rrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sometimes it feels like the whole world, ever word, every bit wants to come down on my head and poop on it.
sometimes it feels slimy like chicken egg, and sometimes it makes me laugh because it is ridiculous. sometimes there is so much hate I laugh.
dear narcissus,
you do not deserve to talk to my husband you do not deserve to talk to me you do not deserve your daughters. what is the opposite of "dear"?
loathed narcissus,
you do not deserve his time you do not deserve his breath you do not deserve our love you do not deserve our children.
pained narcissus,
you have fallen and fallen and you like it down there. you like the muck and the cold. you like being hungry all the time. you like what you take as sympathy. you suck everyone dry.
abhorrent, false narcissus,
you you you you you.
each petal is a head and I am tearing it off. I do not want to care what the outcome is. I do not want to think "he loves me (not)". I do not want to smell you anymore.
I have little molecules, little seeds in my belly and I can feel them sometimes. they do not speak and they do not feel the way I feel. the way people feel. they are seeds. but I feel that I need to protect them. I need to protect me not just for me but for the seeds. they comfort me and that makes me feel dirty. I am afraid I am using the seeds the same way grown ups used me when I was small. for comfort, for love. at least they do not have sex organs so I cannot use them that way.
I am afraid I will leave my body completely, that a force that is evil and cold will take it over, with all the little seeds, and hurt little sprouts. I am afraid I made myself go away so that I don't know I hurt people. I am afraid I am like my parents. amaranth says I am afraid of this because I still think my parents weren't in their bodies when they hurt me. rather, I think that they weren't themselves. that they didn't mean it.
yesterday I spent some time with a friends' daughter. she was so sweet and cute and adorable. us three young women were delighted. I was putting her in her car seat, and it was the first time I had held her, and I was terrified. I didn't want the baby to know I was terrified, and I was so zoned out, my vision was blurry.
my vision was so blurry that I hit the baby's head on the car door.
I was deeply ashamed. the baby was alright (I mean, I did hurt her, but she cried and we cooed and she forgave me, and reached her little arms up to be held again, and I said "no baby remember last time?" but she insisted and I held her and was so so careful). I was so angry. not at the child! of course not. not even at myself (though that was a hard battle to fight in my head. I didn't want to sink into utter depression, not around a child. I feel like it's my duty to keep on as much of a smile as I can around a child. that doesn't mean fake it... oh well, it's hard to explain. maybe you'll understand). I was so pissed at my dad for raising me that way. he was so scared of molesting me that (he did) he was always zoned out. just gone. he didn't hear me calling him half the time. and I got injured a lot too; he was always accidentally shutting doors on my hands, or bumping my head when he would carry me.
why didn't he do something about it? why didn't he heal so he could-- oh it doesn't matter. what matters is that I heal so I don't bump any baby heads on doors any more.
because I know I won't molest children, I am aware of the danger of being a sex abuse survivor and so I won't. and I won't ever hit a child, I was hit as a child and I would never do that. but can I guarantee I won't be so out of my body with fear that I neglect children? no. I can't guarantee that. and until I can, I won't have children.
and you shouldn't either, mean people I see on the street. mean people who used to be in my life. mean people who raised my friends (though I love my friends, and I'm glad you started their "seeds," even if you are terrible gardeners). even nice people. superficially nice people, I discover more and more, can harbour vitriol towards themselves that shows when they have babies.
so please don't, people. please love yourself first. and please stop yelling at me because I love myself first.
Showing posts with label daddy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daddy. Show all posts
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
anniversary
my dad added me on facebook (and sent me a message about how much he loved me) and lo! IMMEDIATELY I backed out, I thought "he didn't do those things to me, he didn't mean it, he loves me, he just wants to help me, I'm ungrateful, I'm mean," so I didn't read the whole message, I deleted it, I blocked him, and I removed all of his friends from access to my page.
saw his picture and the anger came back, I realised that the "dad" I think of in my head when I tell myself he loves me and all this shit, doesn't exist, and the real person my dad is irritates me at best. there is no reason for me to receive contact from him.
then I realised that this is the anniversary of his molesting me. happy fucking anniversary you sad sack of shit. I loved you and got my heart broke over and over for your selfish aims.
saw his picture and the anger came back, I realised that the "dad" I think of in my head when I tell myself he loves me and all this shit, doesn't exist, and the real person my dad is irritates me at best. there is no reason for me to receive contact from him.
then I realised that this is the anniversary of his molesting me. happy fucking anniversary you sad sack of shit. I loved you and got my heart broke over and over for your selfish aims.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
the full moon
so I don't know how I feel. sad I guess. I've been having a lot of dreams about my dad. last night I was happy with him. but then I was in a baseball field with [amaranth] and [eglantine], and there was a UFO in the sky. I have been scared of aliens since I was maybe five. it was bobbing in the sky. I was terrified that it would see us. but also strangely exhilarated. I noted how strange it was to be excited and kept it to myself. I knew [amaranth] and [eglantine] well enough to know they knew how scared I was. [amaranth] kept turning into my best friend [fennel]. we watched the UFO disappear and a small biplane replace it, realising that the UFO was attempting to cloak itself. it turned into seven different planes. dusk was falling and it was beginning to get very dark. I asked [eglantine] and [amaranth]/[fennel] to be on each side of me in case aliens came out of the UFO. they held my hands and led me to the bus station, which was actually an MRT station. the train/bus came and we got on but I didn't have fare. (the not fare thing happened three times in my dreams last night; in each dream I would get on a bus but not have any money).
before I fell asleep I remembered my dad coming into our room (we used to share a bed because i was too scared to sleep alone after my mama left) the night I asked what sex was. I could see him in my room, here and now. I knew no one was there but I was terrified anyway. I wasn't able to move my limbs the way I wanted, or talk right. I could only make moans and grunts though i was trying to say words. I was terrified.
and then when I fell asleep I had good dreams about him. I can't remember them but I feel a little guilty now. what if I made all of this up and he really was a good dad? and then i remember his cutting his balls off and that helps. so I guess it's a good thing he did that, in a way, because it snaps me out of my dream.
before I fell asleep I remembered my dad coming into our room (we used to share a bed because i was too scared to sleep alone after my mama left) the night I asked what sex was. I could see him in my room, here and now. I knew no one was there but I was terrified anyway. I wasn't able to move my limbs the way I wanted, or talk right. I could only make moans and grunts though i was trying to say words. I was terrified.
and then when I fell asleep I had good dreams about him. I can't remember them but I feel a little guilty now. what if I made all of this up and he really was a good dad? and then i remember his cutting his balls off and that helps. so I guess it's a good thing he did that, in a way, because it snaps me out of my dream.
Friday, July 17, 2009
I always get stuck at "because"
Saturday 7/11/09 14:40
Dear Daddy, you always treated me like I thought you were evil slime. It was the opposite. I loved you more than anyone. And it's messing things up, because...because...now I love my husband as much as I loved you. And I can't sleep with him, because it reminds me of you, and how you were never who I thought you were. It's so hard to believe. I can't sometimes. I thought you were good and strong and loved me more than anything but it was lies. that's not even... the words aren't enough. I disassociate and can't say it right. You weren't just a bad example; you'd get drunk and say the most cutting things. When I was alone in the desert of my mother I never blamed you. I kept your letters on my person. I treasured every gift you gave me... it wasn't until I was 13 when I figured out how easy it would have been to save me-- if you had just talked to me-- and I still gave you the benefit of the doubt. I thought, he's busy. He... it was too hard, or something. I couldn't believe you didn't love me as much as I thought. And every time you touched me and I felt gross, like a fever dream in my muladhara, or you said something about my breasts and I'd feel rotten inside with stifled anger, I told myself I only felt this way because-- because of someone else, my mother, later [my mother's friend who molested me], later [a family member who molested me]. These people hurt me too, I think, but it was you who made me feel this way. And then I ran away again and remembered how I learned about sex and your stifled anger and your resentment and how you were ALWAYS a mean drunk, not just after you started taking hormones, and how you were rarely there and whenever I tried to talk about my feelings which I thought was good, you'd corner me and yell at me.
And yet, I'll sit and stare and think about how much I love you and remember all these things-- stories you told me about your reckless youth and I thought you were so cool daddy.
I'm glad you castrated yourself because it was violent and loud enough to shake me out of my defense of you. I can always remember how that felt, thinking you were dead and fainting when you related the graphic details, how you thanked them for me and how you blamed me after, told me you had done it for me and
good riddance.
You're not the daddy from 'a little princess'. He died and you are dead to me now, too, because the man you actually are doesn't deserve to call himself my 'father'.
Dear Daddy, you always treated me like I thought you were evil slime. It was the opposite. I loved you more than anyone. And it's messing things up, because...because...now I love my husband as much as I loved you. And I can't sleep with him, because it reminds me of you, and how you were never who I thought you were. It's so hard to believe. I can't sometimes. I thought you were good and strong and loved me more than anything but it was lies. that's not even... the words aren't enough. I disassociate and can't say it right. You weren't just a bad example; you'd get drunk and say the most cutting things. When I was alone in the desert of my mother I never blamed you. I kept your letters on my person. I treasured every gift you gave me... it wasn't until I was 13 when I figured out how easy it would have been to save me-- if you had just talked to me-- and I still gave you the benefit of the doubt. I thought, he's busy. He... it was too hard, or something. I couldn't believe you didn't love me as much as I thought. And every time you touched me and I felt gross, like a fever dream in my muladhara, or you said something about my breasts and I'd feel rotten inside with stifled anger, I told myself I only felt this way because-- because of someone else, my mother, later [my mother's friend who molested me], later [a family member who molested me]. These people hurt me too, I think, but it was you who made me feel this way. And then I ran away again and remembered how I learned about sex and your stifled anger and your resentment and how you were ALWAYS a mean drunk, not just after you started taking hormones, and how you were rarely there and whenever I tried to talk about my feelings which I thought was good, you'd corner me and yell at me.
And yet, I'll sit and stare and think about how much I love you and remember all these things-- stories you told me about your reckless youth and I thought you were so cool daddy.
I'm glad you castrated yourself because it was violent and loud enough to shake me out of my defense of you. I can always remember how that felt, thinking you were dead and fainting when you related the graphic details, how you thanked them for me and how you blamed me after, told me you had done it for me and
good riddance.
You're not the daddy from 'a little princess'. He died and you are dead to me now, too, because the man you actually are doesn't deserve to call himself my 'father'.
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