xmas lies

Well, Xmas wasn't a complete catastrophe. Here's a brief recap:

Panda Bear and I left Bloomington around 10AM to make the two-hour trip north to hometown. The anxiety had subsided itself until I realized that mom's place was only four blocks away – that fact churned my belly and brought tremors to my fingers. As I approached the front door with gifts in hand, sister spotted me and opened the door; I barely acknowledged her presence as I passed through the doorway. I struggled to evade eye contact with her and soon realized that she was aware of my avoidant behavior. After forty minutes she approached me and asked, "Hey, where's my hug?" I hugged her and she asked me what I had gotten for Xmas (by this point gifts had been exchanged – I brought no gift for sister and she had nothing for me or the rest of the family); I told her then walked away, as if I had something else to tend to.

About thirty minutes after that awkward exchange it was time to eat – and this is when things fell apart. As if scripted, sister and I found ourselves alone in the kitchen, each of us preparing our plates, and she asked, "Are you mad at me?" "Mad? Am I mad at you? I wouldn't say I'm mad at you… I, I just feel really badly for you." Sometime during those first sentences my pity gave way to anger, and I recall saying something like "What you did on Thanksgiving was inexcusable. Mom was sick and you were fucked up and stole money from her." I remember little of our exchange because as I began speaking, the scab was quickly being ripped and torn, and everything came pouring out. I don't even remember leaving the kitchen, but I do recall finding myself at the dining-room table, telling mom I had told sister how I felt. Sister, in tears, had retreated to the bathroom, where she was soon joined by mom. Moments later mom rejoined us at the kitchen table, and after a few minutes I then joined sister in the bathroom. She was crying, practically hyperventilating. And I told her I still loved her. Told her I how badly I felt for her. I told her I wanted back the old sister. The person I used to know. And she said that that person had been lost forever to a sea of depression. And she denied using drugs. And she denied stealing that money from mom on Thanksgiving. And she accused my girlfriend of shooting her with evil glances. She lied. Through her pouring tears she lied. Through her pitiful story of depression – during which she said that if not for her three-year-old son she would have killed herself years ago – she turned the tide and made herself, not her family or son, the victim – I was wrong for falsely accusing a sufferer of depression – NOT an addict – of stealing and abusing. I eventually emerged from the bathroom, sister soon followed. With my appetite gone, I forced myself to consume a few forkfuls of food. Sister didn't eat; she never took her seat at the table. Needless to say, Xmas dinner was a dysfunctional affair. Eventually the mood lifted somewhat, and about ninety minutes later she, her husband and son left, and goodbyes were exchanged as if nothing had happened. The mask was back in place. The denial gave her the strength to proceed.

Many hours later and many miles away from hometown, wrapped inside the security blanket of Bloomington, I found myself regretting what I had said and the scene I had made. I, not the guiltless addict, had ruined Xmas. I, choosing not to adorn a fake façade, had been maligned, forced into a stalemate by the liar.

xx