(A snippet from an old diary)
I remember long road trips, driving to Texas, or to Oregon, listening to Counting Crows and that one time he let me listen to the Gin Blossoms, 'cause he knew how obsessed I was with them. But that was a rare occurence. Though, most of the time, he was nicer, on vacations. Mostly because he was GONE all the time, or talking to somebody else, distracting him from his hatred of us. HATRED, seriously.
There was -- I remember the drives down there being Hell, though. "Don't sleep!!!!! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!?! The BELT will cut you in HALF if you lie down like that!!!!" I was thinking, "I'll take my chances." I was thinking, "I hope it does."
Sunday, February 21, 2010
I have been trying to protect you. (Really, me)
I have been considering writing a blog like this for some time, but there are so many things that come up. So many reasons not to do that, if I give myself the time to think about it.
Mainly, I am afraid my dad will find out. I am afraid his family will find me, and terrorize me in their cold and special way. I am afraid of being judged any more than I already have been, and I am afraid of showing you (whoever you are) who I really am. I am afraid of being vulnerable.
I like the illusion of strength.
I can hypnotize myself into thinking I am strong enough to get through it, it never happened, I really fought back, I am really fine. I am okay. I am okay.
I used to chant that to myself, barely audibly, rocking back and forth on my bed with the rough pink bed spread, and imagine it was true.
I knew that my dad telling me I was a fat ass, and stupid... and more worthless than whale shit, "lazier than whale shit, and even that lies on the bottom of the ocean"... even though I knew it wasn't true...because he had been telling me that for so long, I started to believe it. No, that is a lie. A half-truth. That is another way I hide my weakness from you. I didn't "start to believe it". I knew it. I know it still! I am worthless, and I feel it every day, no matter how hard I try to fight that back. And, even writing this, all I can think is, "C'mon, who gives a shit? Who wants to read your pity-party whiny-ass blog?"
Hopefully no one. Hopefully no one reads it. And I can just sit here, in the privacy of my shoebox apartment in Europe, so far away from the family that pushed me here, and write to empty space. But I need to continue writing. That is the thing. Because, locked inside of me, the writing will kill me. This is a story that needs to be told.
Mainly, I am afraid my dad will find out. I am afraid his family will find me, and terrorize me in their cold and special way. I am afraid of being judged any more than I already have been, and I am afraid of showing you (whoever you are) who I really am. I am afraid of being vulnerable.
I like the illusion of strength.
I can hypnotize myself into thinking I am strong enough to get through it, it never happened, I really fought back, I am really fine. I am okay. I am okay.
I used to chant that to myself, barely audibly, rocking back and forth on my bed with the rough pink bed spread, and imagine it was true.
I knew that my dad telling me I was a fat ass, and stupid... and more worthless than whale shit, "lazier than whale shit, and even that lies on the bottom of the ocean"... even though I knew it wasn't true...because he had been telling me that for so long, I started to believe it. No, that is a lie. A half-truth. That is another way I hide my weakness from you. I didn't "start to believe it". I knew it. I know it still! I am worthless, and I feel it every day, no matter how hard I try to fight that back. And, even writing this, all I can think is, "C'mon, who gives a shit? Who wants to read your pity-party whiny-ass blog?"
Hopefully no one. Hopefully no one reads it. And I can just sit here, in the privacy of my shoebox apartment in Europe, so far away from the family that pushed me here, and write to empty space. But I need to continue writing. That is the thing. Because, locked inside of me, the writing will kill me. This is a story that needs to be told.
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