There are two different philosophies about blogging out there. One, which a blog I read follows, is that people should not be named and the private life is just that -- private. She rarely blogs about big family or personal issues. Another is to blog about whatever the fuck you want, regardless of who reads or who you mention. I don't really know a whole lot of people who follow that one.
For me, my public life and private life are sort of like a Venn diagram with major overlap. There are very few things that I don't tell people about my personal life. I used to be much more open than I am now, which is saying something, considering I'm pretty open as it is. And while it's all fine and dandy to skip the petty trivialities of life, some things just come crashing down out of the sky and in a journal, it's hard not to record that. So if you'd rather not read a personal story, nobody's making you.
This is about my cousin who's not really my cousin. My uncle has since gotten divorced by woman he married nine years ago (more power to her -- my uncle's an asshole, but this isn't the place to discuss that), but I still very much consider my not-really-aunt to be my aunt, and her four kids who are not-really-cousins to be my cousins. They are family to me, at least, even if they aren't so close to the rest of my family anymore.
My cousin is just two months younger than me, and right from the start we were two peas in a pod. We grew up in two very different lifestyles, and so as a result, we are two very different people. And when I say different, I mean different. She's kind of what I would call a "ghetto hippie," if such a thing existed. Her family is kind of poor, and so they get by with what they can. They're very into the hippie scene, though. Tie-dye shirts, trippy blankets, Alice in Wonderland, pot, jam sessions, Jerry Garcia -- the whole nine yards. The ghetto part comes from my cousin hanging around some shady people who she's never quite been able to shake the influence of. Me, well. I read and knit, am incredibly and hardcore straightedge (never tried alcohol, drugs, smoking -- nothing, and I don't plan on it), and in school I get good grades, am a successful debater on the team, and hang around similar people.
We come from two completely different backgrounds, and if we weren't related then we would certainly either (a) not know each other, or (b) hate each other. But my cousin is one of my two very, very best friends. The kind of friend you know you'll have forever, even if you're separated for years.
About a month ago she was driving around with her boyfriend, and I guess they had weed or something, but they got pulled over and arrested. I've never really liked any of the guys she's dated, but after this happened, my semi-dislike of the guy magnified hundred-fold. She told me she wasn't going to hang around him anymore. Five days later, I saw them together in school, which is kind of a big deal because he doesn't go to our school, never did, and graduated from whatever high school he went to two years ago. I turned around and walked the other direction, and that was the last time I saw her since then.
That night she ran off with him, and this severely wounded me. I was angry and shocked, actually, because the whole "best friend" thing was mutual. My cousin was always telling me about how I was her closest friend, and she couldn't rely on anyone the way she could rely on me (which is kind of true. I'm a pushover and it's not hard to get me to do things for you... and when I say not hard, I really mean pathetically easy). After nine years of sticking with her through her mental illness, drug addiction, a pregnancy or two (both... uh... canceled), and even running away... I mean, we'd been through thick and thin. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Thick as thieves. And then she goes and chooses her fuckface of boyfriend who she'd been dating for a MONTH, and CHOOSES HIM OVER ME.
Needless to say, I was/am not happy. I cried quite a few nights because I just missed her so much, because I was hurt and angry that she'd completely fooled me into thinking she wasn't going to turn out like the fuckers she hung around with. Unfortunately, my cousin is a master at telling people what they want to hear, and I am no exception from the people she sells fodder to. I pondered what I would say if she ever called me -- the clipped greeting, her tentative approach for forgiveness, the verbal thrashing she'd get for abandoning me, and finally, the single click of resolve as I hung up. Then that'd be it. Then I just got so weary of thinking about it that I decided if she ever did call me, I don't know what I'd do. I stopped talking when people mentioned her. I didn't want to talk about her or her boyfriend or her situation or what she'd been that I was ignorant to, or anything.
They found her last night. Well, arrested is more accurate. Detained, maybe? She's in a mental facility... not in jail. When she told the police she was 18, they treated her like an adult and put her in this bus thing where she saw a dead body in a bodybag, and then when she went to Adult Jail she freaked out and had a breakdown. So now she's in a mental facility and my aunt is going to go get her tomorrow night.
My family is not going to be happy. After everything she's put us through, put me through, even though she's as foul an influence as ever was... well. I love her. She's not as tough as she puts on. She needs someone to be her friend, help her, and show her love. And that will inevitably be me. I know that there's a very good person inside of her, because she was that person when we were together. I can't trust her, really... I won't know if what she's saying is true or false. I don't even want to know where she was or what she did during the time she was gone. But I've already made up my mind. There wasn't even an option in the first place.
No comments:
Post a Comment