APRIL 07, 2007
Sometimes I have trouble being able to accurately assess my parents and whether the things they do are crazy or sane, healthy or demented, normal or just downright strange. Growing up with lunatics can do that to you, can throw off your perspective on what normal, acceptable behavior is, to the extent I often end up questioning my own sanity in the face of my parents' nuttiness.
Take today for example. I called my sister, Sally, being that it had been awhile since I'd talked to her and, during the course of conversation, Sally shared the news that mom has decided that her dog is depressed so now mom's taking her mut to a doggie psychiatrist and feeding it doggie prozac.
I went for a drive after that and thought about the dog psychiatrist thing because the idea of mom taking her dog to therapy really got to me. I couldn't help but think of all the times when I was a kid that I told mom I was depressed and desperately needed help, only to have her scoff at me and say that everyone is unhappy and I should just get used to it. Even after I tried to commit suicide when I was 14, mom still wouldn't consider getting me help. She said the only reason I tried to kill myself was to make her miserable so, rather than getting me psychiatric care, my parents instead punished me for my suicide attempt and mom refused to speak to me for weeks. Suffice it to say I gave up on ever getting help from my parents after that.
But now? Mom is convinced her beloved dog is depressed and she wasted no time getting the mut in to see a shrink and hopping it up on happy pills. Because, you know, she wouldn't want her dog to suffer or be unhappy. That would be morally reprehensible, to let a dog suffer like that. The fact that one of her relatives sexually abused one of her kids for years wasn't enough to inspire mom to seek help. The fact that everyone in our family was depressed and suffering psychologically never moved mom to take action. Even when one of her kids tried to commit suicide, mom was calloused to it. But now that her dog is depressed? Good god, call 911 and get that poor puppy help! Stat!
Which brings me back to my comment about having trouble being able to accurately assess my parents, with struggling to find a sane perspective. Because how do you navigate through the fact that your mother wouldn't take you to a shrink, even after you tried to commit suicide, and yet she's more than willing to get her dog psychiatric help because she thinks it might be depressed? Trying to make sense of that can make you feel a little crazy. Is this the kind of thing you laugh off and forget? Is it understandable that something like that might hurt a bit? Or am I nuts for even being surprised, much less caring about it? Like I said, crazy family + crazy shit = one hell of a challenge for sane perspective.
But the day was not entirely full of family angst being that I also talked to my niece, Bayley, and she was so excited about telling me that she got her driver's permit yesterday and that she got to go to her first "real" concert last month that, by the time I was done talking to Bay, all I was doing was grinning from ear to ear. And, to top that off, a care package that Ross' mom sent us arrived today and it was full of chocolate and homemade cookies, which caused me to frolic round the apartment with joy, trailing cookie crumbs behind me. So, while my parents may be insane, I thankfully have a sister, niece, and in-laws who regularly remind me that family can, indeed, be more than just a four letter word.
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