Having trouble keeping my insides in

When I started writing this, I had hoped that I would never reveal too much, give my thoughts and show my unique voice without turning into one of those nuts on the internet who reveals too much about themselves. I like to think I'm pretty good at doing this. I'm never afraid to say what I think but I am afraid to say what I feel. Feelings are weapons and nerves and arteries that can be opened by someone else. After your feelings are exposed it's only a matter of time before someone has found a way to exploit them and leave you, the real, inside you for dead. But right now, all I feel is exposed and open, and while I can't say this to anyone's face out loud, not even when I know they love me, I can say it to space, to the anyonymity of the internet. 

My parents found out that my dad will be losing his right shoulder in three surgeries next week, which means he'll be in the hospital for Christmas, and not at home with us. My first question is "Can it wait?" and I'd be lying if it was because I don't want the holiday ruined. I know that's shallow, because well; in all honesty, I am shallow. Lord knows I like the gifts. I still wake up at 230 to peek in my stocking. Really though I love the decorations, and the lights and the candy and cookies and really despite the stress (that yes does always lead to small temper explosions in all the Bitners) Christmas was the time that I remember as being pretty consistently happy. There was one Christmas, four years ago, when my parents had to take all of our presents back, because they were losing their house and drowning in debt. That was o.k. We three kids bought gifts, and they weren't much, but it still worked out, still felt like Christmas. 

In the next breath though, my next question  was "Do I need to come early, what does this mean, what's going to happen?". This is the second time in less than 6 months that my parents have had a medical emergency. Since I'm their only child with reliable income, and the oldest, and the one that was told in middle school he could take care of things, it usually falls to me to pick up the pieces. At 13 I went to take care of my grandad after his heart attack. I was there for my grandmother's (and her monthlong hospitalization prior) at 15. I stayed for the next month after, and got to experience the emotional fall out that inevitably comes when a Bitner can't hold it in any more.  As much as I used to like it, that has not turned into a cross that is difficult to bear, especially when you can't live up to your own expectations. 

I think this is a recurring Bitner family trait. I know my dad is the same way, and in varying degrees so are my brother and sister. We all have a need to be the best and be validated by doing what very few can. We are hard and tough. We have been bred that way. Broken down and built up all at the same time. It's a volatile mixture. 

Four years ago, I was just under 120 lbs, and really, really, sick. Not only sick, but mean and hungry and not happy. I couldn't be perfect, but I hadn't come to terms with that yet. Now, four years later, seeing that need for control and not being able to control much else, even though I know it's wrong and scary and all in my head, I can't help but let the want to not eat, to run and work out until I feel good, come back to me. Sadly, I miss that power over myself. 

Being hard on myself (on what I expect myself to be) I am hard on other people, the public at large. More than once most people I know (sometimes even those I meet) call me an asshole. If I'm lucky my reputation preceeds me, and generally most people find I'm an asshole by default. Even more so, because I refuse to cry, to concede weakness or vulnerabilty, and trace of humanity if you will.  

When Queen Elizabeth I went to visit her cousin Mary Stuart, the Scots Queen, in a vain effort to get her to stop her conspiring, it is said that Elizabeth jabbed Mary with the insult that her own son would not raise an army to defend her, being the husband-murdering, vengeful bitch that she was. Mary responded, "You are cruel Madam." Good Queen Bess is reported to have shot back, " 'Tis the business of living that has made me so". I mean really, after years of wanting me to be this way, my parents should be the least surprised. 

You see ultimately, I miss being what used to be called, "a sweet boy." I no longer know who that is. I still push myself to be stronger, faster and better than I am, everyday. It seems that being whoever that sweet person was, he's just a ghost. For the most part, while I like parts of who I am now, I know he is undeserving of most things. It's like being on Santa's "Naughty" list, but there must be an accounting error because I keep getting chances. I keep having people who love me, and someone who is in love with me. I have money to pay my bills and a little in the bank, and that's a far cry to where I was four years ago, or two years ago, or even last year. Even then I got more than I deserve, more than most people are allowed, which surely means I am just borrowing blessings that one day I'm afraid, I'll have to pay back.