You Can't Choose Your Family - But You CAN Block Them On Facebook (2008)

 I haven't spoken to most of my family for over a decade.

Not long after my son was born, things went a bit weird. 

Our little boy was quite a few weeks premature. It was a very complicated birth and the whole experience was one of the happiest and scariest times of my life. I've since discovered that most parenting is like that; lots of happiness and treasured memories - but completely bloody terrifying at the same time.

Anyway - within 24 hours I started getting bombarded with phone calls and texts from family members. My mother and my brother - the two people I'd spent the most time with when I was a kid - were in constant contact. They were messaging each other and messaging me. But they weren't calling to congratulate us. They didn't ask how we were doing or when the baby might be allowed home... it was a stream of passive aggressive accusations and insinuations:

'Have you told X about the baby? They have a right to know...'

'Y is upset because you haven't asked them to be a Godparent'

'Z still hasn't been to see the baby? I blame his partner. I can't stand the bloke and I've never liked that set up.'

I'd try my best to be polite.

I'd explain I had a lot to sort out - as well as spending as much as time as possible at the hospital... but it didn't seem to matter. 

I'd get another call or another text and it was always the same kind of thing:  

'I don't think Z will come to the Christening. They say religion is a form of child abuse...'

'He told me he's too busy to visit... isn't it awful?'

'Other people have busy lives, not everybody thinks your baby is the most important thing in the world...' 

And pretty soon I saw it for what it was - shit stirring. 

Our family has a long and unhappy history of shit stirring.

Somebody was always telling tales or pretending to be offended. It didn't take much to cause a fight. We didn't see each other that often so it was easy to cause trouble over the phone, especially in the age of text messages. 

I thought, just for once, members of my family might be happy for me.

 For all of us.

Just that.

Something good had happened.

We'd had enough crap as a family. We'd had tough times.

Surely this should be a moment of togetherness?

Shouldn't this be a good time?

But I should have known better. Certain people aren't happy unless they are the centre of attention. And some people love a family argument - almost as if they want to live in a real life soap opera.

Similar things had happened when I'd first told my family I was getting married: they just couldn't be happy for me, they couldn't even pretend to be. They had to manufacture drama with attention seeking bullshit. It went on for months:

'Y won't come to the wedding if you invite Z...'

'You'll have to change your plans - X is far too nervous to stand in front of all those people...'

'Do you really think you're ready for such a big step? Is she really good enough for you?'

My brother always had an excuse for not coming to visit. For two months he was 'too busy', 'snowed under' or there were problems with his partner and their car. He eventually stopped by for a fleeting twenty minute visit... but only because he was 'passing' and 'in the area'. He made no effort to interact with his new nephew. In fact, it looked like the sight of my son made my brother's skin crawl.

I struggled to believe what was happening - couldn't he just pretend to be happy? Even just for a few minutes? Obviously not. 

The problem was - my brother was used to being the 'special boy' in the family. He was the first person to go to University, to do an M.A. a Ph.D and to get a book published. And we'd always shown up for him. We went to his graduation, his book launches, his 'readings' - we even used to flood Amazon with good reviews for his novels. I guess he didn't see our son as being important compared to his many, many wonderful educational and literary achievements.

As was usual whenever I had to deal with my mother and my brother (and their respective partners) I could feel myself getting chewed up.

Were they doing this on purpose? 

Why would somebody cause trouble at this precise moment?

Were they being thoughtless, stupid or malicious?

I've struggled with my mental health for a long time but most of my family didn't believe there was anything wrong with me. They probably still don't. 

It wasn't just that people were unsympathetic - they'd actually been quite hostile. On more than one occasion I was physically attacked and made homeless. My stay in hospital and ongoing problems had been dismissed as 'tantrums,' 'childish petulance,' and 'laziness.'

It's very strange to look back on it all now. My mother had always struggled with depression and anxiety (and prescription medication). As a kid I didn't really know what was going on but I remember the endless visits to different Doctors, the months she'd spend shut up in her bedroom and the late-night emergency ambulances. On the rare occasions when we did go out as a family she'd disappear into the nearest public toilets for forty minutes at a time. That's anxiety! That's agoraphobia! I know it now. My mother was housebound most of the time I was growing up - and her mother had to give up her retirement plans to come and look after us. Maybe I was naive to expect the same kind of love and support from my mother. She clearly didn't have a single shred of empathy. 

I'd always had to apologise a lot - I was used to taking the blame for family disagreements. I'd also had to bite my tongue and forgive a lot. I was stupid enough to think it was worth it.

But in early 2008 I also had my son to think about. Did I want him surrounded by this sort of crap? 

I stopped answering the phone.

It just made things worse.

I started getting bizarre answer-phone messages. And then there were the text messages... 

My partner started getting arsey text messages while she was still in hospital - and they accused her of being thoughtless and selfish.    

 All of this shit was getting me down. My GP told me to increase my medication and she wanted me to have another appointment with the Psychiatrist. She also asked if there was anything I could do to reduce my stress levels.

I felt as if my family were going out of their way to upset me. My GP said they were - literally - making me sick.

The messages kept coming. And they got nastier and nastier. All of the people sending these messages knew I'd been getting treatment for anxiety and depression and that I'd been diagnosed with a bipolar disorder.

Selected highlights:

'I'd heard new parents can be a bit psychotic but...'

'You're a fake and a phoney: people with REAL mental health problems never talk about them.'

'All this macho posturing about weddings and babies... Why do some people have to flaunt their heterosexual privilege?' 

At first I tried to reply. Sometimes I'd argue or explain my side of things... but it was pointless. I got essay length e-mails from people who'd barely spoken to me in years! They went into great detail about what a terrible human being I was.

 In the end I think they got what they wanted. 

I lost my temper and I told them all to fuck off.

I went to pieces. I was sobbing, crying down the phone, telling some of my closest family members that I never wanted to see or hear from them ever again. I didn't want a family who behaved like this. I was so hurt, I was so upset - I just wanted them all to leave me alone.

And then I got a visit from the Police. Somebody had reported me for using 'threatening and abusive language'. I'd been accused of 'harassment'. 

I'd calmed down by this point and I explained to a bemused Police Officer that I hadn't threatened anybody, I'd just told some of my closest relatives to 'fuck off and die'.

I showed the Police some of the messages I'd received - and I was asked if I wanted to make a complaint...

And then something clicked. 

If you combined Hitler, Darth Vader, Stalin, Davros and every other villain (real or imaginary) to create the biggest bastard in the universe - they still wouldn't be as horrible as the person being described in those messages.

My folks had gone too far.

My self-esteem was in the basement and I felt lower than I had done for a long, long time - but as I showed them to the Police I saw those messages for what they were: nasty, insidious, goading - but also ridiculous. 

I couldn't be that bad - because nobody was that bad. And I certainly wasn't the Biggest Bastard in the Universe. 

My family despised me.

I don't think I'd ever hated my folks. I was angry with them, but I also felt a bit sad and confused. Had they deliberately provoked me? Did they just want rid of me? 

I couldn't cope with them. I had to cut all ties. I had to focus on my new, little family. My mental health wasn't great and I didn't have the capacity to deal with the same old shite over and over again.

Some people said I was making a mistake. Some people told me that having a bad relationship with your family is better than having no relationship with your family - but I don't think that's true. If something is making you ill - whether it's booze, ciggies or bitchiness - you're wise to cut back.

A couple of years ago one of my relatives added me as a 'friend' on facebook and I decided to give it a go. We had a couple of brief online chats. It was awkward but it didn't end in any arguments.

The problem is - once you become facebook 'friends' with one member of the family, you start to see all of their interactions with the rest. 

And it wasn't pretty. 

Birthdays, Mother's Day, Christmas - all of those happy family times were an excuse for an argument on social media - just like they had been in the 'real' world. It was all too familiar:  

'X hasn't sent a card'

'Y didn't visit at Christmas' 

'Z is morbidly narcissistic - everything is about her own sense of being a victim.'

'I was stupid for taking X, Y & Z on that holiday. They played up the whole time.'

They hadn't changed at all. Without me around, they'd carried on just the same. I didn't want to be drawn back into that world. Did being horrible to each other make them happy? Did they actually realise what they were doing? 

It's not a question of 'forgiving' things that were said in the past and it's not a question of saying 'life's too short'... it's just a simple fact that I can't trust them not to do the same stuff over and over again. And I can't cope with them. 

 I'm well aware that the problem might be me. Maybe my folks get on really well with each other 99.9% of the time. Maybe it's just me who can't cope with the drama or the shit stirring. 

They probably couldn't care less that they never hear from me. I'm sure every Christmas, birthday and special occasion is now an absolute delight. 

I'm sorry I let it go on for so long. I'm sorry it ended with me losing my temper. 

But I'll never be sorry I walked away.