Trying to convince my shadow I'm someone worth following
Posted: Sat Oct 12, 2013 3:27 am
I'm sitting here as cold as the granite my arms are resting on it's almost become bearable enough to consider comfortable...I'm so tired of walking around feeling nothing but disgust and guilt and knowing it's not my baggage to carry and that's where the anger slips in subtly. It's frustrating being that person who only becomes 'important' once they're absent because shit starts falling apart and it's even more hurtful to know that the idiots don't think of taking the time to mention your potential worth, yet, at the same time they'll be the first to yell at you about how having suicidal thoughts is completely selfish.
To give the summarized version, I've been sexually abused by various family members starting at the age of 4 and that went on for years since, decided to disclose that information around the time I was 16 to my guardian (grandmother) only to have her embrace the information wonderfully by then yelling at me about having a terrible 3.5 GPA, she didn't even bat an eye or give a shit...Which was expected considering my mother went through similar abuse and unlike me, my mom told right away only to have my grandmother discredit her and tell her, "You shouldn't say mean things about people." Then like most people now, dad left me at 3 and was a functional alcoholic. Mother was in and out of mental facilities and had a few dances with drugs, I can still remember having horrifying images of what those facilities would look like before I would go visit her at 6 years old. And from there came the being thrown around from person to person, being beaten, locked in closets, etc. Around 17, my grandmother decided it was my turn to follow my mother and she conjured up a story about how I was 'drinking while taking antidepressants' and because on paper I seem like another f***** up self-help book, the people in the ER room decided I was a candidate to go to Club Med (Mental hospital). And so I was a broken person who had been given 'attention' in all the wrong ways and rarely loved correctly. I just learned to curl up like a wounded animal and would lick my wounds. It's like others will talk about me but never to me, and there's nothing better than feeling like a visitor in your own f****** life.
I'm so sick and tired of sitting here silently, just suffering. No longer knowing what to say because I feel like most of my words have been spent. I've been scraping up all the fragmented pieces for years and tried my best to keep myself together since I seem to be amazing to aid others with doing so...And it's draining to keep giving what you wish you could have had and rarely, if ever, receive the same in return. I'm tired of being tired and I'm trying to look for more reasons to keep going but days like this...I'm not sure there are many. But I'm sure I'll wake up another day like usual.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get at.
To give the summarized version, I've been sexually abused by various family members starting at the age of 4 and that went on for years since, decided to disclose that information around the time I was 16 to my guardian (grandmother) only to have her embrace the information wonderfully by then yelling at me about having a terrible 3.5 GPA, she didn't even bat an eye or give a shit...Which was expected considering my mother went through similar abuse and unlike me, my mom told right away only to have my grandmother discredit her and tell her, "You shouldn't say mean things about people." Then like most people now, dad left me at 3 and was a functional alcoholic. Mother was in and out of mental facilities and had a few dances with drugs, I can still remember having horrifying images of what those facilities would look like before I would go visit her at 6 years old. And from there came the being thrown around from person to person, being beaten, locked in closets, etc. Around 17, my grandmother decided it was my turn to follow my mother and she conjured up a story about how I was 'drinking while taking antidepressants' and because on paper I seem like another f***** up self-help book, the people in the ER room decided I was a candidate to go to Club Med (Mental hospital). And so I was a broken person who had been given 'attention' in all the wrong ways and rarely loved correctly. I just learned to curl up like a wounded animal and would lick my wounds. It's like others will talk about me but never to me, and there's nothing better than feeling like a visitor in your own f****** life.
I'm so sick and tired of sitting here silently, just suffering. No longer knowing what to say because I feel like most of my words have been spent. I've been scraping up all the fragmented pieces for years and tried my best to keep myself together since I seem to be amazing to aid others with doing so...And it's draining to keep giving what you wish you could have had and rarely, if ever, receive the same in return. I'm tired of being tired and I'm trying to look for more reasons to keep going but days like this...I'm not sure there are many. But I'm sure I'll wake up another day like usual.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get at.
