Stick a fork in me. I am done.

You would think that at just two weeks short of turning fifty-five I might recognize when the world around me isn’t quite right. 

I get most of it, and typically don’t feel as if I am running among utter chaos in my everyday life.

There are the “normal” ups and downs, whatever those may be, and however any family and/or social group defines normal.

I have actually felt relatively proud of the fact that I raised three amazing children to adulthood without major incident, that they seem to be on good paths as they advance in life, that I am relatively healthy, that I have accomplished some of my life goals, that I still have most of my mental faculties, and that I wake up each morning. Being relatively intelligent, at least enough to believe that I am fairly capable and all brain functions are working, I am utterly finding myself caught off guard by the events of the last few days. 

I must digress just a bit with some background. I come from a highly dysfunctional family. If you have known alcoholism then you know just a small portion of what I have lived. Actually, these days, who doesn’t share in the club we will call the Dysfunctional Alcoholic Family or DAF. Let’s face it. Alcohol and other substance abuse seems to touch just about everyone. The issues are many, and most likely not interesting to anyone, or too disturbing to relate because they dredge up personal memories, both past and current, for too many people reading this. We (collective society) all seem to know the basics and there’s no need for me to cover them here.

I held the strong belief that I had managed to put most of my familial issues behind me. After both the death of my mother, and shortly after that, my father, familial responsibilities seemed to level out. This all happened in years past, around the mid 1990’s, so a long time ago. Slowly, over these past twenty years, death has claimed most of my remaining relatives, the previous generation specifically. The present generation, being what it is as members of the extended DAF, is an unbound, you-live-your-life-and-I’ll-live-mine sort of group. Age ranges widely, personal familial issues within each sub-group provide enough stress and strain. Somehow, we all seem to have mutually, although without verbal proclamation, agreed to live in our own worlds. Typically those worlds spin around each other but never intersect. 

A few years ago my world did intersect once more with one of those entities. I was okay with that. I actually welcomed that as this reunion brought me once more closer to many memories of my dad.

Today I am once more moving within my own trajectory. For my own self-preservation I am done. 

I am spinning quite well on my own just now, literally. A whirlwind has enveloped me in a sea of lies and deceit with my own inability to determine just who is the liar and who speaks the truth. That “A” part of the entire DAF may, or may not be involved. That “A” part always seems to be linked so closely with lies and deceit. That “A” part may also simply be a gigantic ploy to suck me into a trap, a cunningly designed game to secure information. I don’t really know what’s up or down right now. 

I do know that it is over, at least for me. I swore never again to be taken in by anything connected with alcoholism after growing up as a member of the DAF. It is too easy to become caught up, sucked in, taken and used, lied to and crapped on. Sadly, because it is horribly sad, I ended it this morning. Being used, in any shape or form, makes me feel like I am eighteen all over again, clamoring to get out. 

I hate that feeling and refuse to subject myself to it all over again.

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