daniel?".

My family is so weird though, y'all. Seriously. Seeing them as a bunch of flawed (omg, SO FLAWED) nutcases kind of helped tho, actually, even though it was WAY TOO much like living in the Cuckoo's nest.

And a Hornet's nest too, God. Everyone in my family is angry at me (STILL) for making my mum's life hard because I got anorexia and, according to her so now and forever according to them, did it to hurt her. Or some shit. For twenty something years. I've suspected they had the shits with me for all that time so it was kind of refreshing, albeit v. distressing, to disciver I've been right all along. When Michael told me HE'd been pissed with me forever because of the whole almost dying to annoy mum thing, it hurt. Quite a bit, actually.That HE'D judged me when he's been through a shitload of issues himself, what with the drug addiction and alcoholism, mad eme realise just how much of a criminal I just appear to them, and to have HIM blame me let me know the rest of them must blame me SO MUCH MORE, and must judge me SO MUCH MORE harshly than even he did.

"Did" because he also told him he was seeing the other side of the story during our trip. Let's pause for an Ironic Laugh because I was amazed at how well mum was behaving, and meanwhile Michael was all shocked at how badly she was. "Never seen this side of her", he said. "I get it now". Twenty so years too late though. I could have really used an ally when my life fell apart and no one caught me.

I left after that, because this trip was about nanna more than it was about me saying goodbye to her, and SHE must be pretty pissed at me too, and the last thing she'd want in her dying days would be the one person who's made her daughter's life a misery.

Fun times.

I've been really fucked up lately (as in, for way much longer than before this trip, which is why this trip was SO hard to take) about the way I was raised. The idea that we do what we need to to survive in our "tribe" was presented to me yesaterday at maybe the exact right time, and by the most unexpected source. I was at the physiotherapists having some dry needling in my ass (thank YOU, trolley guy), and we were also disucssing chronic pain, the emotional basis of, becaus after two years of this shit, I'd be an idiot to not toss around the notion that there maybe be some uynderlying pshychology to this, and HE brought up the ntion of how we were raised being a factor in how we feel pain. The tribe concept resonated, and it's something to think about in relation to ALL aspcects of my life, because in MY tribe, I tolerated alot of ill treatment, and I put up with it because I, as anyone does when growing up in an abusive envirnment, depended on them for my survival. I'm hard wired to believe love and acceptance comes in the form of neglect and judgment. I'm so confused about how to not make BE that person. I don't know how to not be silent and alone because THAT'S how I fit into MY tribe.

How does one learn to be a part of something different when recognising something different is much like asking a blind person to understand purple.

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In other news, I found this on my computer today. Discuss.



Anyway