Wibbling Thoughts

Here be a plotted history of the Christmas Period for me and my family.

Christmas Eve: was pure hell. no seriously. i hated it. so am not elaborating any further.

Christmas Day: was the kind of stony polite silence where everyone played at happy families for a bit and then went to bed.

Boxing day: was interesting. i went with my family to a family friends. now this particular friend has three kids, all younger than my middle sister, so i was by far the eldest, and ever since we knew them i was the odd one out, so when i got to 18 i thought it would be wonderful and i could get counted as a grown up and allowed to chat with mum and her friends. but sadly this wasn’t the case…so i phoned another friend of mine in Marple and went round to their house. the quote of the day was “sophs is coming round, she sounds a bit desparate”. so i ended up with some friends, had a wonderful time, and then felt the familiar depression/panic as i realised i had to go back to my family…but it was ok as i went home after that.

I think possibly the worst bit of the christmas period was the strained relationships between me and my family, it really upsets me that i have such a crap relationship. but so much went on over christmas that i was really really angry at mum. which is unusaual. normally when i seem angry i am really upset and deeply hurt, but this christmas i was angry, upset and deeply hurt. because of a complicated family, i only had one pure blood sibling, a brother called joe. because of crap relationships with my family i spent a good part of my childhood in a dream world where my brother was alive. to some extent i still do, i wonder what he would have been like and how things would have been different. apparently my middle sister was upset about Joe’s death and mum said she would take her to see where joes ashes are scattered. So i thought that was ok, that we’d all go as a FAMILY. i was wrong. My mum took her boyfriend and my two younger sisters to see where my brothers ashes are scattered. Leaving me at my biological fathers.

And then told me i ruined christmas for everyone by being upset.

grrrr.

but boxing day was great fun, i love my friends!!!!

I had rather a sureal weekend!

Well, sunday night and monday night anyway…I met up with Rick from my home town for the carol service at York Minster (attended by the archbishops of York and Canturbry) and also met his friends and basically ended up getting invited to someone’s 21st birthday party last night, which was absolutley wonderful but i did get slightly tipsy.

I have now got 3 christmas cards. 2 from shippy people and one from a real person.

i went to the funeral and it was very strange, but it was strange in a good way. I saw many people i haven’t seen for a long long long time, and other old friends. Which was nice. but it was all because someone had died. which was not.

However, i am planning to meet up with a friend in manchester next week to do some christmas shopping. I really miss my friends in Marple, i miss the fact i felt like i had people to talk to…

but ho hum…it’s nearly christmas.

tally of christmas cards so far: 1

I walked into a shop this morning and this line from a cheesy song just said what i was feeling. I’m just realising that the person who has been invading my thoughts with silly little memories of services and youth fellowship meetings and jokes and laughs and violence (the game) and tears and work experience and carnivals and christmas plays and hundreds of other tiny aspects of life is dead.

I found out on sunday that my minister (from my home town – marple) died last saturday. Went to church and cried my heart out.

Today i had a history trip. To manchester. To methodist central hall. I ended up crying again.

The funerals on Saturday and TBH i’m scared. What i’m scared off i’m not sure. But some how i am.

My minister wasn’t just an etherial being who stood in the pulpit and preached hell fire and damnation…he was part of my life, of our lives…leading the CU mission, standing on his head in the christmas service, helping me thorough loads of crap, having open houses and letting us into his house for youth fellowship…

I don’t know what to say now.

At the risk of sounding selfish, it brought back all the memories of my dad. And that fatal moment when mum said “oh sophs he died” (she used sophs, it’s not me protecting my name) and the silly dream i had that night and the confusion and the desire to run away and escape…My minister had two kids, the eldest is around the same age that i was when dad died. Dear God hold his family…