Am I really supposed to give a shit about my relatives?

Like, seriously?

Am I actually supposed to feel some sort of kindship with my second cousin once removed whom I see once a year at best?

Am I a bad person for not caring about my aunts and uncles?

Would you hate me if I said that I probably wouldn't even cry if some of them died, even though almost anything can make me cry?

I forgot to go grocery shopping before the stores closed on Christmas eve, so my mom grudgingly drove me past both Jewel and Dominick's, just in case they were open. When I discovered that everything was closed, I cried. And I wanted to kill myself for being such a child.

And yet, when I try to imagine, say, going to my mom's cousin's funeral, I can't muster an ounce of sadness.

I do feel guilty about that. Or, well, I feel guilty for not feeling guilty about that? I wish I could think of some legitimate reason why I should care about any of those people, but I just can't think of any reason

Okay. I care about a few people.

I care about my grandma and grandpa. I care about my aunt and uncle and two cousins + cousin's children, all of whom live in Wyoming, even though I hardly ever speak to or see them. I care about my half sister in Mass whom I also hardly ever see. I care about my great aunt - my grandmother's sister. I obviously care about my mother.

And that's about it.

I feel absolutely zero connection to most of my aunts and uncles and to most of my cousins.

And it made me a little mad that Ethan, who means far more to me than pretty much any of those people, was NOT invited to Christmas even though no one could even pull the "well, he probably wants to be with his family today" card because his family is Jewish and isn't celebrating Channukah until late evening.

But then I felt guilty for being mad. These people share genes with me, and that arbitrary connection means that they should be more important to me than someone I love.

And then I felt guilty for making a snarky comment about my guilt.

I feel like I am four years old again. When I was little, my mother and I lived in a little prefab house in the woodlands of central North Carolina, where there was no door-to-door mail delivery. We had to go to the post office to get our mail. The room where we got our mail was long and narrow and completely empty except for the keyed mailboxes all along the walls. I used to run from one end of the narrow corridor to the other, pretending I was a zebra. One day, my mom took me with her to the post office, and when we arrived she asked me whether or not I wanted to go in. I said no, but I immediately regretted it. As she walked from the car to the post office door, I screamed at the top of my lungs for her to come back and get me. I can't remember if I was too young to know how to unbuckle my safety seat, or if I just didn't think that I could get out of the car without her, but I felt as if I were trapped and suffocating in that car. I screamed until my throat burned. I wanted to run back and forth in the post office more than anything else in the world. I can't remember ever crying so hard.

I know that seems like just a cute kid story, but I was actually crying when I typed it out. I still can't think about that day without crying.

Even then, I knew it was stupid. And that just intensified the pain. Knowing that I was just being childish. That's how I felt all day.

I had wanted an iPod for Christmas, but I didn't want to explicitly ask for one, since they are expensive, and I felt guilty. I had subtly mentioned to my mother about a month ago that used 40 gig iPods could be had for about $200. But my mother got me a brand new 2 gig iPod, saying that "that should be all I need." I decided the second I opened it that I would keep it in it's original packaging, sell it (for $190, less than they retail for) and use the money to buy a used 40 gig. But I felt so horribly guilty about my plan that I went into my room and sobbed for a good ten minutes after opening my presents. I consoled myself with the thought that if my mother had just taken a look at what's on eBay, she could have spent the exact same amount of money and gotten me what I wanted, but I still feel sick to my stomach.

I get sick to my stomach when I am anxious or guilty.

I felt sick to my stomach after I cried about not having anything to eat at Christmas brunch. I was guilty about crying, not anxious about not having anything to eat.

And I thought to myself, "Why didn't my mother just get something for ME when she went grocery shopping for the rest of the family?"

But then I realized that I am always telling her not to buy food for me, because she always either forgets to read the ingredients or gets me something I don't like.

And I felt sick to my stomach again.

posted at 5:37 PM by Alison

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