Last night I watched Rachel Getting Married. It’s this movie about a recovering addict who comes home from rehab to attend her sister’s wedding. First of all, I probably won’t question whether Anne Hathaway can actually act anymore—she plays a really disturbing role and makes it believable. Secondly, this movie sort of hit me harder than most tend to, even though it’s subject matter isn’t something I’ve experienced firsthand in my life.
That is to say, I’m not an addict; I haven’t had significant mental issues alienating me from my family; and neither of my brothers has been married yet. But where I found the connection—and the subsequent discomfort—was in Hathaway’s character.
I usually try to keep most of my problems inside, but when I’m around my parents they often seem to come pouring out; and more often than not, I grow outwardly upset when it’s quite clear that my issues are mine and nobody else’s (and certainly not attributed to my family).
It’s odd having a film bring that kind of self-realization alive. It’s even odder that I don’t know why or how my parents have become the sole outlet for my strange emotional bloodletting.
I don’t think they read this too often; but I suppose this is a bit of an open letter to them, intrinsically tied to my hope that they won’t anymore have to deal with the kind of garbage I usually dump on them in this regard. And for anyone else who might feel like you get blamed for problems that don’t involve you, on behalf of the people who unjustly do the blaming…sorry about all that.
