Juggling life through a bi-polar lens. Sometimes up, sometimes down. Mostly trying to tread water in the middle. Creating a likeness to a normal life. Whatever "normal" is...
Showing posts with label I hate stupid f*king weddings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I hate stupid f*king weddings. Show all posts

Sunday, 11 December 2011

Disaster

So I went to the wedding. I'd had about 3 hours sleep but I washed, dressed in my new clothes, fixed my hair and put on the make-up that I'd bought the day before. A big part of me had wanted to go and for it to all be wonderful, meaning that I'd spent a lot on clothes and shoes and new bag, haircut and make-up and even had had my eyebrows threaded- which had been excrutiating! So I had tried to get myself in the right mindset, you see. I HAD 'made an effort'. I stress this because it is the cause of the blazing row that started at the reception-

I went over to talk to my brother. We had all eaten the dinner and were waiting for dessert. A general hubbub and interlude. I went over to talk to my brother but the bride started talking to me right away instead.

Earlier at the church, I hadn't been able to face the service- as I had predicted. I did text my brother the night before and warn him that an hour long service might be too much for me. I wanted to forewarn him in case he turned round in the service, saw I wasn't there and wondered why.

Well according to the bride this text hugely upset my brother as did my not staying for the service. -I did NOT walk out of the service. I left before it began. I did this because it was an old church with old, boxed in pews, so the only exit was down the main aisle. Not good for quick, or subtle exits. SO I explained to mum and Luvbug, and sneaked out. Unfortunately it was just as the bride's party were hanging around at the door. My brother later told me that she had accused me of giving her a filthy look as I left, but I certainly did not!

I really don't think that they would have noticed me not being there if she hadn't seen me leave. THere were so many of their friends there.

But what the bride said to me during reception was that it didn't matter whether I was ill, or couldn't stand church services because of things in my past, or that I felt I was havign a panic attack, or that my depression had been particularly bad that week - all explanations I tried to give her whilst she was ticking me off for not supporting my brother- no, it didn't matter how bad I felt or why, "It's your brother's day, not yours, you see? You understand? It's his day." this is what she kept telling me. And it didn't matter how bad I felt or what reasons I had. Because HER sisters would have overcome it and put him first, she said.

NExt to my clothes. I explained that I had had to wear black trousers in the end- I made a joke of it- as it was hard to find anything this time of year as the shops only sold Chrismassy things. "That's ok, to wear something Christmassy, it's meant to be a celebration, Helen, not a funeral." was the reply. Poor mum, in black and navy. No one took the troubel tell her how nice she looked.

Well after all I'd been through- the fact that I HAD gone to the wedding to do precisely what I was being accused of not doing- to support my brother- something in me snapped. I went back to my table, pick up my things, told Luvbug, I can't stay, not after that, and went to the car....

That would have been enough, but although Luvbug came with me, Mum didn't, so I went back in to explain and to get her... Luvbug begged me not to go back in, but I was so fuming and maybe 2 1/2 glasses of wine hadn't helped (oh dear).

Well mum had gone over to say goodbye to the bride. God alone knows what she said to mum. Mum said she didn't hear half of it.

David was chatting to his friends and working his way to the door where Luvbug and I were waiting. Once he got there, we thought he was going to say something like, "oh dear, that didn't go well did it? Are you going early then?" but no, he started to say that this was HIS day and that I should put him first and I hadn't behaved properly and blah blah blah. SOmething in me was so mad! I told him how low and depressed I'd been, how we'd really tried to get to the wedding, how we had had to come to get mum there- even though she was mostly ignored by them when there!

-Here is how mum was treated-
we seated her in the second pew, behind where the bride and groom, and her beloved grandchildren, were to sit. They moved her back to another pew, further away, and put their witnesses, friends, in that place. SO in the wait for the bride's party it was to these friends that my brother chatted, not mum.

-no buttonhole! I asked if there was a buttonhole for mum, as a few people were wearing a red rose. No, he said. He told mum that as they cost £12 each he didn't get many. So just him, his boys and... the ushers! The ushers got a flower but not the mother of the groom!

-next mum fell went getting out of the box pew. I was in the Ladies' loo at the time, when I came back there was just her and luvbug at the top of the church. They explained what had happened. Had my brother known? Yes, he did. Was he there? No. Luvbug took care of her, though.

-Mum, Luvbug and I waited at the top of the church a bit late while they had official photo's taken. Mum was waiting to be called. But they never called her. All packed up and finished, they let. Mum was so upset. I went after them and asked my brother, what about a photo with mum? -She is upset, she wanted to be in a photo! His reply was something like, "Oh I suppose so, yeah maybe we should, I'll get the photographers...."

We were the only people from this side of the family there, we knew no one else. SO it was particularly difficult. We'd hope my Aunt Pat and 2 cousins would be there, we would all have enjoyed meeting up again. But my brother had invited my aunt and not my cousins, so the invitation was turned down- my cousins felt hurt and besides, my aunt and uncle unable to drive a long way, the cousins were needed to get them there!

Oh well.... back to the door of the hotel- my brother and I got into a shouting match only some of which I remember, but I do remember him shouting in my face that I have always treated him like shit.
WHAT the?? HOW???
Back to how this was HIS day....

There is more, a lot more, but the bottom line is that I felt that the bride had no business pulling me up at that moment anyway, and certainly could not judge me, as she didn't know how hard things were. All she would say to my explanations is that it didn't matter and that I should put my brother first. She went on to say I had not said congratulations to them and blah blah.... not that they had come over to the three of us, leaving us on our own, and not even thinking to include us in the photo's until I chased after them! We had brought cards and gifts.....not congratulations enough....

'Are you glad we're married, because you haven't said so!' she said. This put me as piggy in the middle as I knew that my brother had told me, when Steph had booked the date, that he would rather spend the money on getting a decent car that didn't keep breaking down. As far as we knew, this was her big idea, not his. So hard to congratulate him really, when we felt more sympathy for him...

Well the shouting went on right up to the front door of the hotel and till I got into the car, telling him that my family had treated ME like shit since I was 2 and not any more because they were all dead.

Oops.

Today I woke up and thought it had all been a nightmare.
I wish it had been.
I am shocked how it all escalated from the bride's words to a blazing row.
But telling me that I had to think of others touched a very, very raw nerve.

Next time when facing things I know I can't do, I shall listen to my gut, to my mental health, to my friends out there, and say no, I'm putting myself first this time and I'm not going....

I sent a long email to them this morning giving my side of what happened and how things escalalted etc. Luvbug went over it with me to make sure I wasn't emotive or angry in it.... I doubt it will be read but hey ho. I wish the whole day had not happened in a week when I have been worse than ever. At a better time who knows, I may have been able to pull it off. I feel a total failure that I didn't, a fool, embarrassed as guests must have heard us, I feel bad that mum had to leave early because of it all, I feel wretched about not being able to be normal, and confused as to whether to hate all of me or just my bloody head... suicide was breathly a suitable solution today, but a sleep and a hug from Luvbug, I am now bruised and battered, but ok to go out to the Xmas fair with mum in town..... I feel I have been hit by a truck....

I would love to hear your opinion good or bad, I need other perspectives maybe, I need to know I'm not the biggest shit around- or am I? the worst sister? I am utterly amazed that Luvbug still loves me today.


Saturday, 3 December 2011

ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU CHEW YOUR OWN FOOT OFF!!

My elder brother gets married next Saturday. It's his second marriage. They've been together about 15 years and have two kids. Now, after suddenly becoming a Christian, his former atheist 'you're an idiot to believe in anything' partner wants a wedding. And so it's booked for 10th December.

I avoid get togethers like the plague. The last party I went to was a schoolfriend's 14th. The last wedding I went to was my brother's first one, 20 years ago. I left after the photo's. You can keep speeches, small talk with strangers, lukewarm food and loud music that no one would normally stay in the same room with.

But this time there is no getting out of it. Or as Mum so succinctly put it- "Well, they're expecting you up there, and I'm going, so you've got to take me." Well that's told me, then, hasn't it? Nothing like being 44 and under your mother's orders.

And it started about 6 weeks ago- the trial of trying to get mum something to wear. She wants to go shopping for clothes at least three times a week. No matter how slowly I walk for her, she slopes along three steps behind me. I try to keep my chin up and smile. Like today; "OK, what sort of top would you like?"
"Don't know."
She already has a nice navy blue jacket. The sleeves are too long and so I'm half way through putting these up for her, not fast enough apparently as she asks if I have done it yet at least twice a day.

So now we need trousers or skirt. I will need to put these up, too, as even 'petite' ranges don't cater for people UNDER 5'2".

Ever tried to find a short, straight navy skirt in the run up to Christmas? There aren't any. Anything with just the main colour being navy? You know, a pattern, whatever, doesn't matter? No. Everything not snazzy enough for a Christmas party has gone into storage and store assistants look up begrudgingly from conversation, mobile phone texts and magazines to tell me "Oh, well, if we did have that it would be out on the rail."

Occasionally over the last month and a half I have found items of clothing that would work. Usually mum just screw her nose up at them and walks off, or makes a sarcastic comment, or laugh derisively as though to say, "you like THAT? Oh my God! What's WRONG with you?"

It would be easier if she actually looked. But I look, she just wanders behind me. Then stands there, like a reluctant child in the summer holidays, being forced to shop for school uniform. But it is HER idea to come into town and look. Then once there it's all onto me.


Well today I had ENOUGH. 

Let's concentrate on a top today, shall we?
OK.
So what kind of top do you want?
Don't know (shrugs, screws up nose)
I think white, cream or blue would go with your jacket.
Yes but what else? Do I get trousers or do I get a skirt?
(we have already had this conversation 50 million times but never mind)
Well let's concentrate on a top first. This shop has both, though, so we can keep an eye out.
(Then I find a white shirt, long sleeve- previous short sleeved selections have not past the wrinkled nose test. This shirt has a slim pin stripe in it, and in the stripes are flowers. Nice. Smart. Warm. Feminine.)
Ooo how about this?- I say, bringing her the shirt.
-She pulls a face.
Well, it's smart enough. Nice material. Will go. And you could wear it other places afterwards...?
-Screws up face, derisive laugh.
-Then she picks up a long sleeve T shirt. Big blue swirly flower pattern. Yeah, why not?
Yes, that's nice.
-I like that.
Yes, ok. Why not try that one on?
-Yeah.
Want to bring the shirt as well?
-Screws up face.
OK, we'll leave that.
Go to try on top.
Look at other selections on the way, no short skirts.
Get to changing rooms. Mum has a go at the assistant, saying that there are no skirts. Assistant reels off a list of other shops we should try, which we have already tried. I tell her this, and she doesn't believe me. She particularly doesn't believe that M&S have nothing suitable. The last thing I need is shop staff telling me to look harder.

Mum tries on the top and calls me.
-"It's too low at the front."
(It isn't.) Erm, no, no it isn't. But you could always wear your silky blue scarf around your neck if you fel cold."
--"No it's too low. You can see my vest."
Well leave it off for one day."
-Screws up nose.Then agrees, as she likes the pattern and the material.
          Victory!!
On the way out of the changing area the assistant asks, "OK?"
"Yes," I beam. "We have success!"
Then mum appears, and thrusts the top into the assistant who stares at her, confused.
-"It's too low. You can see me vest."
"Uhm, what if you wore a light scarf with it, ma'am?"
-"No. I need it higher. And buttons. A few buttons up the top ."
"Shall I go and get that shirt, then?"
-"No, not today. Let's go home. We can come back tomorrow."

Great.
Tomorrow.
Saturday.
One of 3 left before Xmas weekend.
And we both hate crowds.
Oh what fun.

I text my brother, telling him of yet another fruitless afternoon shopping for Mum to get something for his bloody wedding. I am already cross with him because his promise to "take mum off your hands for one weekend a month" didn't come through for November, and won't for December either. Next chance I get of a day to myself is mid January. I tell him she might come to the wedding in jeans. He texts back that jeans are ok, so long as she has a matching hat.

Hat?
Hats?
Wha..?