I’m sitting here- rather laying here, trying to stop my tears. They just won’t stop.
Don’t you dare pity me.
The tears are made of raw anger that has been building for months. It’s the numbness I feel finally bubbling to the surface. It’s the hatred and guilt I’ve felt for years.
I hate you… is such a cliche sentence for what I feel. It’s not just hate. It’s not just anger. It’s more than that. It’s the deep love I feel for family which is exactly what I feel for you, it’s the betrayal I feel every single time I watch your wife parade herself around me with a hint of glee behind her dead eyes, it’s the hatred that I feel anytime you make a typical patriarchal comment like “yeah women just aren’t as smart as men”, it’s the admiration I feel when I see you light up as you talk about your passions, it’s the embarrassment I feel when you can’t sit still because you’re coming down with withdrawal… it’s the emptiness I feel whenever you neglect to call me on time for birthdays, graduations, or achievements. It’s all interwoven and mixed up.
Everyone has an idea on how to deal with a family member who abandoned you countless times but gave you *just enough* attention to keep you hooked- people think they’d know how to deal with a such a person, but in reality… you have no idea.
To grow up in a household with the aforementioned person is too much to write down itself, because even then anyone reading this would not truly understand what it was like to be around this kind of person. Sure, you’re can try to empathize, but empathy and actually living it are two different things.
I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I don’t write to garner an ounce of it- please take your self righteousness elsewhere. I just want to write my experiences. That’s all.
Some days are better than others. some days i can’t get out of bed.
I start to think I’m actually healing and moving on with my life, that I’m growing as a human being, but then… a call from you screaming and scolding me sends me right back to my teenage years where I spent them all as a mediocre shell of what I am now.
I’m grown, damn it. I shouldn’t be made to feel so small and yet I do. I can’t fight what you’ve created in my mind, that I now need therapy for. I’m not ashamed because you did this to me. I’m bettering myself because I owe that to myself, but remember who did this to me.
The damage you caused pokes through when I’m alone in my car staring numbly at a stop light. It pokes through when I’m obsessively trying to be perfect at my job because I simply cannot disappoint you- even when you don’t bother to care anyway. It shines through when I run from commitment because I desperately believe everyone secretly hates me and just puts up with me. And it definitely shows when my mood swings scare even me.
This post wasn’t meant to be depressing, but I suppose it’s coming across that way anyway. I just wanted to write without stopping or repercussions. I just want to be.
Life isn’t perfect obviously, writing helps. It’s my therapy so at least let me have this.
Thanks for reading.