I'm an Alien, That Must be It

As I was laying in bed this morning crying, that's the realization I came to, however impossible; I must have been left here by an alien race; designed to blend in and pass for the real thing. I look too much like both parents and my siblings to be adopted or otherwise conceived so what does that leave? I've felt a good part of my life like an alien, surrounded by another species, not at home in the environment I'm in.

I am incredibly unlike my siblings in emotional temperament, political outlook, religious beliefs and on down to the clothes I wear. I don’t consider NASCAR t-shirts a fashion statement. Call me weird.

I’ve tried, Gods knows I’ve tried to find a way to fit in somehow. I once sat through two hours of NASCAR conversation with a brother and sister. I didn’t understand a word of it and could have cared less, but damnit, I faked interest, I nodded, I smiled, I laughed. I can’t see that it got me anywhere, those two hours of “bonding”. There’ve been other attempts. There has been lots of nodding and smiling and ignoring barbs and jabs and stabs in the back and I think I was run over with a 18 wheeler once, or was that a bad dream?

If our parents were still alive maybe they could have been a buffer of sorts, a common ground as we got older. But they passed away over twenty years ago when I was still in my twenties. I’m 47 now and the intervening years have not given me a single clue as to how to fit into my siblings alien world. I don’t say my family’s world because I don’t believe my parents were this radically different. My father was a fair man to a fault. My mother, well, she was a narcissist who really didn’t give a crap about anyone and was mostly just angry at everyone because she was not the center of the universe. Yeah, I know, crappy role model from day one. Don’t think I don’t know that.

The thing is there is this person inside of me, you know. I know who I am, I’ve lived my inner life and brought it out into the open. I’ve crawled into the dark places and made it a part of my reality. I can’t pretend that their reality is mine. And that ought to be okay. I don’t understand why it’s not okay for me to be who I am. I don’t understand the hate directed at me for being who I am. And yet I do understand.

Years ago I read a book by John Bradshaw, On the Family. Light bulbs went off and bells began to ring. Years? Um, decades now that I think about it. I am the youngest of four children. Yes, sigh, the baby. I prefer youngest, but people think it’s so freaking cute to call me the baby . . . I’m 47 and my breasts are dropping down to my navel. . . whatever makes you giggle people.

Bradshaw related a scenario that stunned me. He said something to the effect that all family members have roles and if a child acts outside of that role they will most likely be ignored by the family. The family will literally not hear or see that child when they are not playing the proper role. He gave an example and it floored me. His were the first books I ever highlighted that weren’t text books. I kept coming back and coming back to that highlighted page. And each time I read it I was angrier and angrier and angrier. All that time I thought it was me. All that time. Twenty some odd years, all my growing up years I thought it was me. God damn I thought it was me. I was supposed to be cute and funny and the baby for the rest of my life. I wasn’t supposed to have a serious thought in my head or contradict anyone or be anything other than what the family role dictated for the rest of my life.

See, they used to ignore me when I spoke. We’d be talking about something and I would make a comment and they’d ignore me. Sometimes I thought maybe I said it too softly and they didn’t hear me. Sometimes I‘d say it again louder. But most of the time I thought they were ignoring me because what I’d said was stupid. But they literally didn’t hear me. I conducted an experiment one night; an impromptu one. I was dishing ice cream out of a carton and it slipped. My response was unprintable here. My mother, I swear to the Gods, looked around in confusion and said to my oldest sister “Did you hear something?” My sister said “Oh it was nothing, no, didn’t hear anything. This wasn’t a sarcastic “Did you hear something”, this was an honest statement of confusion. Just for the heck of it I tried that experiment several more times in vary degrees. Their response was almost funny. Almost.

I think I was 22 when I did that. It was all downhill from there.

There is a part of me that still looks up to them, my siblings; that wants their approval. It’s inevitable I suppose, being the youngest. Well, how do you secure the approval of someone who feels that your entire life is unacceptable? You can’t. But it doesn’t stop that part of me from continuing to hope. I wish it did. It makes no sense to hope. My siblings are not my friends, they never will be my friends and they’ll never be proud of a single thing I’ve ever done with my life. They can’t accept who I am, not one minute not one second.

So who am I that’s so unacceptable? I’m a liberal single Pagan female. I’m socially and politically fairly liberal, though others stand further to the left than me. I’m Pagan, this means I don’t believe in the bible as a frame work for my beliefs about the Gods, life, the afterlife or the point and purpose of living. That's it. Haven't killed or maimed anyone. That's it.

That I didn’t turn out like my siblings who are right wing republicans appears to be a major source of discomfort and unhappiness for them. I can’t say I’m thrilled about their point of view, but they are who they are and if it makes them happy so be it. I don’t believe I’ve ever condemned them for their beliefs or practices. I learned long ago and I continue to relearn and relearn that what you do comes back to you. Condemn others and it will bounce back at you. But just being who I am seems to be condemnation in their eyes. There’s nothing I can do about that. The old if you’re not with us you’re against us theory of life. Gods, but that paradigm so needs to die out. How many people have been hurt killed maimed and abandon by that power over point of view?

So I’m crying again. I’ve been called self centered, myopic, unrealistic, irrational and uncaring. And that’s all in the last two hours. The words and the hate hurt, but what I hear from the words is “You’re not anything like me and you frighten me.”

I’m sorry, I can’t help you there sis. Your fear is not my responsibility.

So, if my real parents would be so kind as to beam me up now I’d really appreciate it. I’ve had enough and I want to come home to my real family; the ones who understand me, love me, believe in me and want me in their lives as a friend and sister. I’m a pretty amazing woman, damned intelligent and insightful if I do say so myself and I think you’ll be proud of me. Ready for beam up anytime now . . .