scrap metal

reading sarah schulman's work makes me think about my relationship with my mother. and then i get angry when i'm thinking about my mother. i go into a rage, really, thinking about all the things i could say to her but never do. all the things that would put her in bed for two weeks straight with guilt and sadness. like your life totally excludes me but yet you imply that you want me in your life, but then i'm the one who has to make the effort to be in your life. why do i have to make the effort? why do i have to travel to you when i have no money and you live in a place that makes me uncomfortable, surrounded by people who make me uncomfortable? when i visit, it's like i haven't changed at all. especially when the others are around like step-dad and uncles and cousins. i'm still the silent, sad, mute. god they make me so uncomfortable, but they're so comfortable. they've never questioned themselves and i'm sure they have no idea that i hate them or that i would have any reason, too. part of me wants to go visit. in some ways, i'm most comfortable around my mom and my sister, but only when the others aren't around. and my mom and my sister are so into the others. they're successful and fun and normal and totally fucked up. like scary TV fucked up. plastic, superficial, god-friendly, racist, suburban, hillbilly, redneck, all that bad stuff. my sister tells my niece that i'm weird and then my niece repeats it like a mantra to me the whole time i visit. i say if you're normal honey, count me out. she doesn't get it. sometimes i think if i did actually speak around the others, portraying some sense of my true self they would think i was really crazy. i can't imagine them getting my humor or simply understanding anything that i say. mouths would be agape. but maybe i'm wrong. how would it be if i was just myself the whole time, all the time. they might think i'm crazy but i would be happier.