Being estranged from my family makes me feel a lot of ways. But mostly it just makes me angry. And I’m sick of feeling like my anger is inappropriate, or that it should be minimized and managed so as to make it less visible.
For me, the presence of anger is welcome. It’s good to finally feel the feelings I had been repressing for so long. It’s a sign that I’m finally recognizing some realities and regarding them as they ought to be regarded.
But for my family, the ignorance remains strong. Fingers in ears going, “la-la-la-la-la-la-la!!!! I can’t hear you!!!!” They are really like that. They think I’m a problem. And that’s about all they think of me, apparently, given how easily they have washed their hands of me and moved on with their simple lives.
Yeah, you're goddamn right this family estrangement has me feeling angry.
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Going No Contact
In my case, the family estrangement is sort of mutual.
I told my mom to fuck off the last time I talked to her back in January, 2021. Given the bullshit she was spewing to me on that phone call, it was the most appropriate response. I went “no contact,” to protect myself from ongoing gaslighting, emotional abuse and scapegoating.
I had reached out to talk about the traumas from my childhood that had begun to reappear in my life as an adult. I wanted to bring things into the open so we could heal. I had hoped my mom could find a way to talk about things she wished she could heal from, too. I guess I just wanted an honest, heart-to-heart talk. I wanted us to be real. For once.
But no. That’s not what went down. Instead I got blamed for bringing it all up. Called a liar. The implication was thrown at me that I was doing it all “for attention.” Jesus Christ. From my own mother.
So I told her to fuck off. Wouldn’t you? If you wouldn’t, I have no respect for you. You fuck off, too.
Honestly, I thought things would turn out differently. I thought I might hear from family members who loved me and didn’t want to see me break ties with them. I thought my mother might apologize and demonstrate some kind of desire to keep me in her life. Keep me in the family. I thought she thought I was essential. I thought she loved me.
Nope! I was wrong about all that.
Instead, I received a curt text from my mother, telling me to “have fun with your new family.” And I got a nasty letter from my brother chiding me for using foul language, for not being “calm and rational,” suggesting that I, “get the help I need” and indicating that the family would need to break contact in order to protect themselves from me. Completely ignoring any of the issues I had brought up.
No, you see it’s me with my use of the “F” word that’s the problem, not the cruel tickle-torture gangbangs I had to endure over and over as a child.
Give me a fucking break!!!! These fucking people.
The people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. The people who were supposed to celebrate and encourage me. The people I loved and, as the by-far youngest member of the family, looked up to so dearly.
Somehow, though, even though I am eight years younger than my next-closest sibling, and I was between the ages of 6-8 when these abuses occurred and everybody’s physical mass was double mine and there were several of them and just one of me, I was some kind of tyrant with all kinds of power and unchecked megalomania.
According to my family, I was a toxic entity worthy of no love, respect, kindness, caring or even attention. I only brought problems and hassles. I was causing damage to the perceived image of the family, I guess. As if anyone cares about my dumb fucking family!!!!
In retrospect, I should have known better. I should have expected the response I got. But I only realize that now through the perspective that time and distance from my toxic family has given me.
Actually, No One Cares, Gary
One of the most telling complaints levied by my brother, the “Epistolary Motherfucker,” was that I wrote about abuses I suffered in childhood publicly in a blog post. To his distorted, ignorant and narcissistic view, my blog post would be read and talked about by the masses, destroying his good name and standing in the community or some bullshit.
This reveals that he – and the rest of my family – think that a lot of people spend a lot of time thinking about the Kollocks.
Guess what – no one gives a shit!!! They really don’t care at all about you! They are not keeping score. They are not judging. They are certainly under no impression that our family is perfect. They don’t have any impression at all, in fact. They don’t care!!!
But my mother, brother and other family members are so terribly consumed with what people think of them. It’s gross. They should get therapy about this stuff, probably. Get some help.
Love Can Burn A Bridge
I still love my family. I have compassion for them. But I am not one of them. Not until they grow the fuck up and find a way to acknowledge me and what happened when I was a little boy under their watch. And, honestly, not until they can acknowledge the abuses they suffered, too. There is darkness all around and lots that could be illuminated, to the benefit of everyone with my blood and all the ones who love us.
But that’s the least likely thing to happen. They are entrenched in their topsy-turvy bizarro world and beholden to its figurehead. They are scared of my mother. And my mother is terrified of the notion that she fucked up (as we all do) and people are going to find out about it!!! Better to keep up whatever dumb appearances they have going than to make any effort at all to heal the family rift and pave the way for me to possibly return.
Fucking simpletons.
So yeah. I am angry. I was angry when I was a little boy being abused with no one to advocate for me. I was angry when my complaints of abuse were minimized or outright ignored. I was angry throughout my adulthood as I became increasingly relegated to the role of family scapegoat. I was angry when my mom chose to childishly defend herself instead of accepting that her youngest son experienced life-altering abuses as a child.
I carry this anger every second of every day. It’s there because it’s appropriate. And so I’m finding ways to express it. I’m finding outlets. I’m finding ways to complete the circuit in a way that helps others who have similar life experiences.
Anger’s Backup Dancers
Lately, I’m finding that the anger is not just anger. It’s wrapped up in so much sadness. Terrible sadness. And it’s never not accompanied by grief. So I’m working through it. I’m exercising, creating, releasing. I’m doing EMDR therapy now, and it’s been a game changer.
Family Plot is an unapologetically angry album. Anger is front and center, for sure. It was inspired by anger, fueled by anger and carried through to its completion on a wave of angry energy.
But it’s also full of humor, irreverence and passion. It’s a good-time rock ‘n’ roll party – even though it came from all the bad times. It’s got a red-hot angry face, but that face is hopeful, too. And it’s got its eye on the dance floor.
The anger is real. It is what grounds this art. And it is appropriate. I’ll be singing these songs for the rest of my life, and I’ll always be able to find the emotion to put them over properly.
And through the alchemy of the airwaves, the anger will transform, transduce and cause some actual good in the world. Some healing. But first we have to agree that there is anger. And the anger is absolutely appropriate.
What About You?
What are you angry about? Do you find yourself feeling angry about feeling angry? It’s all right. You can tell me about it. I’m here for you.