It’s one of those nights were you can’t help but cry your heart out and you just want to claw out that awful feeling inside your chest that keeps digging up, looking for more reasons why to cry when you just want it to stop. You need release but you never learned how to express yourself, you were always deprived of being you that now you start thinking, maybe I have an identity problem, maybe I need therapy but don’t have the money to afford it nor the time. You tried using someone, someone you loved and cared for as the shelter from the crumbling debris that you call life, but I already know how it ends, the savior gets fucked and the one in need of saving gets lost and more confused.
So now you begin to wonder, why me? Why do I have to be miserable? Why do I have to pay for the mistakes of others, if that is not my cross to bear? Why can’t I break free if I’m doing everything opposite to the chain of my historical family tree? Why does it have to be me? Sure I made a few mistakes, no less no more than others have, I’m sure. Can’t say I regret them but I sure as hell did learn from them, so why the constant whipping and humiliation? Am I not a good person? Haven’t I been nice to others and honest above it all? Doesn’t that count for it at all?
Twenty years of living misery and still going for the long run, still aiming high and never giving up, well not twenty years, I can’t remember much of my childhood, only fragments and shattered memories that seem either too real or too fake. I can’t remember a moment where I was happy and if there was such a moment, clearly it was so brief I can’t even recall it. I think that even at the age of ignorance I was conscious of my scarred life, because all I can remember of my childhood was being constantly bullied and molested by family members and even neighbors. All my life I’ve been submitted to all of this humiliation and pain that I just couldn’t get out of and now enjoy having, because if I can’t have a little pain, even just a pinch I forget I’m human and imperfect.
Call it what you want really, I could care less. I’m not writing this for your entertainment, it’s much more of my way to deal with things since therapy doesn’t do shit for me. My issues have roots and have ends, they’re called family and the only way I can set myself free is by ripping those roots out and throwing them aside but unfortunately it seems I will forever be in a perpetual amendment with this dysfunctional place called home.
Even as a child I could tell how horrible my life was. A drunk- no, drunk doesn’t even begin to cover it- an alcoholic father who cares less about his family than he does to his buddies. A workaholic mother who complains about her shitty life when the choice of this life was obviously hers, just so that people could pity her and give her an appraisal her mother never gave her. Yes, even my parents have parental issues, my father was abandoned by his mother when he was barely six and even to this day where he is 46 he hasn’t gotten over it yet. My mother “deals” with the fact that her mother never sees her as a priority and only humiliates her every chance she gets but my mother’s will to win her mother even just for one day pushes her on to submit to this certain amount of bullshit criticism that she has no reason why to stand for. Both abandoned by one of their parents, growing up with the other parent who was a very strict parent only to rebel at the old age of 30/ 26.
So,what did their rebellion costs them? Their freedom because after that I came along and I could say for my mother ( even though she never actually has said so) that I pretty much fucked up her life. She constantly says that if she could back time she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant or married, she would’ve pursued a better life. And yet I can’t get over the fact that you CAN pursue a better life at any moment you please, you could’ve left everything and gone and done your life, trust me, I would’ve thanked you for it, maybe then I would’ve have been so miserable, but things didn’t turn that way, unfortunately.
So here I’m sitting in my sofa, looking at my drunken father trying to keep his mouth open so he can eat some food to lower down the alcohol in his system. It’s 12:51 and I can’t seem to get any sleep, my mind just keeps rummaging these words and thoughts that I can’t seem to pen down because every time I pick up the pen and a piece of paper, the thought disappears and I forget what I’m doing or what I want to talk about.
I hate myself, is this kind of self-loathing because I know I could be so much better but I feel so uptight, like I am caged in my own little misery that I can’t find the will to do it. I can’t get out and it makes me anxious, it exasperates me so much, to see others come out and about while I’m still stuck here. It provokes some sort of envy and wrath and desire to kill them all and send the straight to hell because they sure as hell don’t deserve what they are receiving, I mean, what have they done so good to deserve such a pretty life? All these whores, assholes, jerks, abusers, liars, scumbags get all the happy life and the good guys just get fucked up and a front row seat to the show of their sad and pitiful lives, why!? Why the fuck should I put up with it? Why should it? Why them? Does it mean I have to be a whore to get a happy ending? Really?
I realize that right now I’m pretty much talking shit, not really saying anything or maybe from the beginning of this, whatever this is I’ve only been writing shit but you have to understand I don’t know how to express myself properly because I shied away any positive affection from me, all I bore is negativity and I guess that’s why I’m so miserable, because I’m in comfort when I am miserable. It’s by being miserable that nobody hurts you, nothing bothers you more than the weight you carry on your shoulders, that weight that digs onto your skin heaving you down from the very moment you wake up from that bed and wish that you could never wake up again. That endless depression and pretending to be fine when in truth you just want to rip yourself apart and dissipate, be someone else or not be anyone at all.
I deal with that every fucking day and don’t get me wrong, I know what I’m dealing with. I don’t need a shrink to tell me I have mayor depressive issues, I know. I’ve read enough from psychology to know it and for some reason it is what I am studying to be which, by the way, is not really good enough for anyone around me. No support only arguments on how expensive and useless it is and how I don’t find a job to pay for my own college studies. I’ve tried, if there is a God he surely knows I’ve tried to get a stable job but I’m not attractive enough or dumb enough to be hired for. I believe that is the new policy of getting a good job I can actually develop myself in, but they’re already taken by the less efficient and retarded girls that apparently only eat makeup and air and some much oxygen has gotten into their brains causing them brain damage and/or a dead brain.
I guess I’m tired and bored of this pointless and endless battle against all odds and myself. I can’t fight something I don’t even recognize, something I don’t know how to defeat. It’s like hitting myself against the wall because I don’t know how to turn the wheel. My eyes are tired now, probably red from all the crying and man what I’d give now for a damn cigarette. Why the hell did I stop smoking? It was the only thing that kept me in control of my panic/anxiety attacks. Pills worked just fine too, as long as I wasn’t close to any stairs that I may trip and fall through. Prozac makes me sleepy, and it’s amazing how it slows everything for you, how your thoughts disappear and that tiny voice in the back of your head becomes obsolete, it’s almost as if for once you knew your direction, what you’re doing, where you’re heading, who’s real and who’s not but when the pill wears off you wake from a reverie and hit yourself with the cold and hard cement called reality. The reality that one day you’re going to have to face without dosing on pills or getting high as a kite. I went through that and then I changed, turned into the one cold-hearted bitch I planned to remain being for eternity but as things modify and “change”( though is not an appropriate term for a human being because change implies destroying all from the very root, meaning you’d have to re-born to be considered a changed person, and no, changing you sex doesn’t apply as a term for this neither does having cosmetic surgery unless you change your entire face). I wanted nothing more than to change, to wake up one day in the middle of nowhere, a whole new country, with no conscience or memory and from then on start a new life and to never remember the old one. I wanted to remain like that, cold, bitter, heartless, in other words I wanted to be a bitch, but I was already one, all I did was deprive myself from feeling anything whatsoever, even sadness. There was no such thing for me, no sadness, no pain, no love and I was happy like that, not caring and not feeling. I fucked whomever I wanted without giving two fucks about it, I broke hearts without thinking it twice, I tore apart friendships tat need to be torn apart, I spoke the awful truth to many people that even though I did love, in some twisted way I hated all the same. I never lifted my punch against anyone because words wounded them more than a mere punch in the face and that worked for me like a charm. I’d call off girls who bullied me and I’d laugh in their faces when they’d pass me by with their baby carriages and ugly faces and bodies. How stretched and used they looked and hooked on pills that made them think they looked better. I was evil and I loved every second of it because for once I wasn’t a pawn anymore, I was a queen, a queen everyone respected or feared and I loved it. I loved it more than I have ever thought of. Being feared was such a rush of power that defeated being loved so I never really looked forward to it until now.
You see, Nietzsche said it once, if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you, so I guess way more than I thought I could and all these feelings I’d restricted, weren’t there anymore. I forgot how to express gratitude and my manners were mostly pretended because I forgot it all, like I had deleted all these important files from my hard drive and never saved a copy of them somewhere. I couldn’t feel sympathy, love, affection, empathy, I couldn’t feel anything at all, just pain, an excruciating pain that has been devouring me ever since. The problem is that I don’t know how to defeat it, I don’t know how to face it because I’m afraid, afraid of feeling and getting hurt because apparently that is my punishment and I know what you’re thinking, everyone goes through that, sure, you’re right; but I’m not everyone and my case is a daily issue of it. I can’t even talk to a decent guy anymore, I start to stutter and I never make eye contact unless I’m in my ovulating days and I’m really horny and then all I do is stare I never say a word.
Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? To meet someone who looks promising and every time you think you might make a move, you stop there frozen without any words to speak and your brain is telling you say something, but you honestly can’t. You just fucking can’t. It’s horrifying and not to mention humiliating. To have everyone look at your like an outcast and realize you really are one in a sea of idiots and air headed people whose function is to decorate rooms and hallways.
To be honest I’ve cried myself to getting tired but I still don’t feel relief, I still don’t feel satisfied, I want more, I crave more but the options I have don’t seem promising or worth the shot. So I guess I’ll be sitting in the bleachers waiting under rain and sun for someone worth my time to notice me, to really show interest in this fucked up character that is named V, and ,love her and comfort her and above all, be there for her, not to be her superman, but just to be the lover and friend she’s been looking and needing all along.