So there I was earnestly expressing my concerns about the aberrant behaviour of his son, and really being pretty flaming reasonable considering the circumstances, when my partner blithely informs me that he thinks I am over-reacting. WTF??? Wham!!! That freight train feeling again...!!!
I kind of gasped in a breath of air, and shot him a quick glance – surely he was jesting; trying to lighten things up a bit. Any moment now he was going to take me in his arms and whisper that we could go and visit the adoption agency tomorrow...
But no... out of the blue the entire room took on a hazy pinkish tinge, pigs flew in their dozens past the window and my partner looked me fair and square in the eye (well as fair and square as is possible with 2 foot thick rose coloured (RC) glasses on...), and stated that I shouldn’t leave my prized possessions laying about, unsupervised in the car. I was informed that what he thought most likely had happened was that the little fucking darling (gag!) had been ‘fiddling’ with my treasure, accidently broken it, freaked out and as a consequence of this had stashed the various bits of my treasure in his bedroom.
Oh, oh, yes, yes that’s without doubt what happened...of course it was; that’s just the way the kid explained it too, only with different words and an entirely different meaning. How bloody dim-witted of me to not be able to see the ‘hidden’ message, the plea for mercy and understanding, the blatant and repeated bashing of my compassion/empathy button from the little fucking darling (gag!).
Good lord give me strength (or 10 tequila slammers!), the complexity of the dynamics at play in our house was farrrrrrr farrrrrrr worse than I ever thought. I was seized by sporadic and asphyxiating sensations of having stumbled upon some type of child-worshiping cult. Zombies whose belief systems were based on a deluded, rose coloured perception that my stepson was a deity of some kind who was to be, cloistered, revered and frankly mollycoddled.
I need to give a bit of background here because I sense that this RC glasses phenomenon (read...DENIAL phenomenon) is perhaps the key to the convoluted process of forming a ‘blended family’; the very DNA, as it were, of how my partner and I are going to construct our family and our life together. Delusion and denial are powerful psychological disturbances. They can be insidious, which I believe is the case in our house, and with my partner’s family. Denial seems to be rampant, and while the collusion is unspoken, it is most certainly consensual. Be afraid newcomer, be very afraid...
So, some background...
My first real glimpse of the magnitude of the RC glasses phenomenon within my new family was, and this is a bit of a sensitive topic, during one of my partners mum’s visits to stay with us. I had in my possession a rather descriptive and not altogether flattering report/assessment from my stepson’s school. It outlined behaviours and incidents that, to put it bluntly, wouldn’t be acceptable on the America’s Hardest Prison’s TV show. I must admit that I felt kind of vindicated by this report. For the past several months I had felt as though I had fallen into a whirl pool – well it’s all there written in my early rants. So, in a kind of disturbed, frustrated, desperate and, in hindsight, naive way, I was looking for support and solutions from this close and caring family member.
Once again, I have to say that it didn’t go well. In summary...and take heed future stepmothers...it just is not a good look to sit opposite your new mother in law, who has just cooked a magnificent dinner for you, and force her to listen to your over-zealous, alcohol-fuelled diatribe (which, cringe, necessitated dodging random blobs of flying spittle), as you try and get her to acknowledge the possibility that her adored, and only, grandson has a future career as a psychopath...enough said!
Now while I will happily accept oh...75-80% of the responsibility for this regrettable exchange, my mother in laws overall tone of justification, defensiveness and minimalisation of the contents of the report - before she hastily left the table to escape my haranguing - afforded me a foreboding glimpse into the unyielding and closed ranks mentality that was rallied around my stepson...
I had to ask myself, do I really want to go swimming with the piranhas’? The answer it seems, is yes!
Ain’t love grand!
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