My phone began to violently vibrate, startling me out of my comatose state. I was staring at the TV, but wasn’t really watching it. I was defeated and weary after an arduous battle with Baby C over his afternoon nap.
The display on my Android phone told me my father was calling. I didn’t really feel like talking, but I answered anyway.
After our salutations, my father dove right into the reason for his call. “Hey, can I borrow Superbitch’s van tomorrow? I have a piece of furniture I need to move.”
“No,” I said a little too curtly.
“Oh,” came his disappointed response.
“She doesn’t live here anymore. She moved out last weekend.”
“Well, you never told me.”
“That’s not the kinda news I like to call with, Dad. It’s not something I enjoy discussing.”
“But I’m your father,” he said, exasperated.
He’s right. And it pains me to admit it.
I’m not good at doling out news about my life to my family. I only told one person in my immediate family that Superbitch and I had ended things, and that was my mother. If she didn’t watch Baby C on a daily basis, I might not have told her either.
I’m not a person to generally care about the opinions of others, especially as it pertains to me, but it’s different when it comes to my family and I haven’t the slightest idea why. When I told my closest friends that I had ended things with Superbitch I didn’t have the slightest hesitation to do so. When I thought of telling anyone in my immediate family, however, I was overcome by shame. I’m always afraid that when I share bad news that I will be judged. In the case of my father, that’s a fairly warranted assumption. With the rest of my family, however, it’s not, yet I still have that hesitancy to tell them things. I am reluctant to ask for help or talk to them about my problems. I feel like a huge inconvenience to them if I vent to any of them.
I am open and honest with my friends. My friends know more about my current goings-on than anyone in my family does and it’s the most backwards shit imaginable when I think about it logically. I mean, my parents and brothers should know me better than anyone. In some respects they do, but when it comes to current events or feelings, they are clueless. They have no idea what’s gone on in my personal life in the last couple of years besides the fact that Superbitch and I have separated, gotten back together, separated again, gotten divorced, gotten back together, and broke up for the final time. That sounds like a lot, but much more than that has happened and they have no clue.
I don’t know how to open up to them. I fear judgement from my father. I fear disappointment from my mother and brothers. On the rare occasion I confide in them I feel like a pesky fly buzzing in their ears which they’d rather be rid of and I haven’t the slightest idea why. These people are the most prominent people in my life and I’ve essentially shut them out.
In my rational mind I know that my family cares and wants to be there for me. In my heart I feel like I’m just one more problem they don’t need if I open up to them. I realize that I need to somehow overcome this fear, but I’m not sure how. I guess the only way to conquer this is to face it head on.
I guess I’ll have a little liquid courage first…