I found out, via an offhand remark made by a second cousin in a Facebook message, that my grandmother died two months ago.
Two months ago.
Two fucking months ago.
Yes, we’re estranged. But one of them couldn’t pick up the damn phone, or send an email, or something?
All the careful beating around the bush I’ve done to avoid airing my family’s crazy-ass dirty laundry – yeah, I’m done.
Screw that. That little veneer of civility that kept me from sharing the worst of the worst? It’s gone. I feel really fucking uncivilized right now. Mom who went batshit crazy when I was a teenager, physically abused me (and doubtless my other sibs) and flirted with my (gay) male friends? Check. Dad who wears tights and pretends he’s a founding father — and is married to a psycho woman with 17 cats? Check. Brother-in-law showing up with a random STD but oh, no, he didn’t cheat? Check. Brother marrying crazy-ass European chick? Check. Other brother with weapons fetish? Yep.
Whatevs, fam. We’re through. Maybe I’ll finally do what the shrinks have been after me to do and write all this crap down. It could be, you know, cathartic.