I don't like to tell people about my "life". The unfiltered "life" that goes on when I'm not out in public, "hiding my feelings" from people to "not make it look like something is wrong. I feel like that I wear a "mask" in public because I don't want people to know what "really happens to my wrist" or why "I'm so angry today". But I decided that I want people to know how I feel. I'm tired of hiding what things are really like, so I decided to share this with you all in an effort to take off the mask.
I bet you don't know that my family is having issues. Well, we've been having issues for a while now, but my parents dont' want to get help (I've been saying that "we need family therapy NOW" for like 5 years now, but no one cares). I try to tell them that I want help, but they always do three things, Yell at each other, Yell at me, or "try to talk about it next week" but it never happens. I want it to happen, but I can't do this alone. Believe me or not, I'm not to blame for this. I'm not a "problem child" or "a child who should have been disciplined more and wants to rebel". I'm none of that. (If you read my blog often, you would know how I am.) If I get one person to read all of this, then I will know that at least one person cares about me.
It is mostly my Dad's fault for the way I am emotionally. He has never felt like a "parent" to me in my life. He has just felt like someone who we live with who doesn't care about me, and cares more about what's on TV or what's for dinner. Physically, my Dad isn't too much taller than I am (I'm 5'4 and a quarter.) but he scares me unlike anything else in the world. I'm really skinny, while he is rather stocky. His job is manual labor, and I sit at a desk, write and learn all day. He shouldn't be scary, but the way he looks at me when he gets mad is something else. You haven't heard someone yell at you unless you've heard my Dad yell in your face. Honestly, my Dad isn't a person who anyone should mess with. But why do I stand up to him? Because I'm fearless. (Alright, I'm fearless, but with fears. If I was fearless, then I wouldn't be human would I?)
I stand up to my Dad because he buys things for his car instead of for me. I can't even remember the last "real" Christmas present that he bought for me without my Mom's intervention. I stand up to my Dad because he doesn't care about me. I'm in 3 honor societies that require working your ass off to get into them. I'm in the top half of my class this year. I'm pretty damn smart. But he wants to tell me that " I need more discipline in my life and need to be hit with a belt more." He tells me that I "don't know anything because I don't know how to respect my elders." I stand up to my Dad because he is wrong. Girls can play Guitar as loud as they want to. Girls don't have to wear skirts, and dresses and wear make up to be pretty. English majors can make it in this world. Writers aren't people who are poor. Punk music is a lot more than just "angry Teenagers that have problems". Crying isn't a sign of weakness. I stand up to my Dad because I have to.
I felt like I would die a month ago. I felt like my Dad was going to kill me. Just because I can't drive very well (I just started 6 months ago because I got tired of people driving me places). To be short, I just got tired of his backseat driving,and told him how I really felt. He yelled at me, but I yelled right back. "I want to be respected. If you wont' respect me, then I wont' respect you. Its that damn simple". I looked him in the eye when I said that. When I looked in his eyes I thought he was going to choke me with his bare hands, and if he didn't do that, he would beat me with a belt until I passed out on the floor of my room. I never felt so afraid in my life. I texted the 2 people who I thought that would care, but one never replied to me, but the one who did thought that I was kidding. I honestly wanted to OD on painkiller and just end everything right then and there. I will never forget this for the rest of my life; I thought to myself "I better end this before he can get to me". I don't know what kept me alive that night.
This isn't the first time that he has overacted. I can remember getting yelled at when I was little for spilling his drink on the floor and crying in the corner because I thought that he was going to "hit me again". I remember him overtly yelling at me when I lost my Softball Championship when I was 9 years old. I remember when the other parents were forming a wall between him and me and told him it was "Just a Game" and "Remember the kids ages! They are young!" I remember crying and running to the car. I remember him saying on the way home "You don't cave in like that. You don't quit. You don't cry." I remember my Mom trying to tell him to calm down, and I remember him telling her to "Shut up". I remember him not showing up at our winter concert in middle school when I had the Saxophone solo. I remember him not supporting me when I wanted to go to art school. I remember him not going to my final round at my Debate meet because he "had to go to work.". I remember seeing him when I got home from the meet telling me that he "wasn't going to work today". I remember him not liking my paintings. I remember him telling me that I was a failure and that I shouldn't' try anything because I'm just going to fail at that too. I remember him not being a parent.
I haven't told anyone how I really feel about my Dad. Frankly, I haven't told anyone how I feel about anything. Not my teachers, not my friends, not any adult, not any family, not any therapist, not any doctor, no one, not even my Dad. (I have told him on occasion that "I think that you should consider how you talk to people sometimes" but he never listened). I should say that I never tell anyone anything anymore because it feels like they don't care about how I feel. Or, they do care about how I feel, but don't do anything about it later. I don't feel like I'll ever meet the right people and tell them everything in this blog post, or all of the other things that I've been keeping inside.
But I do find those people who like me for me, and want to do do "normal things" with me, like go fun places and talk, but when I start to tell them how I really feel, they always leave, and I always cry. I honestly want to know whats so wrong with me? Is it because of my face? Is it because I get angry sometimes because I don't know what the hell I should do? Is it because I'm lonely and cant find the right people to talk to? Is it because I think that I'm a failure? I honestly want to know. I get sick of peoples sympathy. Its nice that they listen, but I want someone who is going to be here next to me, taking the punches as I take them. It wouldn't be bad if I had a friend who was indeed a "Friend". Someone who is there if I need them, someone who is looking out for me and just want to be ok.
Some nights when I should be sleeping, I think about all the things that should be going on in my life. "Will I ever find someone who likes me for me? Will I ever reach my goals? Will I ever make it in life? Will I ever do anything with my life?" I try not to think this thought, but before it comes, the tears come out. "Will I be alive tomorrow?". Trust me, I'm not being emo, I'm not trying to write this for attention. I'm writing this because I can't keep it in in anymore. Hopefully, someone will notice my pain and realize that I can't take this anymore.
If my "friends" are reading this now, I want them to know that I'm practically dieing inside. I need them now more than I probably will ever need them in the future. I just want you guys to know that I'm not going to make it without your help, so please find me, text me, write me, call me, just do something to let me know that you are not going to let me fall. I don't hear anything back from you, then I'm going to think that you don't care, so I'll stop caring about you. If I don't know you and you **Somehow** found your way to my blog and read this article, I want to say thanks for reading this. If you want to catch up on the back story, then feel free to look around for a while. I just want to say one last thing:My life is crazy, but I'm not crazy.
