Tonight, I feel sort of... no, extremely, like a bitch. Let me explain.
James Joyce is haunting me. Seriously. But I'm thinking that yknow, maybe the guy had a point about this whole epiphany thing. Confusing and altogether painful stream of consciousness aside, I'm really starting to see what he was talking about in A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man.
My great grandmother died ten years ago. Today. Thus, today sort of marks the turning point of when things started to go down hill. A lot of the problems that occurred in my life, most notably my father's drug addiction, can be traced back to her death. My dad was the favorite, the spoilt one, just like I was; the difference was that whereas his life went downhill at an alarming rate, I couldn't bring myself to really feel remorse about the whole thing. Besides, I was only seven at the time. And now I can barely remember her.
Every year, today, my family meets up at the mausoleum where she is and we light a candle which burns for a day. It sounds so respectful and heartfelt, and I'm sure that the other members of my family see it as so.
I, on the other hand, pretty much abhor the whole thing. I hate the idea of annually being reminded of all of it. It just seems too morbid for me (though, admittedly, a lot of the dead aunt's things going to me is sort of worse, but that's a different story.), and I always look forward to these gatherings with apprehension. I could never exactly figure out why this affectionate gesture to my Granny distressed me so much; afterwards, I always left with a not-quite-emotionless-but-not-far-off-feeling about my family.
Today, ten years later, I think that it finally dawned on me why I've been plagued by this feeling for a decade.
If you've ever read Portrait, you know that, in the end, Stephen Daedalus comes to the conclusion in the big epiphany of the book that in order to be the voice of Ireland, he has to leave the very country he wishes to speak of and to, as well as earn the unbridled hatred of many of its citizens.
In a way, I've had my epiphany.
My great grandmother was sort of the Uniter of the family. And, I think that even ten years ago, I knew that eventually I would have to leave them behind. That at some point the desire to get as far away as I could from them would consume me, and I've felt guilt for it. For something I haven't even done yet. And that, every sixth of November, I have to, in a way, face the center point of my family while harboring this conclusion within me. This year I'm conscious of it; perhaps the others I wasn't aware of it.
So, I essentially realized today that I feel, and have felt, like absolute shit for ten years because of something that I know I have to do.
Dinner afterwards wasn't pretty. Since then I've been in a pretty nihilistic, fatalistic mood. I was quiet while eating, not wanting to terribly offend anyone. I'm the good grandchild, remember.
Afterwards, I went somewhere where maybe something would be good. I was in complete acknowledgement this wasn't a full possibility, but dealt with it anyway.
This is where the total bitch factor comes in.
I didn't mean to leave like that. I didn't mean to say any of the things I've said, but to some extent I knew it was building. That there were things I've had to get off my chest for months now, and it had to happen sooner or later. I've tried writing them down, only to delete them, and there have been other times when things have been too good to want to drag down. On a night that's already down in the gutter, it's not hard to ruin it. So I word vomited everything.
I proceeded to drive my sexy car home at high speeds and by all rights should've gotten pulled over and had my license revoked, but I didn't.
Then I felt better. To a degree, I feel like shit because of the way I left (you know who: I really am. Lemme make it up.) but ultimately I think tonight had to happen. I'm glad it's over and done with.
I don't know what else to say other than that, and that I'm sorry for hurting you. I never meant to.
