“Be the person you needed as a child.”
I’m in one of those moods today where I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I get to thinking too much about the past and it clouds my mind. A mist of self loathing, with an aura of neglect, by the time the fog of rejection rolls in, it’s the perfect storm I’ll ride out for the rest of the day, maybe the week. The feeling of never having been really loved as a child gnaws at me constantly, it’s always there hiding behind a thin veil. I look at my daughter, and any other small child and think to myself “How do you resent a child?” Maybe I’m being dramatic, maybe it wasn’t disdain, maybe it was just complete disregard. Even then, I can’t wrap my brain around the notion. Children are (mostly) innocent beings, sent here for us to love and mold into someone who might be a bright light in a lurid place; not to use as pawns and scapegoats, or to sit idly by seeing things no child should see, hearing things no child should hear, feeling things no child should feel, being told things no child should be told.
If I had a superpower it would be invisibility. “If” sometimes isn’t even a question, sometimes I truly think that I am. It’s amazing the things people don’t see; the tears, the anguish, the dark puffy circles that make crescent moons under dull lifeless eyes, the dehydration of someone who weeps into the night. Maybe once in a month someone will look at you with a shocked examining expression and in passing say “You okay?” A million things, words, scenes, rush through your head and you almost think “this is my chance, maybe someone cares” then you remember last time you watered-down a feeling enough to actually put it into words so that someone might understand, so you just utter “Yeah, of course, long night.” with a little chuckle that you learned to use so that people don’t ask further questions.
Then one day you think maybe you can speak with a psychiatric professional, someone who knows things like this, and they can tell you, hey its okay, it’s not that bad. But instead they give you worried glances and ask if you’ve ever felt like hurting yourself or others. Yourself, yes of course, because I hate myself, I deserve it. Others; no never, I couldn’t hurt a fly. Only me, I’m the one I want to hurt. I’m the disappointment, I didn’t live up to expectations, I’m the unloved.
It may seem as though I’m just constantly feeling sorry for myself, and if so then you don’t get it. You’ve probably never felt this pure revulsion, and that is a great thing. Truthfully, I feel too aware of my situation in regards to the people around me and around the world. I constantly read true accounts of what history has done to the innocent. I’m horrified at how people have treated each other throughout the ages; and even what’s going on now, with people I don’t know, in places I’ve never been. I hate myself for it, for feeling like this, amidst the horrors of the world.
It’s amazing how much neglect and rejection can do to a person’s psyche. But it doesn’t matter because instigators don’t have to deal with the repercussions, only the recipient does. And said person will always wonder if he/she is ever loved by every single person who claims affection. Their future companion will forever have to prove they love them, because it’s so completely inconceivable.
I’m in a constant state of waiting…
Waiting for my friends and husband to see me for who I really am…irredeemable.
Waiting for everyone to leave their seats and calmly move toward the nearest exit.
Waiting for the cancer to take over because I’m useless to the world…and only the strong survive.