So today I found myself really, really mad at my parents again for something I thought I'd long since forgiven them for.


My parents got divorced last year. I'm fairly sure you know this, if you read my journal. Whatever. The relevant point to this story is that when they told me this (and after I'd had my sobbing fit, thank you Sarah for being there), I told them that I did not want to know the reasons behind the divorce. After all, they had told me and my brother themselves that it had nothing to do with us. I wanted them to stick to that, and to not tell me precisely why they'd chosen to seperate, because I did not want to know. I didn't want it to affect my relationships with either of them, because they're still my parents, and I still love them. I didn't want that to change. I did have some issues with their timing on telling us, but overall, I was okay with the whole thing.

Fast forward to spring break. I had more or less gotten used to the idea. The few breakdowns I did have were smoothed over with the heroic effort of too many of my friends to list here: suffice to say that you all are amazingly awesome and I'm so grateful to you for being there. I went home for spring break somewhat apprehensive, but mostly okay. I thought I might have to deal with a little stress.

A little, did I say? Hoo boy.

Not two days into spring break, my parents sat me and my brother down, apparently on the advice of their psychologist, and told us precisely why they'd gotten divorced. Over my objections. Even when I screamed at them. Even when I broke down sobbing, they insisted on telling me what I had made repeatedly clear that I did not want to know.

On the advice of their psychologist.

I won't go into what exactly it was; suffice to say that it was pretty much what I'd feared I was going to hear. I actually hated them for a solid few days after that.

I don't hate easily, though, and I don't really hold grudges. Don't have a good enough short-term memory. So I stopped hating them, and I guess I mistook that for forgiveness. Obviously, though, it wasn't, because intermittently I'll find myself so angry at them for doing that to me. It's not so much what they told me as that they told me, that they overrode my wishes because someone who doesn't even know me, someone who never met me and never consulted me told them that it was better for me that they do so.


So I guess my question is does this sound weird? Am I justified in being angry this long after the fact? Or am I just irrevocably screwed up in the head?