Hey Fucker, this doesn’t concern you!

Forgive the tagline, if you must feel offended by it, it’s for my husband. Not to say I’m decidedly hateful towards my spouse, but he knows, he knows very well, that I cannot deal with it when people read what I’m writing. It stems from being treated like I’m not real person (and therefore am not entitled to my own emotions or privacy) for a really long time (just a few months past the 18 year mark, if you must know). The general sentiment that sentence conveys pretty accurately sums up what I wanted to scream at most (all) of my family for most (all) of my childhood.

I’m going to say that word a lot. You’ll kind of figure out why that is after a short while, I’m sure.

It’s funny, because no one can really relate to how invasive I found it, when I’d be typing away at whatever terrible novella/novel I was at that week, and my grandma or mom or brother or dad would just barge into my room, and I’d IMMEDIATELY see their eyes shift from looking at me to the screen behind me, after I’d defensively turned to see what they were doing. My husband did that last weekend, when I was trying to hammer out a blog post before he woke up on Saturday. He KNOWS how agitated I become when he reads my screen, but I saw him do it anyway, I naturally loudly pointed out his great fault, he repeatedly stated the words were really big, which is what he does when he knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, he just repeats his flimsy excuse as if repetition is the hidden key to validity. But no one else got it back then, or now, because no one else at least in my circle does that. I know one girl from grad school who’s already written an entire book, it’s with an agent but I think at this point it’s a waiting game for a publisher to pick it up? I don’t know I’m too jealous to ask any details. Although I’m also seriously not jealous because now it’s like, oh shit you actually can’t edit it anymore, it’s all off floundering on its own (I hate that word, why did I use it?) and that seems terrifying.

Plus, like I don’t know what it’s like to not feel like I have a purpose in life. I always have, I’ve always known. I guess I’ve never, deep down, felt that specific existential crisis. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like straight don’t believe in myself enough to like spend my actual time pursuing my purpose. Which I guess makes me the worst kind of coward.

That was actually going to today’s title, or theme or whatever the fuck. How my issue is I’m not brave at all, I’m just really strong. I’m what you get when you’re like 2% the first thing and 98% the other, as if cowardice and strength have some symbiotic relationship within your psyche. I guess you can’t really prove that they don’t. I’m strong in the sense that I can persevere and endure. The opportunity for both of those acts was ever-present throughout my childhood. There it is again. I feel like this blog would generate the most depressing word clouds.

But I’m really not like all that brave. Or at all. I’ve really never taken a leap or a plunge in my life, I’ve avoided almost every major confrontation of my life. The only person I don’t leave things unspoken with is my husband. Because, well, that’s not going to last if I did. I’m going to need more from a spouse than from anyone else. I feel like that’s how it’s going to work. I kind of feel like I have all of this love that I never got to give to anyone because for my entire life, up until my husband (and, intermittently my best friend) in general is nothing but memories of any sort of affection or outreach being cruelly shoved back at me, in an intentionally stinging and disgusted way most of the time as well. Yes, I know right now you might be thinking I was humiliated by the rejection of a crush– that happened too, one time in the 7th grade some of the boys in my class dared the boy everyone knew I had a crush on to ask me to “go out” ((that’s what they called it back then))  in front of everyone, and even though I 100% knew what was going on…I said yes anyway….I don’t know why. Then when everyone started laughing, I remember walking to the bathroom and just sitting on a toilet, not crying, but just starring at the dark blue stall door, feeling like shit about myself. Two ‘friends’ came in at that point to ‘check on me.’ I sarcastically single-quoted there to remind that these two had been among those who’d just decided to play a mean trick on me so they could all laugh at me. They just wanted to be able to tell everyone I’d been in there sobbing to myself. So, after all of that, I didn’t feel bad when I’d spit on food and give it to the boy who’d orchestrated the whole event. He was one of those tall, skinny guys who ate like a horse and was always trying to scam food off of people. Plus, if we’re being honest, Facebook is telling me his life is not what I would call enviable — but my issues are far, far beyond all that. The shitty, awful way I was treated during my horrible time in grade school (which, for me, was the ages of 3-14 at the same Lutheran elementary school, straight to a Lutheran high school after that) was only a small glimmer of the bullshit shower that was my youth.

Sometimes I worried I am the delusional one, but I feel like I have solid evidence that I actually was enduring very deep mental strife for the duration of my life birth –> when I escaped two weeks after I graduated from high school. Like how fucked up we are, my brother and I. The whole situation with me and my family is utterly fucked, really. T put it as succinctly as I can (I think), my parents and brother all still live together about two hours north of where I now reside. However, I haven’t seen my father in I think 2 years, my mom about a year and a half. I decided, once and for all, that I was through putting up with my father. I couldn’t do it, not even for my mom’s sake, anymore. He’d the kind of mentally ill that’s permanent, and severe and completely un(self)aware. I’m sure he had a traumatic, fucked up child hood, he was always dropping hints as such. I’m still able to speak to my mom via email, because she can do so at work where my father can’t control or monitor her behavior. If you Google signs someone is emotionally controlling/abusive, he’ll fit 9/10 usually. Plus, I did this once before. I tried to break off all contact and my mom freaked out so bad one day (after abut 9 months) he called and for some reason I answered. Then, of course, all of these omnious warnings were dealt (he has this godawful unblinking stare he’ll use when he’s trying to seem EXTRA intimidating, I seriously hate this person, you’re going to figure it out soon enough) if I EVER thought about not speaking to him again. I mean, really, the thing is, I don’t care who you are, I don’t care how complacent I seem or how much I put up with already, the difference between me and most of the other cowards, I have this like crazy person inner strength. And I like won’t talk it out with you, but I will fucking freeze you out so bad, you will feel the ghosting so deeply, you’ll wonder if I ever knew who you were in the first place. It’s not natural, I’m sure it’s from my inability to form a stable relationship with anyone throughout my childhood (through no fault of my own, I maintain I’d be very normal if it weren’t for them, I have all the right qualities, I was just in like garbage soil…before you go calling me an ungrateful little bitch like he would, you need to listen to me tell you the truth of what deep crazy does when it grows untended). But it’s a skill I have. It comes in handy when you’re sick of your alcoholic side chick. I’m not a lesbian, but I don’t like sexist terms so side chick refers to a sloppy, kept mistress of a discreet/embarrassing quality of any of the genders. Like, I was raised to enable and I couldn’t do it for more than a year with this guy. I literally feel like he has no hope. I know the signs. Not from myself. From my brother. My brother has totally given the fuck up. He’s three years older. Some days he seems to love me, other days it’s like we had an argument that I wasn’t there for. One of my Rockstar Badass (AKA : the best) goals in life is to somehow acrue enough wealth to take care of my mom and brother, as I am sure they will need, as the three of us age. I don’t include my father. He decided a long time ago that he wasn’t really a part of the family. And no, he didn’t abandon us, he didn’t run out on us as infants, he didn’t come and go ass he pleased. He was always there. He had it too good, he was too busy having an alcohol and, later on, opiate problem. Plus there were years of unemployment, you can’t very well move out on your own if you’re trying to drink yourself to death, and you tell your seven year old daughter that, but you were shit-faced so you probably don’t remember that. I mean he’d fucked up his life so bad by that point, I wasn’t all that surprised he felt that way as an adult.

I do apologize for the fucked up ramble. I’m trying to be 100% completely honest, because this is all true, but I have to keep it true.

I’m glad no one’s actually reading this. I spent a frightening amount of time talking to myself as a kid. I was alone a lot. I kind of hated summers, to be honest, I was mostly stuck bored inside an overly air conditioned house.

See there I go again.

Until next time,

 

 

 

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