Something I'll Share-- Monday, April 13, 2009 at 10:20am
I originally intended this for my blog, but I put some here. I omitted some things. But I wanted to share this:
Last night, my dad and I had a fight that started over a tube of medicine. He accused me of not squeezing the tube correctly and I was just "watching it squeeze itself out (due to physics)", as he so maturely reenacted. God, he says that I claim to be "mature", which I don't. I know I'm not mature and because of this Depression, the hell I am! He kept yelling at me, "You keep 'flying off the handle!'"
Talking to my dad is physically painful. My ears could start bleeding any moment from just hearing his voice. Sometimes I think he is telepathic, because he always claims to know what I am thinking. He kept sneering at me and pretending to me (which is ironic, because the whole point of the argument was him mostly just belittling me for all my previous "sins" aka mistakes aka that I am always wrong and completely immature) saying, "How can you even go off to college and handle these situations if you keep flying off the handle?"
You see, my dad doesn't believe that I am depressed and that when I am unhappy I can command myself to be happy. Yes, I can completely control my emotions. I can think happy and suddenly become happy.
You know if I COULD DO THAT, maybe I WOULD. But when you are unhappy and have been unhappy since the day summer ended and you discovered how brain rotting, heart smashingly upsetting and disappointing Senior Year was, you cannot suddenly become "happy."
My dad kept yelling. He just kept sneering. He just kept digging more and more knives into me until it became a sword, he just impaled me with it and watched me bleed from the inside out. Then he grabbed it and drove it even further into my decimated chest and twisted it saying, "You're going to end up like that *loser." He pointed in the direction of the that house.
*Loser= Our neighbor's son who is thirty years old, rather corpulent from over indulgence in beer, still lives with his parents who are now raising the daughter he accidentally fathered with another woman whom he is not married to, he might have finished high school and dropped out of community college and occasionally finds jobs as a plumber.
And my dad is right. As he continued to stab at me, "You're immature. You're wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong."
He made me apologize. I did. Only because he wanted me to. He knew it wasn't sincere. But he didn't see me cross my fingers. I only apologized, because I wanted him to leave.
But my dad doesn't do that. He talks and talks and talks. He goes in circles. And circles again. He starts and begins with the same topic. He keeps chewing until the bloody aftermath is drained dry. But then he keeps going anyway.
The whole time, I just kept saying, "Ok. Ok. I know I'm not. Ok. Ok." In a robotic fashion. Tell them what you want to hear. I heard that one before and it failed on me. He wasn't leaving.
He told me he wouldn't pay for the college, the one I want to go to. He threatened to not pay for anything. Fine. I won't go. I have other plans.
Did I also mention that my mom kept coming in and out the room?
She begged us not to yell at each other in front of a guest. Well, tell that to Dad. I wasn't saying much. She should have seen that. I was just sitting in my room while he was yelling at me. If we were canines, I'd probably be splayed on my back while he sinks his incisors into the flesh of my neck and felt around with his fangs for the jugular.
She shut our door, but not before interjecting (not that my dad noticed), "We are never having sleepovers here again!"
Mom was the first person that I told I was depressed. She believed me and said she'd help. But when she said that...It was last year. Last year, Fall 2008, she dragged me into see our physician who recommended that since I refused to take meds and she doesn't even know if I need them AND because at that time I really wanted to beat it enthusiastically, she recommended a person to talk to. At that time I was more open to it. But now, I'm no longer myself.
The only thing that protects me from the destructive nature of this issue, is the fact I cannot keep things to myself. I make myself promise I won't tell anybody if I'm upset or angry or anything I want to keep to myself. But it comes out. I just end up talking anyway.
Finally my dad left. The damage had been done and I was left to die, a hollow, crying corpse on my bed. I knew exactly what I was going to do. As soon as he left and I heard go down the hall, I followed him and made sure he was asleep. Then I went back to my room, pulled a sweatshirt on and grabbed my scarf. I pulled on my shoes and left the house.
I made it all the way to school and back. I thought about just sitting in front of a coffee shop, because it was lighted and the chairs were still out, but it was cold if I didn't keep moving. And I was afraid the cop would see me.
I occasionally would turn around. Perhaps out of paranoia, or just to see how much progress I made. I guess you could say I am proud of what I did, because I had never walked alone so early in the morning/so late at night before.
And now it is 10:05 am. I woke up about an hour ago.
My parents came back from their financial meeting. My dad acted as if nothing happened and tried hugging me.
I don't want his love or respect. I just want him to keep his distance. And I'll keep mine. The more time I spent with my family, the less dreams and aspirations I have about starting one myself when I am old enough and mature enough.
If I can so much as maintain my friends without them hating me and leaving me, because I disgust them with how jaded and tempered I am, that's good enough for me. They don't realize it, but they are all I have.
The only person, creature, that I can fully depend on in the house is Jennifer. But even that will end. She'll be 10 on June 1st. She's also 70 years approximately. Her age didn't show at all, for years and years. But, her paws are swollen and worn out. Her eyes are droopy and she doesn't prance quite as lively as before.
And now, Jennifer is the only comfort I have at home.
May I remind all that this entire argument was over a tube of medicine? Pathetic at its best folks. My family, ladies and gentlemen.
Last night, my dad and I had a fight that started over a tube of medicine. He accused me of not squeezing the tube correctly and I was just "watching it squeeze itself out (due to physics)", as he so maturely reenacted. God, he says that I claim to be "mature", which I don't. I know I'm not mature and because of this Depression, the hell I am! He kept yelling at me, "You keep 'flying off the handle!'"
Talking to my dad is physically painful. My ears could start bleeding any moment from just hearing his voice. Sometimes I think he is telepathic, because he always claims to know what I am thinking. He kept sneering at me and pretending to me (which is ironic, because the whole point of the argument was him mostly just belittling me for all my previous "sins" aka mistakes aka that I am always wrong and completely immature) saying, "How can you even go off to college and handle these situations if you keep flying off the handle?"
You see, my dad doesn't believe that I am depressed and that when I am unhappy I can command myself to be happy. Yes, I can completely control my emotions. I can think happy and suddenly become happy.
You know if I COULD DO THAT, maybe I WOULD. But when you are unhappy and have been unhappy since the day summer ended and you discovered how brain rotting, heart smashingly upsetting and disappointing Senior Year was, you cannot suddenly become "happy."
My dad kept yelling. He just kept sneering. He just kept digging more and more knives into me until it became a sword, he just impaled me with it and watched me bleed from the inside out. Then he grabbed it and drove it even further into my decimated chest and twisted it saying, "You're going to end up like that *loser." He pointed in the direction of the that house.
*Loser= Our neighbor's son who is thirty years old, rather corpulent from over indulgence in beer, still lives with his parents who are now raising the daughter he accidentally fathered with another woman whom he is not married to, he might have finished high school and dropped out of community college and occasionally finds jobs as a plumber.
And my dad is right. As he continued to stab at me, "You're immature. You're wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong."
He made me apologize. I did. Only because he wanted me to. He knew it wasn't sincere. But he didn't see me cross my fingers. I only apologized, because I wanted him to leave.
But my dad doesn't do that. He talks and talks and talks. He goes in circles. And circles again. He starts and begins with the same topic. He keeps chewing until the bloody aftermath is drained dry. But then he keeps going anyway.
The whole time, I just kept saying, "Ok. Ok. I know I'm not. Ok. Ok." In a robotic fashion. Tell them what you want to hear. I heard that one before and it failed on me. He wasn't leaving.
He told me he wouldn't pay for the college, the one I want to go to. He threatened to not pay for anything. Fine. I won't go. I have other plans.
Did I also mention that my mom kept coming in and out the room?
She begged us not to yell at each other in front of a guest. Well, tell that to Dad. I wasn't saying much. She should have seen that. I was just sitting in my room while he was yelling at me. If we were canines, I'd probably be splayed on my back while he sinks his incisors into the flesh of my neck and felt around with his fangs for the jugular.
She shut our door, but not before interjecting (not that my dad noticed), "We are never having sleepovers here again!"
Mom was the first person that I told I was depressed. She believed me and said she'd help. But when she said that...It was last year. Last year, Fall 2008, she dragged me into see our physician who recommended that since I refused to take meds and she doesn't even know if I need them AND because at that time I really wanted to beat it enthusiastically, she recommended a person to talk to. At that time I was more open to it. But now, I'm no longer myself.
The only thing that protects me from the destructive nature of this issue, is the fact I cannot keep things to myself. I make myself promise I won't tell anybody if I'm upset or angry or anything I want to keep to myself. But it comes out. I just end up talking anyway.
Finally my dad left. The damage had been done and I was left to die, a hollow, crying corpse on my bed. I knew exactly what I was going to do. As soon as he left and I heard go down the hall, I followed him and made sure he was asleep. Then I went back to my room, pulled a sweatshirt on and grabbed my scarf. I pulled on my shoes and left the house.
I made it all the way to school and back. I thought about just sitting in front of a coffee shop, because it was lighted and the chairs were still out, but it was cold if I didn't keep moving. And I was afraid the cop would see me.
I occasionally would turn around. Perhaps out of paranoia, or just to see how much progress I made. I guess you could say I am proud of what I did, because I had never walked alone so early in the morning/so late at night before.
And now it is 10:05 am. I woke up about an hour ago.
My parents came back from their financial meeting. My dad acted as if nothing happened and tried hugging me.
I don't want his love or respect. I just want him to keep his distance. And I'll keep mine. The more time I spent with my family, the less dreams and aspirations I have about starting one myself when I am old enough and mature enough.
If I can so much as maintain my friends without them hating me and leaving me, because I disgust them with how jaded and tempered I am, that's good enough for me. They don't realize it, but they are all I have.
The only person, creature, that I can fully depend on in the house is Jennifer. But even that will end. She'll be 10 on June 1st. She's also 70 years approximately. Her age didn't show at all, for years and years. But, her paws are swollen and worn out. Her eyes are droopy and she doesn't prance quite as lively as before.
And now, Jennifer is the only comfort I have at home.
May I remind all that this entire argument was over a tube of medicine? Pathetic at its best folks. My family, ladies and gentlemen.
posted by Chinny at
10:39 AM
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