Sick

Rant time, folks. I need to get this one out before I attempt commuting home.

First, though, is confession time. I'm an advice column addict. My addiction started at a young age following church services. To pass the time while my mother made her usual social rounds, my father would supply us with the Sunday paper and it wasn't long before I was hoarding the section that contained both "Dear Abby" and "Ask Ann Landers." It wasn't until my 20s that I found my current favorites, which include Savage Love, Dear Prudence and Miss Manners. Initially my excuse for my addiction was their sound advice that was helping me make better decisions about my own life. But the truth is, I'm a junky simply because it helps me feel better about my own train-wreak of a life. Reading these weekly (or biweekly) letters helps me feel better about my own problems or at least count my blessings.

Today may have cured me of my addiction.

Quick recap, for those of you who haven't heard me bitch about my abandonment issues: I haven't had any contact with my immediate or extended family in over a year. I now realize that the ground-work for this was laid before I was even born, with me fulfilling the role of the whipping boy/black-sheep for this generation of children. Through a lot of counseling, I've begun to see the generational pattern of all of this; that my parents were simply executing programing that was instilled in them from birth. The thing is, I'm still angry. I'm angry that my parents chose to sacrifice me in their feeble attempts to "save" their siblings. I'm pissed that my mother viewed me as a threat instead of celebrating any of my life achievements or milestones (be it birthdays, graduating from high school, college, getting married and even completing my PhD). I'm disgusted with the whole lot of them that living like white-trash is celebrated and that "don't judge" is deemed as a suitable reason for not addressing the fact that all of them are fucking miserable.

Reading Dear Prudence today made me physically ill. Seriously, I recommend you find a place to sit down before you follow the link, because the main letter will piss you off. Is it possible that all of this is fiction? Yes, absolutely (part of me hopes that's the case). Still, if even a part of it is true, it's tragic. And Prudie's sage advice? Telling the letter writer to hang herself would have been kinder. Instead, the advice is to suck it up and think about the child. Never mind the fact that this poor kid has a psychopathic mother and a narcissistic father. One good note out of this train-wreck: at least the comments section hasn't been the usual bash on infertiles and anyone who pursues fertility treatments showcase.

This hit too close to home. Particularly the part where the letter writer talked about seeing all the happy family photos of FB. I could have been ill with her. Granted, I don't have to deal with the pain of infidelity. That on top of infertility and RPL would suck in whole new ways. But the betrayal this letter writer is experiencing from people who are suppose to love and support her is all to real. To be exiled by loved ones simply because the offending party became knocked-up and brought a baby into the world makes my head whirl. The reality is, not all children are brought into this world to two parents who want nothing but the best for them. More often than not, they are viewed as pawns for imaginary wars played between individuals who think only of themselves. Got any sage advice for that one, Prudie?

Someone please explain to me why any of this is okay? Seriously, I'm asking for a reason why this person should torment herself in the name of family. I'm not suggesting that we revert to a society that stitches scarlet "A"s to people's clothing or that children born from these tragedies spend the rest of their lives suffering from the sins of their parents. But come on! Sacrificing someone for one's own selfish gains isn't something that should be rewarded.

What's getting to me is the fact that I don't have family. I know I haven't had any for years, with infertility being the straw that broke the camels back. That in a lot of ways I'm better off. Still, I'm at a loss. Mainly because society expects those of us who are thrown off to simply dust ourselves off and go on to live happy lives without offending kin. It's always easier said then done, especially around the holidays and other celebratory events. Do I regret the decisions I had to make? No. Part of me just wishes I never had to.