Heavy Stuff.

Apologies for the lack of posts lately. I’ve been dealing with the loss of someone very dear to me. My granddad’s health had been declining for quite some time, and I had to come to terms with the idea of life without him. That time came three weeks ago and we had the funeral last week.

I hope to get back into blogging again soon, but need to work through my grief, and the feelings brought about by family fallouts. The day before the funeral, there was a fallout, whereby my parents got told by my aunty to f***off, and she lashed out at my mum. It was entirely unprovoked, and the actions of someone quite unhinged. My parents had gone to their house in a peace-making capacity, to try and smooth things over between them and my nan, as they had upset her that morning too. None of us anticipated such vile behaviour, and we are still reeling from the shock of it. And we had to see them the next day for the funeral.

They made what was already a very upsetting, difficult day, even worse… and prevented us from being fully present to grieve our loss. Our attention should have just been on saying goodbye, and we should have all pulled together as a family and supported each other. But my aunty and uncle tore our family apart. I reckon they twisted the truth and made my parents out to be the bad guys, and poisoned their children against our side.

None of them even acknowledged my parents, particularly my mum on the day. Now, fair enough I didn’t acknowledge their parents either. But given what they did the day before, I was well within my rights to ignore them. If you hurt my parents you’re irrelevant to me – and you should consider yourself lucky for that… because ‘ignoring’ you is not the first reaction that springs to mind, if you hurt someone I love. When I heard my aunty had swiped at my mum, my impulse was to storm round there and get revenge of some sort. But I had to think of the situation we’re in, plus I’m not that person anyway.

My aunty and uncle will never be forgiven for what they did. Not by me, not by my parents, probably not by my nan. In my eyes, anyone who supports them, and takes sides against my parents in this situation, is just as guilty and I want nothing to do with any of them. My own cousins didn’t reach out to talk to me at the funeral. They used to look out for me when I was little, but showed no concern at all on the day. They didn’t say hello to my mum, never mind expressing their condolences to her. The way she was treated that day will have traumatised her, at an already traumatic time, when she lost her father. My cousins at least, should have had more respect for my mum, and I’m so angry with them, for how they made us all feel, when my side of the family were the victims.

My side of the family were the ones constantly with my nan, comforting her, trying to lift her spirits when she couldn’t stop crying. We were the ones supporting her emotionally. Okay it might not have been the physical, organisational help, but it was a vital job – the one my granddad would have wanted us to do, more than anything. We built her up, and they tore her down. They couldn’t accept no for an answer, and didn’t want to respect her wishes. If they had humbly done so, there would have been no problem between any of us. They were the ones to create the argument. They are the ones who owe us a massive apology. We were the victims. And I won’t let them get away with it, unchallenged. Even if it’s in thirty years’ time, I’ll make the truth known.

I hope we all live long enough, for me to one day tell them the truth about their mother, and what she said and did to my parents that day, how psychotic it was, and how rude and unfair it was for them to ignore my mum that day, when she had done absolutely nothing wrong and was grieving. I hate my aunty right now, though I ought to pity her, as she clearly needs professional help. I guess I have to feel sorry for her family too, as they’re unaware of what she is, and that they’re her ‘enablers’. They can’t tell the truth from the bullshit. But I hope when they learn the truth of how disgusting their avoidance of my family was that day, they can live with their consciences. Until then, we want nothing more to do with the lot of them. Well, I don’t anyway!

It’s thrown me into a mini state of crisis. I’ve just lost someone so important in my life, and now I’ve lost that side of the family too, as they’ve treated my family like shit. My world has suddenly become a lot smaller, and harshly real. I can at least to some degree, cope with grief, even though it’s my first time doing so. The grief itself is not enough to cause me to harm myself. If anything his passing gives me more incentive to live… for him…. so that he can see me succeed and I could make him proud of me. But anyone who knows anything about BPD will know that ‘people problems’ are often a cause of a relapse. I’ve not had anything directed at me, so it’s less likely I’ll harm myself because of it. But it has sent me into overthinking mode, and has made me much more depressed. I struggle sometimes to contain my anger when I talk about them. I have to internally battle the voice that says to message my cousins, and find out what the hell their problem is with my parents. I have to stop myself from telling them the truth, as that will lead to problems for me, and self-harm as a consequence. We were so focused on avoiding confrontations with them on the day, and holding our heads up high, that we’re only now starting to reflect and grieve.

It’s hit me hard. I’ve lost my appetite. I’m so tired all the time. I feel tense and ill a lot of the time. I feel lost and empty. But the trouble is, every time I think about the loss of my granddad now, and about the funeral, with it comes the memories of what they put us through, how they treated us, and the stress and pain they caused my nan, and my parents at the worst time of their lives. I’ll never escape the memory of this, and the hatred and anger because of it… because it’s so entwined with the loss of my granddad. There’s no undoing it. We can’t re-run the funeral process. It’s done. The damage is done. My first experience of a funeral was traumatic for more reasons than it should have been. They made it traumatic. They made it something I’ll never forget, but for the wrong reasons. I can’t forgive that. And whilst ultimately they’ve got to live with the consequences and their consciences… we know they won’t. We know her kids will believe the lies and not give a shit. But WE do have to live with this for the rest of our lives, and we will. Because victims never forget… especially something this big. But the bullies, they get away with anything, and live happily ever after. That’s my experience of life. Bullies and bad people never pay for their mistakes and bad choices. They forget. But the victims live with the scars their whole lives.

I want to forget those people. I want to be able to remember my granddad, without it being infected by their toxicity. He deserves all my attention. He was a wonderful man, and he’d be so ashamed of my aunty right now if he was here.

I just want the obsessive part of my illness to go away. The bit where I replay things over and over again, feeling the emotions all over again. I’m trying to turn to art… sketching pictures of my granddad, to try and focus my attention and love on him. It’s all I can think to do at the moment. I’m just sick of my mind and the memories right now. I can’t think clearly. But when I can, hopefully I’ll get back into helpful blogging. This one was more of a personal rant, sorry. Hope everyone’s keeping well.