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September 8, 2013

My story is a very sad one. The part that makes it the saddest, is that no one knows it. My history and its cruel character is one only I feel. You know when girls get raped, or beaten, it’s easy to relate to them feeling really small. Unfortunately there is nobody in this world who gets me, and I don’t think anyone ever will.

It’s impossible to convey an emotion when you don’t have the words for it. And it’s impossible to convey an emotion when its source is so outrageous that nobody will ever acknowledge it. If you fall, and are in pain, people will console you. If you don’t get what you want, and feel that pain, people will tell you to suck it up.
The pain’s there, but you’re alone with it.

From a very early age, actually as far back as I can remember, I was taught that voicing discontentment was complaining, and it wasn’t okay. Crying, being angry, raising my voice, it was all absolutely forbidden. It was immature and selfish, and I shouldn’t say it out loud. Just find a way to deal with it. Keep it contained though, by all means. Think about others first, they are always more important than you.
I feel spoiled, continuously. And I act that way, even though growing up I wasn’t actually spoiled. But I behave like a first class spoiled rotten child. I’m demanding, and needy, and entitled, and I can’t stand it when people don’t pay attention to me.
Every time I’m not happy about something, I feel guilty. As soon as some kind of wish pops up in my head, guilt comes right after it. Whatever comes at me feels like it should be enough. And when it’s not enough, I struggle to assert my own opinion about it.

It’s easy to make material decisions; I want this bed. I want an iPod. I want a smartphone. I want a tv. I want this and this food. I want to drink this juice and eat these dishes. But don’t ask me what I need from other people emotionally, please don’t ask me what I deserve. Nothing, I don’t deserve anything. Leave me behind, please, I can’t stand this closeness.
People tell me I’m strong, and it makes me tired. I’m tired of explaining that I’m not. Does anyone ever consider how rejecting it is when everyone tells you you’re wonderful? All my feelings and beliefs about myself are being denied. No, you’re wrong, you’re not what you think you are. YOU ARE WONDERFUL WHETHER YOU WANT TO OR NOT.

I wake up wishing I was someone else. I go to sleep hoping I’ll wake up with a new personality trait, or less of the ones I have and hate. I breathe regret, about what I am, did or said. I browse the internet looking at pictures of people who seem happy, sorted, I read blogs of people who have a little house with furniture and projects. Hours are wasted with this sick ritual of peering into strangers’ lives, wishing I could somehow be in there, instead of here. Not because they’re careless, they’re not. I even love their problems, the appeal is in the sheer fact that it’s not mine.
There is no escaping my skin, except for substances. Substances numb the discomfort of my existence.

Abuse is the only relationship I can suffer. It’s the only one that acknowledges me, the way I truly know that I am. The way that everybody refuses to accept me. It’s amazing what the lies people tell themselves, can do to you. Let me tell everyone this; showering someone with compliments is not helpful. It hurts. It puts someone down even more. Disregarding someone’s flaws as if they’re not there, never even naming them for fear of making them real, it doesn’t help anyone. It induces shame, guilt and depression.
The household I grew up in pretends everyone’s perfect. There are no flaws and if they somehow show through the cracks, it’s good form to ignore it. It’s absolutely smothering, and disables any and every opportunity for wholesome acceptance. Both to muster and experience it.

I’m intolerant. I have no patience. I have very little self control. I’m impulsive. I’m very critical of others, and myself. I’m competitive, and get very angry with myself when I’m not the best. Sometimes when my animals do something I don’t like, I hit them disproportionately hard. I’m afraid I will hit my children, like my father did. I’m jealous when I see a beautiful girl, but at the same time I want to be around her to feel that inferiority because I like punishing myself for not being perfect. Rejection drives me up the walls. I treat my mother with utter disrespect, same with my older brother -both are better people than I will ever be. I absolutely ignore my father unless I need something from him. When I’m angry with someone, I enjoy being able to hurt them back. I think in extremes and my understanding of the world is childishly divided in black or white. I tell myself I’m helpful to others, but it doesn’t ring true when you realize I just want to be accepted.

I’m a bitch. I scream it, I wish someone finally believed me. Acknowledged me. Let me exist.

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Homesick

March 3, 2013

Another ‘home’sick day in my crappy, slowly progressing life. Being far away from where I want to be can be incredibly hard some days, it suddenly pops up and sticks to my skin like soda. Being hungover could have a role to play in that.

It makes me feel like I’m wasting my time, even though I’m in the process of getting a degree that will provide me with a job for the rest of my life. I’m most definitely not wasting anything, but I feel absolutely trapped. It’s very uncomfortable living this way. At the wedding I met a lot of family and had to talk a lot about moving abroad and going where I want to be since forever, and it stirred a carefully put to sleep yearning for something bigger. And now it’s there, and I have to shush it all over again.

The people at the internship fuck me up too. On Friday they had this new therapy session with family for the first time, it was a pilot session if you will. The psychologist was supernervous because she wasn’t sure people would appreciate it or get on board. The internship coach and me did everything though; cover the tables with nice paper, decorate them with flowers, set up electronics for her to use her powerpoint, get a cake to make it cosy, get the drinks so they’d be at ease. 80% of the work, if you ask me. The session is secondary when you got cake and a drink, am I right!?

Not even a thanks. Nothing. She asked me to “observe” and look for flaws or tips, since it was a pilot, but she never asked me about them afterwards. Her verbal communication is all about helping me out, supporting my learning process, but her non-verbal communication is dismissive, mean and condescending. For a psychologist, this discrepancy is all the more painful. Am I too sensitive there? Probably am.

Alright, tomorrow’s the start of another week. And after that, it’s my last week. I will survive. Hey hey.