(no subject)
Everytime I close my eyes and imagine you drunk or high I want to kill you. I want to kill you for ignoring me but mostly I want to kill you for doing what I can't. Everytime you light up or drink down it's like the simplist possible action. You do it and you don't think about it because you don't have to. You don't think about the alcoholism you hate becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. You don't think about giving in to what you wanted in high school, what you tried for, what scared your mom into putting you on lockdown for two years and only letting you go out with people whose parents she knew.
You don't think about your parents at all. You don't hate them for putting you in this position where everytime you don't do something it's to spite them and everytime you do it's giving in to their will. You don't understand how much I hate it when you're not around and I don't have the luxury of people I had the freedom to choose.
I hate the way you seem to be able to go 24 hours without seeing your parents and they don't punish you for disrespecting them. I hate so much about it. You don't understand what makes me angry about it, and I shouldn't reasonably expect you to. But I hate it.
I hate not knowing where you are, what state you're in, because I hate not knowing where I'll be. I hate that when I go home my parents think it's okay to make plans but not tell me more about them than the approximate start and end dates. Not even times, just dates, and those are subject to change at the last minute. Sometimes I'm lucky if they get the week right.
I hate how I can't even talk to you, can't talk to anyone, without my parents interpreting it as a rejection. I want to kill them, want to explain, I don't know. Tell them that I'm tired of being ignored and simultaneously forced to live in an arbitrary set of rules. I'm tired of being second class because I don't pull off the mentally ill daughter the way my sister does, tired of being second class because when I cry I get punished and when she cries I get punished. I hate explaining it to you because I can't make it sound as pathological as it is. It truly is fucked beyond repair and I can't do anything to fix it except take joy in the small things that are simultaneously crushed against my will. I delight in colors, flavors, textures. But I'm told what to like, what to appreciate, and everytime it leaves me cold. I can't explain how poisonous it is to hear. Mocking. "I told you so."
I want to form my own opinions but I'm prevented. New experiences are rare and when I have them I'm told they're old experiences, they're cheapened, they're not mine anymore if I tell anyone about them. So I keep them to myself, fill up the air with meaningless chatter and angst angst angst about how nobody understands.
Perhaps anger is futile but it's poisoning me because it's the only outlet. I don't know what to do anymore. Every year I'm brought home because my family's fucked. Every year they expect to magically fix it when I arrive. And they don't because they can't. Because my mom thinks she's right and we're all wrong, my dad has resorted to flat out escapism and my sister has developed an unhealthy obsession with my mother. (She strangled me today because I sat next to my mom on the ferry. Without provocation. My neck is bruised. My mom told me to ignore it because she didn't understand what she was doing. Fuck. She did it twice.) Everyone has their solution and everyone is wrong because theirs involves not working with the others. Of course, mine is to avoid the situation but that's mostly because everytime I voice an opinion I'm told I'm wrong before it's even given credence. Of course I don't understand.
I'm sorry for being angry at you. I know you have it no better, ultimately, but I need to be jealous of someone and you're my target. I think I am drowning in my anger, really, and I need to get out but I'm locked in. No one even asked my permission...
Fuck, sorry to angst.
You don't think about your parents at all. You don't hate them for putting you in this position where everytime you don't do something it's to spite them and everytime you do it's giving in to their will. You don't understand how much I hate it when you're not around and I don't have the luxury of people I had the freedom to choose.
I hate the way you seem to be able to go 24 hours without seeing your parents and they don't punish you for disrespecting them. I hate so much about it. You don't understand what makes me angry about it, and I shouldn't reasonably expect you to. But I hate it.
I hate not knowing where you are, what state you're in, because I hate not knowing where I'll be. I hate that when I go home my parents think it's okay to make plans but not tell me more about them than the approximate start and end dates. Not even times, just dates, and those are subject to change at the last minute. Sometimes I'm lucky if they get the week right.
I hate how I can't even talk to you, can't talk to anyone, without my parents interpreting it as a rejection. I want to kill them, want to explain, I don't know. Tell them that I'm tired of being ignored and simultaneously forced to live in an arbitrary set of rules. I'm tired of being second class because I don't pull off the mentally ill daughter the way my sister does, tired of being second class because when I cry I get punished and when she cries I get punished. I hate explaining it to you because I can't make it sound as pathological as it is. It truly is fucked beyond repair and I can't do anything to fix it except take joy in the small things that are simultaneously crushed against my will. I delight in colors, flavors, textures. But I'm told what to like, what to appreciate, and everytime it leaves me cold. I can't explain how poisonous it is to hear. Mocking. "I told you so."
I want to form my own opinions but I'm prevented. New experiences are rare and when I have them I'm told they're old experiences, they're cheapened, they're not mine anymore if I tell anyone about them. So I keep them to myself, fill up the air with meaningless chatter and angst angst angst about how nobody understands.
Perhaps anger is futile but it's poisoning me because it's the only outlet. I don't know what to do anymore. Every year I'm brought home because my family's fucked. Every year they expect to magically fix it when I arrive. And they don't because they can't. Because my mom thinks she's right and we're all wrong, my dad has resorted to flat out escapism and my sister has developed an unhealthy obsession with my mother. (She strangled me today because I sat next to my mom on the ferry. Without provocation. My neck is bruised. My mom told me to ignore it because she didn't understand what she was doing. Fuck. She did it twice.) Everyone has their solution and everyone is wrong because theirs involves not working with the others. Of course, mine is to avoid the situation but that's mostly because everytime I voice an opinion I'm told I'm wrong before it's even given credence. Of course I don't understand.
I'm sorry for being angry at you. I know you have it no better, ultimately, but I need to be jealous of someone and you're my target. I think I am drowning in my anger, really, and I need to get out but I'm locked in. No one even asked my permission...
Fuck, sorry to angst.