Missing your cousin

From Todaycollegetour

So, I talked to my cousin over break. You know, the one I so kindly dubbed a miscreant… after last year’s conversation when through the stupor he realized I’m in college I had kind of hope that… well … that he’d remember how old I am I guess. But he didn’t. Again. How hard is it to remember that you’re 11 years older than someone? He turned 11 the year I was born, the year our grandfather and uncle died. Hell, I was born just before they died. You’d think he’d remember dates like that, wouldn’t you? And after the fuss he made when I was born too… he told my mom she had to have a boy. At the time there were only two boys in the family, him and Dan. They were the same age, but Dan lives on the west coast… So I thought that he’d remember how old I am. But when the phone got to me, he asked how old I was. Again. At least this time he had good reason to. Or at least, I keep telling myself that. But I told him that I was nineteen and asked why. Someone had told him that my boyfriend was at the family dinner, and he wasn’t sure that I was old enough to be bringing boys. He told me that he supposed that yes, I was old enough to bring a boyfriend to the family dinner, and after all, he’d been bringing Rita when he was my age. I felt like screaming at him, it’s none of his business who I bring! He hasn’t been in my life for six years now, six long hard years during which if I talked to him two times in a year I was lucky. He walked out of my life when I was thirteen, and now, when I’m nineteen, an adult in the law, he has the audacity to think he might have a say in my life? I felt like telling him to butt out, that it didn’t matter what he thought, that all that mattered was what my parents and what grandma thought. But I didn’t. My mom brought me up to be more polite than that. He said that it was weird in effect, kind of like, where did the time go? I reminded him how long it had been, a lot changes in that many years. Not that anyone was keeping count, I said, I just knew these things. But he went on to talk about the fact that he’d heard that I had been in Las Vegas last spring, I told him about the band and the competition. About being in college, and how good it was going. He tried to turn my line on me when I asked how he’d heard about the Vegas job, that he keeps up on more that I would expect. Grandma told me that she had told him about it. He said he misses me and loves me. He called me “honey”, what, did he think I’d go and call him by his nick name from when I was little? I felt like yelling at him again. How can he miss or love me when he doesn’t even know how old I am? When he can’t keep sober for long enough to remember thirteen years of his life? The only thing that kept me from breaking down was that he seemed sober. But I know him too well, I know that there’s a chance he drunk, hiding it. But I can usually tell when someone is drunk or stoned, especially someone I know as well as I know him. I know that I should say his name, but I can’t. It feels like someone tightening a fist around my heart every time I say it. It’s felt like that for six years. I know that it’s unhealthy that I still have issues with dealing with it. I thought I was doing fine before got to college. I was dealing with it in a healthy way; I wrote quite a bit. But I found out around last Christmas time he wasn’t doing so well. I think that if I’d found out any other time it would have been fine, y’know? But… that’s when I found out, and then, I had to talk to him. I don’t know if he would have noticed if I hadn’t, but I liked to believe he would have. That’s what I always told myself. I’m realizing now that he probably doesn’t think of any of me, at any time other than the holidays when he makes his usual call. I’m digging this up because you asked why I am who I am. And really, he’s why I am the way I am. Whether I like it or not, he’s shaped who I am today, he’s had a big part in making me the way I am. I wanted to be like him when I was younger, but now I’m scared to death that I’ll turn out like him. And how do I deal with that? How can I accept that I’m rejecting the man who’d been my idol for 13 long years? Not wanting to be a drunk, or a druggie is one thing. But for so long all I wanted was to be like him. And now, I can’t think of him without getting a feeling of dread. I’ve gotten past denial. I’ve even moved past anger. But how do I deal with the dread? Dreading the fact that I’ll see him again? Dreading turning out like him? Dreading what should be a simple phone conversation? How do I move past the tears that threaten every time I think of how much he’s hurt me? Not to mention the rest of our family? I feel like I’m selfish, because he hurt ME. Because I feel like he did this to ME. And how do I talk to my family about that? How can I tell them that I’m not dealing with this, that every time any one talks about him I feel like curling up into the fetal position and bawling my eyes out? There’s a quote by a band called Flyleaf, you may’ve heard of them. The song is So I Thought, and the line is “And fight the tears with pretty smiles and lies about the times” and that’s how I’ve felt. So how do I change it? How do you change who you’ve been for six years?