Just a Freewriting Thing

[Lpyrbby]

I wrote this a few weeks back to try to ease some of the "burden." And here I am again this evening, feeling nearly the same. Enjoy. Or not. It's cool, either way.

____________________

Today, I'm not okay.
I'm frantic.
Nothing is alluring.
I can't find comfort.
I'm wrong about everything.
I'm a fake.
What's real about me?
Incapable.
Invalid.
Indecisive.
Not nurturing.
Caustic.
Passive aggressive.
Flawed.
Oblivious to others.
Self-centered.
Pushover.

I want privacy to think. To feel.
I "have" it, but I don't.
I'll be interrupted.
Someone will see me.
Someone else will inevitably need me for something and tada! They found me.
I feel like everything is my fault and I need to somehow figure out how to fix things.
All the things. The burdens are heavy.
I feel alone. I don't believe people.
"Let's only offer to help her to make the awkwardness I'm feeling go away"
It's not genuine.
I feel it's better that I just go ahead and disappear - to rip the bandaid off - pull the stitches out; who fuckin' needs those anyway.
They're lies.
Cover ups.
Let the wounds bleed.
However it heals is however it heals; if it ever heals.
I'm a living DNR, running when I'm down, avoiding anything that looks like help.
Do not resuscitate me.
If I can't mend myself, then maybe it wasn't meant to be.
Maybe I wasn't meant to be.
Considered a "miracle" baby that my mom tried to have for a good 8 years that, in the end, she couldn't protect.
Her love and desire wasn't strong enough to protect.
Conditional. For her own safety.
Fuck people fucking over other people.
Fuck family.
Fuck my mom for keeping me but not my brothers.
Fuck my mom for keeping her husband at the expense of her daughter's safety.
Maybe if he'd have hit us, she'd have left. The wounds would have been seen by others and oh fucking god forbid we be seen!
Thanks for hiding me mom.
Worked out great, didn't it?
All the other people in my life are SO FUCKING PROUD to have a human that can't nurture; can't commit; can't feel; can't make decisions; can't be all of herself...
Because she was taught to hide.
Taught to be silent.
Taught to hold in the pain.
Taught that even if she was believed, no one would stand up for her.
Taught that if she tried standing up for herself, she'd be punished because "You're too young to know what sexual abuse is!"
No motherfucker, I called it.
A seven year old doesn't "learn about sex" by giving fucking blow jobs while their "step father" watches porn.
But, please continue to tell me how I'm wrong.
Please continue to tell me I'm invalid.
That's all I know.
How am I even a human?
And why the fuck am I even here?
People need me, but don't.
What do they need me for when I don't act human?
When it's second nature for me to reject every bit that is the human experience?
"Look, she's broken. She wants to help people so let's try to fix her by letting her help us. We'll be doing her such a good favor by asking her for help!"
Ahh yes, I'm here for other people.
To be used up.
I'm not here to live a life.
My mom brought me into this world for herself.
And the step bastard thought it fitting that I was also for himself.
"Oh, kid, you want things? No sorry, ain't gonna happen. We don't have money for braces/riding lessons/karate lessons/to come to your drill meets/to show any real interest at all in what it is that you may like or want to do because you're just a kid and we're broke and you don't matter unless we need something."
Yep, I'm only valuable if I'm doing things for others.
Fuck what I want to do.
Fuck what I think.

I see the lies I tell myself. I know that not everyone lives in the same world I've painted.
But I feel helpless to change.
That would require me to be seen.
That would require me to make demands.
That would require me to disappoint others.
That would require me to be different.
I don't know what different looks like.
Different doesn't sound safe.

[brownblob]

I wasn't molested, but I've felt the rest of it.