Well I gotta tell ya, she sure struck a nerve. I remember how for the first few weeks I was back at school, I'd feel miserable quite spontaneously, and at my (embarrassing) worst, I started crying at a bus stop 10 in the morning. It was fucking weird, but I couldn't control myself. The words she said echoed in my mind at the worst times, I could barely do my job. I was convinced that I had PTSD, and whew it was hard to sleep at night.
Then I forgot about it. I moved on, for a while. Until my "Father" sent me a reminder of our conversation, and I was in agony all over again. I can't even use the word "triggered" because it's a fucking meme now, but that's essentially what it was. I blacklisted him for a while, and whew it felt good not to hear from him.
A few weeks ago he had some minor surgery. I was made aware that his body was not as robust as before, and my mother tried to evoke sympathy. I found nothing. Nothing except for sickening giddiness, knowing that he will become a frail old man while I am in the prime of my years. I don't need to hurt him, I just need to ignore him, and watch him be consumed by helplessness in old age.
I'm disgusting.
It's funny, people always try to convince you that your parents are everything. And not long ago I sincerely believed I wouldn't give a shit if my "father" died from cancer. Maybe I'd be troubled for finances and the logistics of looking after the rest of the family, but I wouldn't be sad.
I give my darkest imaginations too much thought. It's too cruel and uncomfortable to think about, too embarrassing to admit how often I think about it. Too hard to face myself when confronted.
And I once swore that I'd let it go.
I can't, I can't forget. It comes back to my mind time and time again, fresh trauma overrding my festering wounds that did not heal, as if I had run out of undamaged surfaces. I'm being so ridiculously dramatic, I hope when I see this post in another 3 years time, I laugh and say, "I guess I was still in my angsty teenager phase despite being older".
It's a luxury, to go over your old posts and say "well that was cringey as shit", because it shows that you've moved on. The hurt that was so very real back then, the event that made your sky crash down- non of that matters anymore. You think it's no big deal now, and you know if the same thing were to happen, you'd act differently and you wouldn't be half as pathetic, ending up crying in broad daylight (at a bus stop! Of all places, tsk).
And I think, wouldn't it be better if I was born "retarded"? If I didn't have enough connections in my brain, to understand the words that came out of their mouths, would I be here writing this dramatic post, or would I be blissly ignorant in an orphanage somewhere (because I'm sure as hell they would have given me up). Or maybe they wouldn't have? Maybe they would have loved me, because that's "how God intended" me to be? Hah, fuck that. They can't live with me as I am now, how could they have lived if I was less than "normal" in any other way.
A good friend of mine told me, that while it was very frustrating, I should learn to accept that my parents will never change. Was it Einstein that said, madness is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different outcomes? I may be misquoting him. Adjust expectations, live with reality, get on with own life. Simple, concise instructions.
Why are they so hard to follow? What the fuck is wrong with me?
I wanted to vent but I didn't want this post to turn out this way. I feel like I keep writing and writing and it just becomes a cesspool of bitterness. Dear God, please save me from myself.
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