Breaking

I really thought it would be my job that broke me down this year, and there's still a good chance that it will (though it's been very quiet since Monday). But I've been sitting here in my studio late on a Thursday night and sobbing for the last 10 minutes not because of my job but because of my family.

I received an email two weeks ago from my aunt and uncle, to whom I used to be so close, saying that they weren't speaking to my mother -- my aunt's sister -- anymore. So I called them and badgered them into coming out to New York for Thanksgiving, learning along the way that they'd been pretty depressed, no doubt in part because of this feud that has now apparently started between them and my mother.

My mother. Sigh. After discussing strategy with bigbro about what situation would be less awkward, I emailed her (she no longer has a phone -- I suspect because my uncle used to pay for it and is no longer doing so; see Feud, above) to invite her out for Christmas, despite the anticipated simultaneous visit of my father and grandmother, because it seemed the lesser of the two evils (see Grandmother and Mother, Ancient Feud between).

Well. My mother won't come out for Christmas. And for some reason, although I had not been consciously thinking about this at all, that was the last straw. I'm so tired of trying to be understanding, diplomatic, encouraging, communicative, mediative -- and most of all, of feeling like I'm the only one trying.

No one asked me to be the peacemaker. That was a duty I took on myself, because when I went to Korea (and even before then), I saw how much I had missed having a father, having a family. The years in which I didn't speak to my parents, when I was so angry at both of them, were so ... dark. No. Not dark. Just less bright. A constant pallor over everything, but so constant that I took it to be the natural state of things. Life was a little empty, a little lonely, a little gray. That was life.

But it didn't have to be! It doesn't have to be! That's the voice that prods me to keep trying, even when it's so tempting to turn away, shut down, remove myself from the situation. It's so much easier to ignore it and sink myself into the easy pleasures of material comforts and friends. I want so much, so, so much to ignore that voice. To tell it to shut up, because I can't control how people behave, or take on responsibility for other people's relationships, and that I will drive myself crazy or ill with trying to make things better, because they never will. My mother will continue to be resentful and bitter about the things she lost, and continue to be frightened and distrustful of people because she's been burned. My aunt and uncle will continue to be naive and be directed by their immediate feelings, continue to convince themselves that they aren't very valuable to me or bigbro, continue to sink deeper into their tiny world, continue to convince themselves that they can't do anything except what old people do. My dad will continue to be a charming disaster of a businessman, continue to cite Buddhist aphorisms instead of trying to patch rifts he created long ago.

And I will continue too -- continue drifting/searching/seeking/wandering aimlessly, always vaguely dissatisfied, always waiting for something to happen instead of directing my own life, always deferring pleasures because of some inexplicable guilt that haunts me. I will continue to feel frustrated and angry because I can't fix my family problems, but be unable to quit trying. God, it's almost enough to make me laugh through the tears. How can I expect others to change when I can't even change myself?

But the thing is -- I did change. I was bitter and resentful and angry with my parents, and punished them and myself by cutting off all communication with them -- and I stopped doing that. My ex-boyfriend helped me, and my shrinks helped me, and my friends helped me, and I stopped being a brat and started trying to deal with the problem.

So ... why? You know what I'm saying. Why can't they also stop doing whatever it is that is unhelpful and unproductive? And why can't I stop being so bothered by their inability to do so?

Because it can be better. The world! Our planet! Our country! Our lives! But if we can't even stop sabotaging ourselves and our relationships with those closest to us, how can anything ever get better?