Well, let me start off by saying that trolling Google for images is kind of risky, even if Web of Trust supposedly has your back. I lost my draft of this post…
Any-flipping-who…. I have a new job. Its awesome. Mainly because I get paid, get to wear office clothing, and it doesn’t involve being stuck in a factory with sweaty old men who try to find ways to touch my boobs. No really- true story. Temp guys can be g-r-o-s-s…
Since my hours are weird, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. However, I am getting paid, and that makes me happeh, to borrow a phrase.
I also have something to announce! I announce that Mr. Serrano and I announced our marriage (future) to the parents (aka Los Classy). How did it go? Sit down, child of God, and I shall tell you the tale! With pictures!
Well, in the morning we go to Mass. Unfortunately its in Saint Happy Clappy’s parish, so Trinity Sunday is all about the Creator, Redeemer, Spirit, and how Trinity Sunday has NOTHING TO DO WITH THEOLOGY. At the word “Creator” used in place of Father, I suddenly lost all appetite for interpreting for my dear fiance. Normally I do some simultaneous interpretation during English Mass for Mr. Serrano- good for practice and good for the soul. This time? Not so much.
So, after the Mass, we go home, garden a bit, take showers (separately, you pervs) and go to my grandfather’s Father’s day party.
It was like this, only with a Mexican.
Ignoring racist comments from one of the uncles who leaves classy messages all over my facebook and certainly never trolls leaving behind racist comments, we have an actually sort of pleasant party and eventually head home.
Having invited my parents out to dinner at a nice restaurant, we dressed nicely and checked to make sure we could pay for their orders. I also splashed us with Holy Water, figuring it couldn’t hurt. The dinner went well, other than my mother. The first few seconds of this video are 100% my crazy as heck mother, the rest is a montage of my life with them in restaurants.
She was pissed because her diet coke wasn’t on the table 2 seconds after we got our food at the buffet. She also yelled at a random waiter, who had no clue who the heck we were. Lets just say I kissed my favorite tea goodbye. Thanks, MOM. (The people know me there and I always leave a nice tip. So, I generally get the really good jasmine tea. Adios, dear tea…)
Eventually, we got around to actually saying something. Mr. Serrano had eaten a grand total of 1 plate, because he was ready to crap his pants he was so freaked out. I wasn’t freaked out until we had to say something- and we had to say it on the fly because Los Classy was moving out.
So…it went like this. “I would like to ask your daughter’s hand in marriage”
………….And we’re getting married in MEXICO.
Actually, they couldn't even get that out...
So? Besides the looks of shock, what were their reactions? Well, my internet friends, that is how we come by the new name “Los Classy”.
In bullet point, here were their reactions:
- You do know our daughter has $tudent debt, right?
- I appreciate you asking for this…
- We weren’t expecting this right now…(its early)
- We will talk about the financial $ituation.
- Let’s talk about the financial $$$$ituation.
- Are you pregnant?
- How are you going to live in Mexico, do you have any money?
- Great for you…I guess.
- Happy Father’s day to me, eh?/sarcasm
- This could just take her off our hands…
Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that classy? Doesn’t that just speak volumes about where my parents stand on marriage? Noticeably absent was any real sense of joy. No congratulations, no welcome to the family, nothing. Oh, Los Classy did look at my ring (which they were surprised we had already picked out) and I could immediately tell my mother was trying to figure out how much it cost. NICE.
Don’t get me wrong- this went 4billion times better than I thought it would be. Mr. Serrano and I ended the night laughing and watching a movie at the theater.
However, I was still incredibly, incredibly, incredibly disappointed and sad. My parents think the only reason people get married is because there’s been an “oops” baby- not because two loving people plan out a life together. Perhaps their talk of money is grounded in caring about what happens to us…but the way in which it was brought up made me feel like a cow, and a dishonest cow at that.
My parents are not proud of me. I could be a Saint, and they would still find me less than the family dog. I’ve known that for a long time, but it still hurts when it gets waved in my face. Its so glaringly obvious that they don’t know me- seriously, anyone stumbling across this blog probably knows me better than my own parents. If they knew me, they’d know how strong my faith and love are, and how I never hide anything from Mr. Serrano.
Things were okay for a few days after the announcement. I thought that I was finally safe to gush. I thought that I could hope, and dream, and make plans. I thought my mother was serious when she said that I could live in the house until marriage in order to save money- for about 1o seconds she acted like a real mom. Probably while I was thinking of saving my chastity by avoiding living together before marriage, she was only thinking of avoiding a pregnancy.
Like the one she had with me. The one where I supposedly came and ruined her so much better before me life.
But just like normal, she started screaming at me the other day. Screeching, like a demon. Accusing me of every disgusting thing she could think of. Emotionally manipulating me, guilting me, making me feel like an ant because I am happy and she isn’t. She’s far too good at sabotaging happiness to let something like that into her, or anyone else’s life. I had to let her know that I would not discuss anything with her until I had Mr. Serrano’s permission, and that if she screamed, yelled, or in any way made either of us feel uncomfortable, the end result would be us leaving the room or the house. We are not going to fight, argue, or act like children- we will just remove ourselves from the situation. She took back a gift she gave me, forcing me to pay for it with the last of the quarters, dimes, and small bills that I had left over from saving for the wedding. Yes, in my house this is “normal”.
I do not want to accept any more “gifts” from her again, even if I need them. Her gifts always come with something attached. I can live without them. I’d prefer to live without them. I want to tell her that I will no longer accept gifts from anyone in the family, but that would provoke her.
As for my father, he’s the usual ball-less wonder. Now that he gets what he wants from his wife, and with the Mormon carrot held out in front of him, he’s even more useless than before. You can bet money that he is going to be on “her side”, and is still not going to realize that by him choosing sides, he is only allowing the family to disintegrate more. He’ll probably try to “talk” on the weekend, in which he’ll once more drone on and on in his lecture about how I can’t “stir things up”, “rock the boat”, or “fight” against my mother. Every excuse will be afforded to her, from her (absolutely) horrific childhood, to her diabetes, to her being fat, to her having mental problems. Every effort will be made to downplay what is ultimately emotional abuse.
The end result of it all is that I’m done. I’m finished. I give up.
Today, I loaded up some books that I no longer read (re: 3 boxes full of them) and carried them out. Mother asked with a bit of astonishment, a slight how dare you, and some hope, if I was moving out.
“Nope.” I said. Not yet…
I might have to get a dispensation after I move in with Mr. Serrano. I don’t want to do it. I think living together before marriage is a sin, if not a close occasion of it. I worry about how well we can keep chaste together when we’ll see each other every morning, and every night for nearly 2 years.
I’m not moving in with my fiance because I think it will make our marriage stronger, or because I believe in a “trial marriage” (WHICH I DON’T), or because I’m in love with my fiance. It isn’t for fun, enjoyment, or because I would love to wake up every morning and go to bed every night under the same roof as the man that I love.
I’m moving in with Mr. Serrano as soon as possible, because my home life here is so crazy that I am not safe. I can’t sleep, eat, use the bathroom, clean clothing, or do anything in this house because I am always scared of being screamed at. Its beyond stressful, and it affects me spiritually.
I can’t pray as well; I swear a lot; I’m deeply angry to the point of rage. I’m depressed; my chest is constantly heavy, I plan my day around who I have to avoid. My quality of work suffers due to stress, I find myself wishing and wishing that I had a real mother. I try to think of the Virgin Mary as my mother. I try not to think of my father. I don’t pay attention to my appearance, I eat very little (and not very well) and I lock myself in my room when I’m not working or on a date. There’s not even much time for dates now, due to work. I constantly check to see who’s home when I return, and I breathe a sigh of relief if for once the mother isn’t around. I shout for joy (literally) when nobody is around, because then I’m free to cook myself dinner, eat, and take a shower without feeling threatened.
When I finally find the energy to go to Adoration, I can’t pray. I try, but all I can do is embarrass myself by crying in front of old Polish church ladies. I don’t know if they see it or not, but I do know that one of the kneelers was left wet. I’m a quiet crier though.
What’s worse- living in a near occasion of sin or allowing myself to be abused? I can leave the room, but I’ll be followed. I’ll be hounded by one or the other of them, and I know the wide range of manipulation that they will use to get me to bend to their will. They blame my guilt and paranoia on the Church. In reality, it was a priest (or many) who sat me down and told me that I was a “beloved daughter of God” and that I need to accept forgiveness, and accept that God doesn’t blame me- only loves me. There’s right, and wrong, but God forgives when you ask. It was a revelation to find out that I am loved no matter what I do, and there are no buts with God.
Whenever I’m in despair now, I try to meditate on the Divine Mercy. I try to love my parents. Can you love without feeling it? Perhaps that is what I’m going to have to learn to do.
However, I need to get out. The good thing is, besides God and the Saints, I’ve got wonderful friends and a fiance who all love me here on Earth. In spite of it all, Mr. Serrano and I actually have a healthy relationship. It takes a lot of work, but its worth it.
As soon as possible, I’m leaving. I just want it on record that I’m not leaving to live with Mr. Serrano like most people of my generation would do it- for frivolous reasons. I’m doing it because I don’t believe there’s another option. Stay here and suffer? Allow my abuse? Part of me says to go for it- become a saint through suffering. The other part of me says that I should do what I can to remain whole- and the family is taking me piece by piece. How can I be a proper wife and mother if I’m emotionally crippled by the time that I marry? How can I plan a wedding when the mention of it will send her into a rage?
Its time to be free. I can’t wait to move in, in some ways. There are three bedrooms in the house, so one will be mine, one will be his, and one can be a combination library/prayer room. I will also be able to put some cookbooks to use (finally!) and will be teaching Mr. Serrano his RCIA book (we had to stop meetings, because of issues with schedules of work).
Things are going to get better.