My grandmother’s funeral was today (as I mentioned in the Christmas Mini-Rants thread, she passed away on Christmas Eve).
As we were all getting into our cars to leave for the church, my cousin (who we’ll call Joe, because that’s his name) backed his car into mine, which was still parked. Being that we were on our way to the funeral, we hopped out, assessed the damage quickly (the corner of his back bumper is smashed in, the front passenger’s side fender on mine is all dented and gouged and scraped and the paint is peeling off), then proceeded to go to the church.
When we arrived, Joe makes a big deal telling everyone about the damage to his car. Everyone asks him about it, they’re so sorry, how does it look, is the damage bad, is it going to cost a lot to fix, etc.
Nobody says a single word to me about my car.
That’s fine. It’s my grandmother’s funeral, after all.
But I’m still very upset about the incident, and mildly peeved that nobody bothered to ask me about my car. I know that’s childish, so at this point I’ll just admit to being a nutcase: I have bad mental/emotional issues to begin with - borderline personality disorder*, I’ve been very depressed for quite a while now, and obviously, I’m feeling very emotionally fragile on this particular day.
However, like I said, the day is about my grandmom, not my car. I push all car thoughts out of my head until after the funeral.
The funeral, by the way, was very nice. There was a pastor/priest/(?) there, but he only read one bible verse, as we all dislike long funerals where people who don’t even know the deceased rant about random stuff for an hour. Instead, my aunt said some words, told some stories, it was very nice. We were all given a flower to lay on the coffin. I took a pink rose home with me to dry out and save and remember her by.
After the funeral a few of us went out to eat, and on the way home from the diner, I remarked to my mom that it would have been nice if Joe had at least said sorry about the damage to my car. She yells at me about how my car already has body damage, it’s a piece of crap, and one more (HUGE, LONG, DEEP) dent/scrape shouldn’t matter.
She just saw her mom buried. Although her reaction hurt my feelings, I understood that she didn’t need to be bothered. I also understood that Joe had just seen (what amounts to) his mother buried as well, so the damage to my car (although not his, interestingly) is the last thing on his mind.
I accept these two things and keep my mouth shut about it for the rest of the day.
But the second I got into my car and started driving back to my house, and was thus alone, I began to bawl. Over my grandmother’s passing, obviously; over my car; and over my family – on this side of the family, Joe has always been treated as #1, always got his way and everything he wanted. He cares about nobody but himself. He treats everyone (including his mother, as well as our grandfather and now-gone grandmother, who both raised him most of his life) like complete and utter shit, like servents. My grandmother was massively in debt with credit cards, mostly from constantly buying Joe things he wanted. Joe was/is, to put it lightly, extremely spoiled. The people who love(d) him let him walk all over them. He was happy to do it and they were happy to let him.
I, however, was always the “outsider” in the family. My aunt and cousin Joe (we all lived together for several years) used to TORMENT me as a child. Because of this, I was a very sad, miserable and lonely child. There’s a lot more to the story what I won’t go into in order to keep this from being even more long and rambly (unless anyone is interested, of course. But, suffice to say, I still have issues to this day due to how I was treated as a child, with at least part of that being how I was treated in the household compared to how Joe was treated.
(I’d like to take this time to thank God or the stars or whoever for giving me such a great dad who I could “run away to” and escape the abuse on weekends, and made it possible for me to always feel special, wonderful, incredibly precious to someone, and truly loved, despite the way my mother’s side of the family treated me and made me feel.)
But back to the story. So poor Joe dented his nice brand-new lexus (paid for with money earned from his job as a “pharmacist”, btw) SMASHING INTO MY CAR.
I love firebirds. This is my third one, a 1992. I worked my ass off (doing jobs that are legal, btw) to buy that car and I love it with every inch of my heart. I am PROUD of that car. Yes, it already has body damage, but that body damage was there when I bought the car. That was body damage I accepted. To me, having a car with a small amount of body damage was worth taking a few hundred bucks off the sale price.
*This *damage I didn’t accept. I didn’t ask for. And moreover, it was 100% not my fault.
But that’s too bad.
Because I know there’s no way in hell Joe is ever going to offer to pay to have it fixed. Never gonna happen. Such a thought would never even cross his mind.
And I’m not even going to bother to ask, because he’s The Prince and the world clearly revolves around him, and how dare I even suggest he be held responsible? My car got in HIS way, afterall. And besides, it’s just a piece of crap firebird, why should I even care?
There’s also no way in hell I’ll be afford to have it fixed. I know I’m making a huge deal out of it, and the whole thing pisses me off, but I also realize that it’s only cosmetic damage, and I’m not in a position to spend money on things that aren’t 100% necessary.
So I have no option but to just deal with my car looking a little more shitty from now on.
I am so… I don’t even know. Depressed. Angry. Frustrated. Sad. Disappointed. Basically, I’m one big ball of painful emotion right now. If one more even minor bad thing happens to me in the next few days, I’m going to off myself**.
I don’t know what I’m looking for by posting this thread.
I guess I mostly needed to vent; just get it all out.
I also wish people would understand that even though I don’t drive a nice, brand-new, expensive car***, it doesn’t mean I don’t care if someone smashes it up. It’s my car, it’s my baby, it’s my prized possession, it’s the only thing I own that is actually worth anything, and dammit, I love the car.
Sympathy and/or empathy would be appreciated.
However, if you wanna tell me I’m a whiny brat, that it’s only a car, that I should just suck it up and move on, or tell me I’m a horrible person for worrying so much about my car on the day of my grandmother’s funeral, feel free to do that as well (these are all things that have crossed my mind).
Blah. I don’t know.
Maybe (probably) I’m just way too emotional right now, but this is definitely the last thing I needed and the worst possible day for it to happen.
- if you’re unfamiliar with it, here are two quotes on the disease that are relevant to this topic, as I’ve been living with both of these things in full-force lately:
Jerold Kriesman and Hal Straus refer to BPD as “emotional hemophilia; [a borderline] lacks the clotting mechanism needed to moderate his spurts of feeling. Stimulate a passion, and the borderline emotionally bleeds to death.”
One researcher (Marsha Linehan) said, “People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement.”
** hyperbole. although I am NOT beyond crying in bed for several days straight.
*** although, even if I WERE in a financial position that would allow me to buy a nice, shiny, expensive, brand-new car, I would instead take the money and use it to buy a nice, shiny, expensive, and FAST fully restored and flawless '79 trans am. However, if I owned one of those and you damaged it in some way and didn’t immediately restore it to pristine condition, forget “sad/angry internet message board post” and think more along the lines of “brutal, gruesome murder.”