Divorce, and its after-effects
Well, I knew Amber was going to be there, so I don't know why I expected myself to be so angry and mean and hateful.
She was there. I didn't recognise her. She's gotten fatter and shorter and her hair is longer and not quite as blond as I remember. Of course, it's been a long time. My perspective has changed (hence the fatter and shorter) and I guess she got tired of bleaching. I don't know.
It was an eye-opening experience.
Because they seemed largely unaffected by their own actions. They seemed happy. They have the same phone and apparently share monetary wealth at times in the offhanded response to the question, 'are these cheques all separate?' It was a quick and effortless 'we're getting those two' [in reference to my brother and I.]
It seems they've moved on and it seems they don't want to remember anything. I mean, on the surface, I don't want to remember any of it either. I have the bad habit of deleting files which I find no longer useful or relevant or important or agreeable. I don't remember most of my life. It's somewhat depressing, but it's a habit borne of lots of moving, lots of travelling and retrospective dislike.
Of course, subconsciously, I still hold them responsible for ruining my life. For moving to Georgia period (although blame rests mostly on my Mother and Father for that one.) For leaving me when I needed people the most. For abandoning me in my own personal Hell. I blame for them for leaving all of us stranded in a place we didn't belong and we didn't want to be. I blame them for a lot of things, some of which I'm sure they don't actually deserve blame for.
I don't know where I'm taking this, but I know this: I want to hate them for all of that, but I find myself actually enjoying their presences. I mean, this may have been the Universe's (read: God's) justice, showing me just how selfish this mindless this hate is. I've been stranded in VA in a large city without the means to actually get around, see the town, meet locals, do fun things. I'm stuck reliving a past I'd forgotten, remembering the happier things about people I've hated for a long, long time.
I mean, nothing about me really affects them at all. It's just me fuming and feeling angry and wasting energy on them when I really shouldn't. It's not my place, nor is it my purpose. I mean, life is short. I'm going to die. They're going to die. I don't know what happens afterwards, but I know that wasting my time on them when it doesn't matter, when they don't know nor care about my hate is me being selfish and silly. I choose to let them go. I choose to let myself not hate and possibly even enjoy their company. Yes, I still blame them, but I shouldn't hold that against them for the rest of eternity. It's fair to them, in my opinion, but not fair to myself.
I don't want children, and no matter, I'm not getting married. You just end up miserable and realising what a horrid mistake it is to commit. Life is too damn short to try and spend the ever changing facets of self vs. universe with only one other being. I think humans are above that. I don't think sharing life with anyone more than friends is really all that appealing. Sex is appealing. Waking up being held/holding someone, being taken care of/taking care of - yes, that's appealing. But I don't think those small moments are worth a lifetime. Sorry. I just don't see how that is feasible. I don't want to be ground in one place, making money to try and keep afloat until I have no joy, no happiness and feel the need to direct my attentions elsewhere. My attentions are already too scattered for me to try and settle for one type of life or one type of anything.
I also feel like I'm betraying my mother for not hating them. I'm not sure who she is anymore. She only seems happy when basking in male attention. That's not the person I left, but I guess I have to let go of her, too. She has to lead her own life and she's going to die just like the rest of us. There's really no chance to leave a legacy. No chance to make an impact. Maybe just enough to drift and experience and possibly even be content for a few moments. Then it's nothingness. Or afterlife. Or starting all over again.
What I want out of life: I want to meet people. I want to travel. I want to be frugal and alert constantly so that I can let go of all those inhibitions when I'm trying to have fun - when I'm not where I decide to set up HQ for that particular moment.
Family is not a mistake I want to repeat. Children are not a mistake I want to make. Love isn't real. It's an illusion of hormones and childish neglect imprinted over a masque of desire and supposed 'need.' I don't need that either.
Also, for the record, I'm not normal. But I'm so vanilla. I'm more the indie/goff/artfag than your normal person. I don't want to see tourist sites. I want to see where the locals go to eat. I want to visit museums and art galleries and concerts and sample both local and international cuisine. Not go to the beach or the mall or theme parks.
I'm thinking of cutting people out of my life without any regrets. I'm thinking about cutting my hair short and letting my lip ring heal over. I'm thinking about quitting college. I'm thinking about trying to see how long I'd last in the real world. I'm thinking about breaking my lease and staying in Virginia. I'm thinking about trying to work my way away from the relative 'here.' I don't think I want to do this anymore.
I love car rides. They make me so content. I don't think this is particularly morbid, but whenever I'm content, I almost wish for death. Like tonight. I was content just riding in the red jeep, hand flowing through the wind, sea water tickling my nose with its disgusting and alluring scent. Wind drowning out the quite music and my father's words. I was hoping for a quiet death.
She was there. I didn't recognise her. She's gotten fatter and shorter and her hair is longer and not quite as blond as I remember. Of course, it's been a long time. My perspective has changed (hence the fatter and shorter) and I guess she got tired of bleaching. I don't know.
It was an eye-opening experience.
Because they seemed largely unaffected by their own actions. They seemed happy. They have the same phone and apparently share monetary wealth at times in the offhanded response to the question, 'are these cheques all separate?' It was a quick and effortless 'we're getting those two' [in reference to my brother and I.]
It seems they've moved on and it seems they don't want to remember anything. I mean, on the surface, I don't want to remember any of it either. I have the bad habit of deleting files which I find no longer useful or relevant or important or agreeable. I don't remember most of my life. It's somewhat depressing, but it's a habit borne of lots of moving, lots of travelling and retrospective dislike.
Of course, subconsciously, I still hold them responsible for ruining my life. For moving to Georgia period (although blame rests mostly on my Mother and Father for that one.) For leaving me when I needed people the most. For abandoning me in my own personal Hell. I blame for them for leaving all of us stranded in a place we didn't belong and we didn't want to be. I blame them for a lot of things, some of which I'm sure they don't actually deserve blame for.
I don't know where I'm taking this, but I know this: I want to hate them for all of that, but I find myself actually enjoying their presences. I mean, this may have been the Universe's (read: God's) justice, showing me just how selfish this mindless this hate is. I've been stranded in VA in a large city without the means to actually get around, see the town, meet locals, do fun things. I'm stuck reliving a past I'd forgotten, remembering the happier things about people I've hated for a long, long time.
I mean, nothing about me really affects them at all. It's just me fuming and feeling angry and wasting energy on them when I really shouldn't. It's not my place, nor is it my purpose. I mean, life is short. I'm going to die. They're going to die. I don't know what happens afterwards, but I know that wasting my time on them when it doesn't matter, when they don't know nor care about my hate is me being selfish and silly. I choose to let them go. I choose to let myself not hate and possibly even enjoy their company. Yes, I still blame them, but I shouldn't hold that against them for the rest of eternity. It's fair to them, in my opinion, but not fair to myself.
I don't want children, and no matter, I'm not getting married. You just end up miserable and realising what a horrid mistake it is to commit. Life is too damn short to try and spend the ever changing facets of self vs. universe with only one other being. I think humans are above that. I don't think sharing life with anyone more than friends is really all that appealing. Sex is appealing. Waking up being held/holding someone, being taken care of/taking care of - yes, that's appealing. But I don't think those small moments are worth a lifetime. Sorry. I just don't see how that is feasible. I don't want to be ground in one place, making money to try and keep afloat until I have no joy, no happiness and feel the need to direct my attentions elsewhere. My attentions are already too scattered for me to try and settle for one type of life or one type of anything.
I also feel like I'm betraying my mother for not hating them. I'm not sure who she is anymore. She only seems happy when basking in male attention. That's not the person I left, but I guess I have to let go of her, too. She has to lead her own life and she's going to die just like the rest of us. There's really no chance to leave a legacy. No chance to make an impact. Maybe just enough to drift and experience and possibly even be content for a few moments. Then it's nothingness. Or afterlife. Or starting all over again.
What I want out of life: I want to meet people. I want to travel. I want to be frugal and alert constantly so that I can let go of all those inhibitions when I'm trying to have fun - when I'm not where I decide to set up HQ for that particular moment.
Family is not a mistake I want to repeat. Children are not a mistake I want to make. Love isn't real. It's an illusion of hormones and childish neglect imprinted over a masque of desire and supposed 'need.' I don't need that either.
Also, for the record, I'm not normal. But I'm so vanilla. I'm more the indie/goff/artfag than your normal person. I don't want to see tourist sites. I want to see where the locals go to eat. I want to visit museums and art galleries and concerts and sample both local and international cuisine. Not go to the beach or the mall or theme parks.
I'm thinking of cutting people out of my life without any regrets. I'm thinking about cutting my hair short and letting my lip ring heal over. I'm thinking about quitting college. I'm thinking about trying to see how long I'd last in the real world. I'm thinking about breaking my lease and staying in Virginia. I'm thinking about trying to work my way away from the relative 'here.' I don't think I want to do this anymore.
I love car rides. They make me so content. I don't think this is particularly morbid, but whenever I'm content, I almost wish for death. Like tonight. I was content just riding in the red jeep, hand flowing through the wind, sea water tickling my nose with its disgusting and alluring scent. Wind drowning out the quite music and my father's words. I was hoping for a quiet death.