(no subject)
Aside from the fact that I'm now getting spam mail from Southern African countries for job offers that are complete spam I'm completely ASS FUCKING BITCH SLAPPING MAD at my family at the moment. The former doesn't bother me so much as the latter. I mean, honestly.
So, I brushed with death, again, intentionally, this time, and they pulled me away from it. A blessing or a curse at the time, I'm not sure, but I became grateful and sought refuge in the Rooms of AA. I have found a fellowship there and friendships I never thought possible. I have no compulsion to drink or do drugs. I am clean and sober and healthy and happy and I want to live for the first time in my entire life. It's a good thing, as Ms. Martha would say. My parents seemed to want that, my health and happiness and for me to be absorbed into this new culture with vim and vigor. BUT NO.
There's always some new fucking change they want, some new way they want me to be pointing, some new fucking angle I should be working. there's always fucking something. It's never good enough, is it? Too fat, diet, exercise. Are you losing weight again? You're too skinny. Are you eating, eat more. Too stupid, get smarter, read books, study on the internet and in school. Don't throw yourself so much into school, give yourself a break some time. Don't spend so much time on the internet! Don't read THOSE books. Don't read SO much! Not ambitious enough, focus. Need drive, motivate. Need hobbies, multitask. Go out, have fun with your friends! Don't be a loner, make friends! Go out with those friends, please! Don't have THOSE friends! Clean up your act, straighten out! Don't stray from the straight and narrow, be sober. Don't focus so much on your sobriety, stay home. Don't stay home so much, go out and make some friends. Diversify your friends, look for people with different interests. Don't spend so much time on the internet, go outside. Don't spent so much time out of the house, come home every once in a while. Don't spend so much money on frivolous things, conserve. Spend some money on yourself every once in a while, splurge! Dress up, change your look! Don't show off too much skin, you'll corrupt the girls and give off the wrong impression. Don't stay up too late and sleep in so late, go to bed early and take your meds. Do you really have to take your meds and have to leave the house so early in the morning? Who are you spending all your time with? Who are these strange new clean, sober, healthy, happy friends you have that you've introduced us to? We don't like them, or AA, it's taking you away from us. You're snowballing into someone we don't like. You're taking on too many obligations, becoming too involved in this organization and everything it entails, it's taking you away from the family and your familial obligations. You don't spend any time at home and when you do you only sit around with us and eat then go to bed. Don't eat so much, so late. Are you eating during the day? Eat during the day, eat at night. No don't eat now. You're eating now? What are you watching? This is weird. Don't tell so and so this, so and so that, wait a few months to tell so and so this, only tell so and so this much, only tell so and so this part.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU. My fucking mind is going to explode. I want so much to make my family proud but whenever it seems I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing I'm doing it all wrong. I go in the direction they point me, with all the information I can garner before setting forth, and then halfway through, when it is too late to turn back they tell me the next earth-shattering stipulation that just makes me feel like the failed child again because they express that they have no expectations of me but to be healthy and happy but WHEN I AM it isn't what they want of me. They do want something. Something very, very specific, and to tell me otherwise is to blatantly lie. They want me to be precisely what they thought their daughter would be when they had me. When Mom became pregnant with me she thought I'd be her little girl, always. By her side, always. Her spitting image. A little dark haired beauty, perfect in every way, with china doll grace, a soft voice, a little anger that was cute and not spiteful, rageful and frustrated. With no disorders and no downfalls that were trying to kill her. A girl that would become something and have a husband who would love her like Mom's husband didn't. Someone who would have kids early on in life and live close to home, not wither and wander. Someone who would tell her all her secrets and laugh and smile always. A little princess with a perfect mood. A happy child until the day I died. Obsessed with happy things, and not the invisible worlds only I can see. Dad wanted an intelligent girl, someone who'd become high-powered, successful, range far and control many things, someone who'd make something of herself and not fail at every turn. Someone of wit and sharp-edged sarcasm that would understand him, get what he was saying and what he really meant when he spoke as his wife and many of his friends and collegues didn't. A child that would grow healthy, active and strong, beautiful in an amazon way, someone he could be proud of and show of. Precocious and defiant in a charming way.
They got me. They're disappointed and confused to a degree they don't even yet know. This is real life and what they got was me. And I like me. It took a lot of stumbles, falls, runs through fiery pits, heartbreaking, sobbing in the dark, blood and bruised ribs, agony, oblivion, mindless self indulence and mayhem to get me where I am today but this is me goddamn it. I am me, and I am because I want to be. Just because they gave me life does not make them my keepers. I will range far and wide, yes. I am intelligent and sharp-witted, I understand many things others don't. I have my rage and my angera nd it can be cute and precocious, always, because I am older than I should be. She wanted a child to coddle and hold. Dad wanted an adult to fight by his side in this world. They got me. I'm a mixture of the both. I'm a lost child fighting in this world. So fuck it. I'll be that. I'm fighting, and I realize my inadequacies even if they don't. And they don't know how much they hurt me with their nonverbal and verbal declarations of my inadequacies. Every time they tell me how much more I should be doing when I'm already doing so much. When finally I'm back on a path to a life worth living. When right now this is what I need and want and should be doing, going to meetings constantly and spending time with sober, healthy people to keep me busy throughout my days and clean and occupied and thinking about things that don't concern me. But no, that's not good enough is it. I have to be vested in their quiet madness always. Part of and not just one of. I can't be one of them without being embroiled in their pain. They don't see that it's all right for me to be a Sinneck family member and still be beyond it. That it's okay for the world to turn beyond all of that, to carry me with it to other things, and for me to still be one of them. To let their hangings on to fall away. They must. I have to cut all their detrimental ties or I'll begin to get trapped by them again. All the tiny suggestions and allegations of what I am doing, what they assume I'm doing, what they believe and think and want to insinuate. God fuck a monkey, should this be the way family is? NO.
What are familial obligations at this age anyway? Who knows? To me, I thought they entailed going about doing my own thing and returning every night to tell Mom an Dad about my day, staying clean and sober, and going about it again. Keeping them informed and doing what I needed to be doing. But that isn't enough. And this post has now become circuitous so I guess it's time to stop.
I asked Mom what she wanted me to do, to just tell me in plain old English "What you want me to do, tell me what you want." And she couldn't. She told me not to call her the martyr again and in the same sentence said that she washed her hands of her kids, all of us, and dragged every detail of our lives into the conversation, said how we all had treated her throughout all of human history and how we made her feel at all times when I was just dealing with this one issue. I said as much. "Can we just deal with this one issue, right now?" And she huffed and started unloading the dishwasher. When I said I'd healp, already int ears, she told me not to bother, since she was the only one who did anything around there anyway. We have fucking TEAMS of workmen in and out all the time to clean, monitor, facilitate, aid and repair the house at all times. It's in constant flux and transition. The only maintenance and upkeep that needs to be done are daily bed making and room tidying, dishes and kitchen shit from eating, and trash. That's it. Oh, and grocery shopping. I'm sorry, how much. I do my own grocery shopping, room cleaning and stuff anyway. I wasn't aware it was so complicated. And I do load the dishwaser all the time, and do my own laundry. Christ. But there's no fair fighting there. It always goes back to everything ever done, and in the grand scheme of things it's all so minor, but it's all huge to her, mountains of martyrdom. So wash your hands of me, Mom. Please. I know you know I'm more comfortable on my own, doing my own thing. i tried for the past two weeks to incorporate the two. To come home when I was done and share with you about my day full of meetings and being with sober people like I wasw told to be by my sponsor. Of doing commitments at the Re-Al club, of cleaning out the ash trays, making meals and cleaning up the clubhouse, of driving needy people around and helping out people with less time than me. Of being a good little sober person. Of trying to be as responsible I can be. Of giving it my all whereas most people with this much time are contemplating their next drink or drug or actually doing it.
So, I brushed with death, again, intentionally, this time, and they pulled me away from it. A blessing or a curse at the time, I'm not sure, but I became grateful and sought refuge in the Rooms of AA. I have found a fellowship there and friendships I never thought possible. I have no compulsion to drink or do drugs. I am clean and sober and healthy and happy and I want to live for the first time in my entire life. It's a good thing, as Ms. Martha would say. My parents seemed to want that, my health and happiness and for me to be absorbed into this new culture with vim and vigor. BUT NO.
There's always some new fucking change they want, some new way they want me to be pointing, some new fucking angle I should be working. there's always fucking something. It's never good enough, is it? Too fat, diet, exercise. Are you losing weight again? You're too skinny. Are you eating, eat more. Too stupid, get smarter, read books, study on the internet and in school. Don't throw yourself so much into school, give yourself a break some time. Don't spend so much time on the internet! Don't read THOSE books. Don't read SO much! Not ambitious enough, focus. Need drive, motivate. Need hobbies, multitask. Go out, have fun with your friends! Don't be a loner, make friends! Go out with those friends, please! Don't have THOSE friends! Clean up your act, straighten out! Don't stray from the straight and narrow, be sober. Don't focus so much on your sobriety, stay home. Don't stay home so much, go out and make some friends. Diversify your friends, look for people with different interests. Don't spend so much time on the internet, go outside. Don't spent so much time out of the house, come home every once in a while. Don't spend so much money on frivolous things, conserve. Spend some money on yourself every once in a while, splurge! Dress up, change your look! Don't show off too much skin, you'll corrupt the girls and give off the wrong impression. Don't stay up too late and sleep in so late, go to bed early and take your meds. Do you really have to take your meds and have to leave the house so early in the morning? Who are you spending all your time with? Who are these strange new clean, sober, healthy, happy friends you have that you've introduced us to? We don't like them, or AA, it's taking you away from us. You're snowballing into someone we don't like. You're taking on too many obligations, becoming too involved in this organization and everything it entails, it's taking you away from the family and your familial obligations. You don't spend any time at home and when you do you only sit around with us and eat then go to bed. Don't eat so much, so late. Are you eating during the day? Eat during the day, eat at night. No don't eat now. You're eating now? What are you watching? This is weird. Don't tell so and so this, so and so that, wait a few months to tell so and so this, only tell so and so this much, only tell so and so this part.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU. My fucking mind is going to explode. I want so much to make my family proud but whenever it seems I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing I'm doing it all wrong. I go in the direction they point me, with all the information I can garner before setting forth, and then halfway through, when it is too late to turn back they tell me the next earth-shattering stipulation that just makes me feel like the failed child again because they express that they have no expectations of me but to be healthy and happy but WHEN I AM it isn't what they want of me. They do want something. Something very, very specific, and to tell me otherwise is to blatantly lie. They want me to be precisely what they thought their daughter would be when they had me. When Mom became pregnant with me she thought I'd be her little girl, always. By her side, always. Her spitting image. A little dark haired beauty, perfect in every way, with china doll grace, a soft voice, a little anger that was cute and not spiteful, rageful and frustrated. With no disorders and no downfalls that were trying to kill her. A girl that would become something and have a husband who would love her like Mom's husband didn't. Someone who would have kids early on in life and live close to home, not wither and wander. Someone who would tell her all her secrets and laugh and smile always. A little princess with a perfect mood. A happy child until the day I died. Obsessed with happy things, and not the invisible worlds only I can see. Dad wanted an intelligent girl, someone who'd become high-powered, successful, range far and control many things, someone who'd make something of herself and not fail at every turn. Someone of wit and sharp-edged sarcasm that would understand him, get what he was saying and what he really meant when he spoke as his wife and many of his friends and collegues didn't. A child that would grow healthy, active and strong, beautiful in an amazon way, someone he could be proud of and show of. Precocious and defiant in a charming way.
They got me. They're disappointed and confused to a degree they don't even yet know. This is real life and what they got was me. And I like me. It took a lot of stumbles, falls, runs through fiery pits, heartbreaking, sobbing in the dark, blood and bruised ribs, agony, oblivion, mindless self indulence and mayhem to get me where I am today but this is me goddamn it. I am me, and I am because I want to be. Just because they gave me life does not make them my keepers. I will range far and wide, yes. I am intelligent and sharp-witted, I understand many things others don't. I have my rage and my angera nd it can be cute and precocious, always, because I am older than I should be. She wanted a child to coddle and hold. Dad wanted an adult to fight by his side in this world. They got me. I'm a mixture of the both. I'm a lost child fighting in this world. So fuck it. I'll be that. I'm fighting, and I realize my inadequacies even if they don't. And they don't know how much they hurt me with their nonverbal and verbal declarations of my inadequacies. Every time they tell me how much more I should be doing when I'm already doing so much. When finally I'm back on a path to a life worth living. When right now this is what I need and want and should be doing, going to meetings constantly and spending time with sober, healthy people to keep me busy throughout my days and clean and occupied and thinking about things that don't concern me. But no, that's not good enough is it. I have to be vested in their quiet madness always. Part of and not just one of. I can't be one of them without being embroiled in their pain. They don't see that it's all right for me to be a Sinneck family member and still be beyond it. That it's okay for the world to turn beyond all of that, to carry me with it to other things, and for me to still be one of them. To let their hangings on to fall away. They must. I have to cut all their detrimental ties or I'll begin to get trapped by them again. All the tiny suggestions and allegations of what I am doing, what they assume I'm doing, what they believe and think and want to insinuate. God fuck a monkey, should this be the way family is? NO.
What are familial obligations at this age anyway? Who knows? To me, I thought they entailed going about doing my own thing and returning every night to tell Mom an Dad about my day, staying clean and sober, and going about it again. Keeping them informed and doing what I needed to be doing. But that isn't enough. And this post has now become circuitous so I guess it's time to stop.
I asked Mom what she wanted me to do, to just tell me in plain old English "What you want me to do, tell me what you want." And she couldn't. She told me not to call her the martyr again and in the same sentence said that she washed her hands of her kids, all of us, and dragged every detail of our lives into the conversation, said how we all had treated her throughout all of human history and how we made her feel at all times when I was just dealing with this one issue. I said as much. "Can we just deal with this one issue, right now?" And she huffed and started unloading the dishwasher. When I said I'd healp, already int ears, she told me not to bother, since she was the only one who did anything around there anyway. We have fucking TEAMS of workmen in and out all the time to clean, monitor, facilitate, aid and repair the house at all times. It's in constant flux and transition. The only maintenance and upkeep that needs to be done are daily bed making and room tidying, dishes and kitchen shit from eating, and trash. That's it. Oh, and grocery shopping. I'm sorry, how much. I do my own grocery shopping, room cleaning and stuff anyway. I wasn't aware it was so complicated. And I do load the dishwaser all the time, and do my own laundry. Christ. But there's no fair fighting there. It always goes back to everything ever done, and in the grand scheme of things it's all so minor, but it's all huge to her, mountains of martyrdom. So wash your hands of me, Mom. Please. I know you know I'm more comfortable on my own, doing my own thing. i tried for the past two weeks to incorporate the two. To come home when I was done and share with you about my day full of meetings and being with sober people like I wasw told to be by my sponsor. Of doing commitments at the Re-Al club, of cleaning out the ash trays, making meals and cleaning up the clubhouse, of driving needy people around and helping out people with less time than me. Of being a good little sober person. Of trying to be as responsible I can be. Of giving it my all whereas most people with this much time are contemplating their next drink or drug or actually doing it.