requiem

no one talked to me. at all. maybe I don't remember. but it's altogether possible. they could do that sort of thing. all of them. aunts, cousins, uncles, grandparents. I remember my father's mother being all dramatic falling down almost, like it was about her. like it hurt her more. like it wasn't her fault. albeit indirectly, and more my father's, but still. and I don't think for a moment that she felt that, and that was the reason for her histrionics.

my mother didn't, my father, all wrapped up in themselves, as if it wasn't their fault either. my sister never talked to me under the best of circumstances. we never had real conversations. she normally treated me with contempt or indifference.

no one asked how I was, if they could do anything. not that that would have meant anything, or there was any answer that would mean anything, that they could understand the smallest part of.

I remember coming home afterward, and all the food people brought. I could not eat, even think of it, and I wondered how anyone could. at a time like this. it felt like an insult. do you remember the line in four weddings and a funeral, the speech at the funeral?


by W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one:
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


when I heard this, I cried, for this was how I felt. how could they eat and talk of mundane things, and go on with their lives and pretend that nothing had happened? had they no hearts? they had not. it was a difficult world to live in, for someone with a heart.


I was 14, and alone. always had been, except for him. but I don't think he knew how I felt, or felt the same. but we were alike, he and i. my sister told me once after, that he and I were closer then they were, even though she was one year younger than him, and I was 5 years younger. that was probably the most honest and meaningful exchange we ever had, and I've never forgotten it. it was one of those things someone tells you after someone dies that always stays with you, and helps you, makes you feel better. because I did not know that at all, being so much younger than them. but he didn't feel it as strongly as I did. I don't think he did, don't think he could have.

This is one of the first things I wrote, when I started to work through this:

The Box

I see it long ago an old movie in my mind I can't see much the box is closed and silent all around no one talks to me but they never did and he did so I didn't care that he hurt me sometimes and I forget that part and I felt anyway and I needed and I fixed on this one thing which is now in the box.

I don't think he needed to do much for me to pin all my affection and hope on him, since there was no other target at all. A small indication that I was worth a little attention. Everywhere else in my life, I was treated with disdain or indifference.

there's nothing like it. he was all I had. no one can grasp what this did to me, what I was left in, that he had been my only hope of escaping. It wasn't just that I was alone at that moment. I did not connect with others. There was nothing for me ever again. I did not have it in myself to get out, and after that, I couldn't do anything. except hurt. so much. for so long. years. so many years. I have been recovering from this and what my father and mother did to me for all this time. and from what they all did to me, and neglected to do. those who tortured me because I was weak, an easy target, there is nothing recriminating enough to say about them. perhaps I should not say them all, and my resentment is lessening. but I can't believe my life would have been so much different anywhere else. which means any of them probably would have behaved the same, and perhaps did, likely did, to others in troubling circumstances, whether that be to torment or turn a blind eye, or just not bother to offer any kindness.