The Blame Game
I keep catching myself blaming other people for my problems. Like blaming dad for being difficult to talk to, and my brother for... existing. I guess it's not his fault he was born, although I would have preferred that he wasn't. It would sure have made pretty much my entire life a hell of a lot easier. Including this whole coming out thing, since he's such a conservative, narrowminded little prick. It doesn't help that my parents have ALWAYS liked him better (I was actually told once, by my mother, that they had him because they thought they could do better a second time. This was followed by something to the effect of "it doesn't really work that way", but the damage had been done.) and they want to protect him from the HORRORS of having a transgendered brother. Or sister, as they would say.
I shouldn't have to restructure my life around HIS. I don't CARE if he's still in school, because honestly, who would find out unless he told them/my parents told them? No one knew I existed in high school anyway (except when they decided to pick on me), so definitely everyone's forgotten I exist now.
And the little shit's just going to have to deal, because he doesn't get a choice in who I am. So if he thinks I'm going to hell, that's his fucking problem. Plus, there's a malicious side to me that would just love to screw up his life like he screwed up mine by being BORN and being this goddamn child music prodigy. (Who cares what instruments I can play, how early I started, how good I was, how well I can sing, when HE'S around? People cared before HE started.)
Okay, so even though I know it's wrong, I STILL blame him for being alive.
And my parents wonder why I don't think they make home comfortable for me. Please. SO many things I could cite there.
You know what? I'm just going to rant about more of my family crap now, because I feel like it. I have a lot of anger, and it has to come out somewhere.
I hate that my mother's always doing these huge banner craft things for her church. These big nylon painted/sewed banner things. She thinks she's some kind of artist. And some of them look pretty good. But her current ones are UGLY as hell, as have some of her others been. I never feel like I can say that, because I have to live in her house, so I have to make nice all the time. But the 'trumpets' on her Easter banners are fugly, and there's no real getting around that. I bet the people at church will hate them too and won't say anything either, because she's 'gifting' the church with 'art'. Whatever.
I hate that my father is trying to start a woodworking business. I hate that they put an addition onto the house (which STILL isn't done, by the way, after being worked on LOUDLY all summer when I was trying to SLEEP) to accomodate her quilting workshop and his woodworking workshop. I suspect I know where the money came from for that, and I suspect it was what was supposed to be my college fund, except that I didn't go. I know I don't really have a right to the money, but I feel like I should have. I don't think he's going to make any money off of this. He just keeps sinking more in, for new equipment and stuff, and he's made maybe $200 from some guy for chair seats. Yeah. Real good return on your investment there. So now he's working part time at his job, which granted, probably pulls in more in a day than I make in a week, but it's a STUPID, DUMBASS decision to make to go after this NOW, when he still has a family to take care of, including one kid who's going to college in a year and a half. Genius. Real genius.
What really gets to me though, is they spend ALL MY LIFE telling me I can't be an artist, can't be a musician, can't be anything artistic because it makes no money, I will have no life and no future. What precisely are they doing now? Trying to be artists. Flaming hypocrites.
Of course, there's always so much more to rant about. But I guess I'll leave it at that for tonight. I have to try this sleeping thing again. I always get the most depressed before I have to sleep. And yet, when I'm depressed, I only want to stay in bed. There's just something different about the pre-sleep depression, I don't know what it is.
I shouldn't have to restructure my life around HIS. I don't CARE if he's still in school, because honestly, who would find out unless he told them/my parents told them? No one knew I existed in high school anyway (except when they decided to pick on me), so definitely everyone's forgotten I exist now.
And the little shit's just going to have to deal, because he doesn't get a choice in who I am. So if he thinks I'm going to hell, that's his fucking problem. Plus, there's a malicious side to me that would just love to screw up his life like he screwed up mine by being BORN and being this goddamn child music prodigy. (Who cares what instruments I can play, how early I started, how good I was, how well I can sing, when HE'S around? People cared before HE started.)
Okay, so even though I know it's wrong, I STILL blame him for being alive.
And my parents wonder why I don't think they make home comfortable for me. Please. SO many things I could cite there.
You know what? I'm just going to rant about more of my family crap now, because I feel like it. I have a lot of anger, and it has to come out somewhere.
I hate that my mother's always doing these huge banner craft things for her church. These big nylon painted/sewed banner things. She thinks she's some kind of artist. And some of them look pretty good. But her current ones are UGLY as hell, as have some of her others been. I never feel like I can say that, because I have to live in her house, so I have to make nice all the time. But the 'trumpets' on her Easter banners are fugly, and there's no real getting around that. I bet the people at church will hate them too and won't say anything either, because she's 'gifting' the church with 'art'. Whatever.
I hate that my father is trying to start a woodworking business. I hate that they put an addition onto the house (which STILL isn't done, by the way, after being worked on LOUDLY all summer when I was trying to SLEEP) to accomodate her quilting workshop and his woodworking workshop. I suspect I know where the money came from for that, and I suspect it was what was supposed to be my college fund, except that I didn't go. I know I don't really have a right to the money, but I feel like I should have. I don't think he's going to make any money off of this. He just keeps sinking more in, for new equipment and stuff, and he's made maybe $200 from some guy for chair seats. Yeah. Real good return on your investment there. So now he's working part time at his job, which granted, probably pulls in more in a day than I make in a week, but it's a STUPID, DUMBASS decision to make to go after this NOW, when he still has a family to take care of, including one kid who's going to college in a year and a half. Genius. Real genius.
What really gets to me though, is they spend ALL MY LIFE telling me I can't be an artist, can't be a musician, can't be anything artistic because it makes no money, I will have no life and no future. What precisely are they doing now? Trying to be artists. Flaming hypocrites.
Of course, there's always so much more to rant about. But I guess I'll leave it at that for tonight. I have to try this sleeping thing again. I always get the most depressed before I have to sleep. And yet, when I'm depressed, I only want to stay in bed. There's just something different about the pre-sleep depression, I don't know what it is.