Post Six: Entitlement (probably Part 1)

I reengaged with my Aunt last year (father's sister), when I was at a low and needing some help sorting through lies and half truths. As I remember her, she was helpful, kind, caring and truly wonderful. A much needed calm in the storm of the time.

I asked a few pointed questions by email and she replied. One thing I find hard to adjust to is the knowledge Momster is a thief, and has been for a long time. You see, stealing in our house was a BIG BAD thing. As it should be BTW. But she has often accused me of being a thief, when I am not. 

I will call projection on this one: projection is when people (with or without a PD) attribute their own personal and psychological characteristics on to others. By doing so, they remain *perfect*.

You see, when her father in law was moving from the family home to a unit after my Nan died, Momster *gutted* his house (my Aunt's word).

Aunt and Uncle were going to be on holiday when the move happened. And when they got back, lots of *stuff* was missing, supposedly *lost* in the move.

Stuff like my Nan's Mikimoto pearls, given to her by her husband and (I imagine) destined for her only daughter (said Aunt). My fathers family war medals also went AWOL, destined by tradition to go to the oldest son in each generation (my father). Other jewelry and keepsakes, including a lace dress that belonged to my Nan. 

Basically, anything Momster wanted, she took.

Strangely, I have always known about these items. But the story of how she came to have them was very different to what I now know.

The dress I remember being given to me by Momster when I was in high school, Grade 8 or 9. She said it came from a friend. It was beautiful and I was suitably grateful.

The medals were kept from her husband (the rightful owner) for years. She said that the Great Uncle 'gave them to her on his death bed' (very dramatic don't you think?), telling her to give them to her oldest son as her husband 'could not be trusted'. This was kept from my father even though they were still married at the time. And would be for several more years.

I was told the pearls were given to my mother's mother (my Nan), in safe keeping for me. Momster gave me the pearls when Nan died in 2005.

None of these stories are true. She just *wanted* them so she *took* them. How dare anyone have anything that she did not. What is hers is hers and what is yours is hers also (if she can get away with it).

The medals are now in the rightful hands of my father. The pearls are being returned to my Aunt as soon as I can get them restrung. They will then, in turn, be handed to her daughter, my cousin. Both items are in their rightful homes as far as I am concerned.

The dress however, did not fare well under my imaginative use of a pair of scissors as a creative teenage sewer. If I had known it was Nan's I would never have cut it.

If I had known 30 years ago what I know now, I would have stopped second guessing myself and I would have stopped turning myself inside out trying to please her. I would also have gone no contact in my twenties.

Post Five: It's 5 Months Since They Left Our Home

Time flys. Five months. Oh my...

I am more *even* now than anytime in the past three and a half years. Calmer, more productive at work, more organised. I have picked up my paint brushes for the first time since AB fell off the roof.  I no longer shake when the phone rings and I can relax on the deck with a book *knowing* she can't waltz in uninvited.

I am no longer in need of anxiety medication. Have not needed any for months.

AB is getting up of a morning and *doing* stuff. He has played a few shows interstate with his old band. He is getting back on an even keel. Slowly and surely.

Last week we decided to reclaim the space that was my art studio that became their flat. It now has music posters and related AB ephemera. It holds some of his *stuff* including guitars and amplifiers and all things music related. His father's piano has a home. It seemed fair; it was AB's inheritance that paid for it after all. 

There are holes in the walls that they created when they ripped down shelves and ripped out the aircon, but the holes can wait.

The house is less cluttered. I paint upstairs sometimes, but mainly at the dining room table now. I like the proximity of AB when I paint, the noise of the television or radio and his wry jokes dropping around me.

We talk often about whether we will stay here or go. The interest on the money they manipulated off us is about $200 week. Cheap rent and, we know it. But every time we pay it we are reminded of them, of her. And we are not sure we want the reminder. We may move just to stop that reminder. 

Our last visit to Tasmania has us thinking again. So we are planning a trip in June to visit Dark MOFO; the dead of Winter to put a toe in the (cold) water. I have always been scared of the cold. Recently I realised that was because, growing up, I was cold.

The opposite of love is indifference and I am getting there. But her smear campaign against us is worrying us both.