Kimchi, not for me

Like many of those in the blogging world, I have multiple blog accounts. It isn't because I'm that compulsive, it's because it's necessary to interact with other bloggers. And so the post that was occupying this spot yesterday was removed and posted to my live journal friends-only blog. I felt awkward for being so open/blunt, and was uncomfortable with how my sisters responded to me after they read it. And so I removed it. But now here I am, about to talk about the same thing again. On the one hand, this is my blog and I am obviously free to say whatever I want to. On the other hand, it's family stuff and I'm worried about offending my sisters by sharing too much or giving my opinion or perspective on a very complex and sensitive issue. But sharing is exactly what I'm about to do. Read on if you're brave and have lots of time.
My dad's wife really can't stand me. About two or three months after they started dating he brought her to Dothan for the Peanut Festival. During the weekend they were there, she insulted me two or three times, always when my dad wasn't around. I thought I was going insane, just imagining it because internally I resented her so much. It was only when she insulted me in front of a friend I realized I wasn't certifiable. She really doesn't like me, and I really don't know why. I've asked her, I've asked my dad. The latest answer is that she was brought up in an area not trusting people...whatever that means. Anyway, she thinks I use my dad maliciously. On the phone Tuesday night she was yelling (actually voice raised yelling) things like "go away," and "don't give it to her" (that one directed at my dad). First of all, I can't go much further away without coming back. Second, yes I was using his debit card, but it was only because I deposited $900 in it earlier that day. I talked to her, she said I should get my own bank account in the States (which is, for those of you wondering, impossible to do from here, I've checked it out) and stop bothering my dad. I further questioned her and she hung up on me. I talked to my dad afterwards and told him that it made me not want to call him ever. Fast forward 24 hours, to last night. I was feeling sentimental and thought talking to my dad would help. Allow me to here interrupt myself: the problem isn't that she dislikes me. I don't like her at all. The problem is how she displays it - in entirely inappropriate ways, and that she makes my dad sad or unhappy because of it. Plus there's the issue that my dad doesn't defend me ever, which makes me think he agrees with her though he says he doesn't. Agree with her on what, you ask? I don't even know. Anyway, I was talking to my dad last night (after I talked to you, Jen) and he asked me not to call him at home anymore. He said I should only call him at work. That was a blow, let me tell you. And there ends the family stuff. I'm undecided about going home for Christmas simply because Phyllis is incapable of being even fake-pleasant around me and if she brought unhappiness to a very expensive vacation at home I might just get violent-angry. Then though, I don't want to miss out on seeing my family because of her. And so, I don't know. But I'm struggling a lot right now.

And just for fun, I'll share about the rest of my night. After hanging up the phone with my dad when he told me not to call him at home anymore, I found out that Daive had vomited. When we had been walking just earlier she had eaten something before I could take it away from her. I worked at a vet and am familiar with dog vomit. It has to be some severe dog vomit to get me grossed out. I've also had to analyze Daive's vomit before to see what she ingested (as the treatment can depend on what the problem was). I did see a large round black foreign object, but was gagging uncontrollably and so did not investigate further. I just flushed it all. She puked three more times before the morning came. I was starting to figure out just how mad my Korean friend would be at me for waking her up and taking her with me to go to the emergency vet. Instead, I called good ol' Banfield in Dothan, Alabama (where I used to work) and got the dosage information for some meds I had here. Well Daive was sick, but not so sick that she couldn't fight the pill. She spit the pill on me, on the chair, on the floor....AND was drooling all over me with (this is kinda gross) gooey post-vomit drool, which was just nasty. I finally gave up on the pill and decided I'd force it down her if she threw up again. Then I looked down to see the cat eating the part of the pill I hadn't picked up, then the cat started to get sick. At that point it was almost 2 AM and I was ready to just throw it all out the window. I said a quick prayer, threw the cat in the bathroom, and went to sleep. I awoke to find all animals present, accounted for, and (most importantly) alive this morning. I called my grandparents this morning (because I knew they would be supportive and encouraging - which they were) to find out that Grandpa had two stints put in his heart (I think I have the terminology wrong) yesterday. He's okay, and it wasn't a huge deal...but it got me more frazzled and exasperated.

Add to all that the heavy conversation I had with my sister yesterday about our mother. It's stuff far too personal to share or discuss here in depth or detail, but I learned/became aware of more reality about just how very ill (mentally) my mother was. And that's just not easy. It wasn't easy to cope with when she was alive, and it's still not easy. Something can't be a H-U-G-E deal for all your life and then cease to matter simply because the affected person (cause of it?) dies. In some ways it makes it more complicated.

But alas, now I've gone and said perhaps far more than I should. I don't want to be one of those people whose blogs is a constant source of amusement and "what's she going on about now" thoughts for you who read it. I just don't want to be thought of as stupid or trivial. Or like one of those people who flaunts their previous traumas as some kind of badge of honor (thinking of one BCF person in particular...so evil of me). So far as I can tell about myself, I'm trying to heal and grow and change. Sometimes I have a hard time figuring out what's normal/acceptable though....which is understandable since my mother (designed to be a role model) was extremely mentally ill (maybe not actually insane, but far from coherent and sane). Okay...that's enough I think. I don't know if this even makes sense and I'm not entirely sure why I'm sharing it.