Shove it in a box…..

Posted: March 11, 2011 in Recovery


I have a habit of avoiding some stuff. Putting certain issues on the back burner. But for so long, that it is burnt and crisp there on the back burner. I completely ignore it.

Lady Gandalf pointed this out to me when I was avoiding answering a potential sponsor’s very long and complicated email.

I had asked someone to be my sponsor in what I thought was an uncomplicated manner. I received a long complicated reply with some kind of “rules and boundaries” for continuing …..

It scared the living shit out of me. And I did what I am good at. I boxed it up all nicely. As it was. Put it in a box. Packed it away. Ignored it.

For 2 months !

I have cut myself off from my maternal family. My family of origin in recovery speak. Especially my mother who I last had meaningful contact with in December 2000.  I think I have boxed up my Johannesburg family and put them in their little box. High up in the cupboard. It is as if they never ever existed. It is the least painful option for me. I rarely “go there” in terms of what I feel about my mother situation.

Perhaps I have done my grieving. Perhaps I am the queen of cold. I am not sure.

I suspect the only time I will hear of my mother in the future is the phone call from my sister that she has passed away  died (“passed away is too similar in lingo to “passed out” which she has done often in my life !)…..

After many moons of trying to establish some resemblance of a relationship with my Dad in the UK, I gave up. Good and proper. I thought fuck that ! No more barking up that fecking tree. That squirrel ain’t gonna come down.

I blogged at the time – around 7 months ago or more – about wanting to go visit and being brushed off abit by my Dad about his work committments as lord mayor of timbuktu and how he was full up for 2 years.

There and then I cried. I fecking sobbed. My heart broke (again). I did my mourning. I put my Dad in his own little box and shoved that in the cupboard with all the other (mainly family orientated!) boxes.

Since then my Dad (not to be confused with my step-dad sexual predator Dave by the way!) has been trying to make light hearted email contact with me. And I am doing my usual of ignoring. Not going there.

I don’t think I am sulking. Or being angry. I have just given up. My heart feels like ice. I am cut off from my feelings around any of it.

My efforts have got me nowhere in the last 20 years. The last time I saw my Dad was 1994 – 17 years ago on my last trip back to the UK….

What is the point of picking at the scab when it’s healing ?

Here’s his last two mails that I haven’t responded to.

13 December 2010

Hi Diddy and Daughter Dear
Happy Christmas!  Hope you can download the attached pic which shows what we drooling old farts get up to on a cold December’s day.  It is before the Christmas procession kicked off at Wimborne.  I don’t know whether you can still remember it, but it is the back of the Market, near where your Granny used to live.
We have been mega-busy this year and are looking forward to a quiet few weeks over the Xmas/New Year break.
I am now a great grandad.  Your niece, Stephanie (Karen’s eldest) had a baby boy last week (Diddy info – Karen is my older sister in the UK, my Dad’s eldest)
Hope you are all well
Love Dad (aged 69), Pat (Diddy’s step mum) and Eric (the dog)

12 January 2011

(Diddy’s birthday)

Hi Diddy
Have a great birthday.  Hope you like the attachment, but I have forgotten what it is now!
Love Dad xx


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