I'M NOT SORRY ANYMORE
Anyone who knows me, or who has met me, will atest, I say sorry a lot. For every self perceived slight, for every misstep, sometimes just for existing. It started with my dad and I haven't stopped saying sorry since.
Perhaps at this point it's a habit, perhaps I still say it for fear of being judged and found lacking, wanting. I am sick of it, the spund, the taste, the meaning - both literal and figurative.
My dad often would tell me; "There's something wrong with you." or some variation. It was often when I wouldn't obey without question. I don't even know when it started.
I remember the first time I was slapped across the face. Me and my dad had been getting into, my mum was in the kitchen telling us to back off of each other, but my dad wanted to keep pressing his advantage. I can't remember what it was about, I do remember telling him to fuck off. He slapped me across the face hard enough for me to remember it 21 years down the line. I was 9 years old.
My mother urged me to say sorry for the words I said, told me I goaded him into slapping me, that I should do everything he said, that I had earnt the slap by my obstinacy and the words that I used. I felt betrayed.
I don't know why I wouldn't do as told, I don't know I wouldn't do as he said, bur given the same instruction by my mother I would follow it, I don't know why I never felt comfortable doing what he said. I just did.
But I do know that was when I started saying sorry, for everything - and sometimes even breathing.
I have been continuing this ever since - we are 16 days from the fifth anniversary of his death, and I am slowly piecing together where a lot of my idiosycracies are coming from. Tonight I apologised to my cat for getting in HER way.
I am tired of the word, I am sick of using it for every reason including politeness, and I am done saying it.
I am not sorry anymore. I have no reason to be. I will not say it so superfluously!
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
Perhaps at this point it's a habit, perhaps I still say it for fear of being judged and found lacking, wanting. I am sick of it, the spund, the taste, the meaning - both literal and figurative.
My dad often would tell me; "There's something wrong with you." or some variation. It was often when I wouldn't obey without question. I don't even know when it started.
I remember the first time I was slapped across the face. Me and my dad had been getting into, my mum was in the kitchen telling us to back off of each other, but my dad wanted to keep pressing his advantage. I can't remember what it was about, I do remember telling him to fuck off. He slapped me across the face hard enough for me to remember it 21 years down the line. I was 9 years old.
My mother urged me to say sorry for the words I said, told me I goaded him into slapping me, that I should do everything he said, that I had earnt the slap by my obstinacy and the words that I used. I felt betrayed.
I don't know why I wouldn't do as told, I don't know I wouldn't do as he said, bur given the same instruction by my mother I would follow it, I don't know why I never felt comfortable doing what he said. I just did.
But I do know that was when I started saying sorry, for everything - and sometimes even breathing.
I have been continuing this ever since - we are 16 days from the fifth anniversary of his death, and I am slowly piecing together where a lot of my idiosycracies are coming from. Tonight I apologised to my cat for getting in HER way.
I am tired of the word, I am sick of using it for every reason including politeness, and I am done saying it.
I am not sorry anymore. I have no reason to be. I will not say it so superfluously!
Posted via m.livejournal.com.