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Dec 02, 2010 14:31 # 46932
Pepper (my typewriter) isn't with me right now. She's home in Melbourne.
I miss her, she is usually with me when I need to empty my mind before I go to bed. But I'm in Hong Kong right now, and for some reason writing (by hand) just doesnt seem to cut it. I'm used to punching words in, hearing and feeling rage, pain or joy within the letters of her body and the satisfying 'ding' sound it makes when I've finished a line. My spelling mistakes cannot be erased like it would on word. They are all there, my mistakes, the tears that fall on the page, the goosebumps in the exclamation marks when I tell her I met a new boy.
If she were here now, I'd tell her that things are not going well for me.
I have a boy I love and friends who support me, but I cannot summon the courage to tell my friends there is yet another melancholic chapter before the year is about to end.
God this year has been hard for me.
Not only did I have to question everything I stood for, but I had to stand by it when my father didn't. This year I told my father he was never there for me.
Something I think he will never be able to come to terms with (or agree to).
I told my mother that she never stood up for me when I was down. She helped me when I needed it. But never backed me up when I fought with my father.
I constantly get accused for being too easily influenced, not being Indian enough.
This year I learned the meaning of the word Saudade.
David taught me that.
I now know what it's like to love someone unconditionally without them even noticing you.
I had him and at times he had me, but there was never an 'us'.
No one has ever occupied space in my head the way he did.
But he's gone now, though remnants of his memories still remain.
Time will sweep them up.
This year I told my mother I dont really believe in God. I like the concept. But I cannot seem to think there is actually someone there who is looking out for me.
This year I had to stand up for myself, even when I didnt feel strong enough to stand. I didnt have a choice.
I spent the whole year trying to get my mother to accept that I will never be what she wanted me to be.
This year I battled anxiety, serious suicidal thoughts and got really worried that I might be getting the first signs of being a manic depressive.
No one knows how tired I am.
They dont know how emotionally drained I really am.
I was looking forward to coming home, I'd be with family. People who truly love me for what I am.
Though I came here to find that my father didnt even know I was a lonely child.
My parents dont think I was ever neglected. My fears are constantly dismissed. My emotions were never validated by them. We just have a habit of putting band aids on deep rooted issues.
I'm accused to being too sensitive, having a bad temper.
But no one realises, I'm just passionate.
It hurts so fucking much.
I just want to be alone these days. But I dont get a moment of solitude.
I'm not saying my life is all bad. I have had some major progress this year.
I guess you could call it a pyrrhic year. A successful one but with heavy losses.
I'm just emotionally drained and tired.
so tired of thinking, explaining, standing up when i have no strength.
so fucking tired. no one seems to realise the extent of energy it takes to wake up every fucking morning.
I know that this is temporary, just one more month and i might have a holiday. But with everyday comes a new argument, a new insult and new way of explaining.
25 more days to go.
Just 25 more days to go.
*insert something profound/witty/humorous here*
This post was edited by jael on Dec 02, 2010.
Dec 02, 2010 20:43 # 46940
This was very personal, thanks for sharing.
My father figure, Five Buck Chuck, as he's known, literally was not there. I don't mean in a supportive sense, I mean in the literal: never seeing any of my little league games, any of my music recitals, performances in chorus, seeing anytime I was in a play, none of it. Occasionally I'd get photographs of him hang-gliding, or other fun, cool thing, while I was a half continent away. Photographs are how I related to him for the first 10 years or so.
He realized, maybe when I was 15 or so, when I had to go to court, and he was there for me then. He stood up for me to the public defender, saying that he felt somewhat responsible for my juvenile crime spree.
The irony of that is that he's just about never shown any responsibility for his kids.
Mom was always there, but she had her own problems; maybe a hormone imbalance, maybe serious depression, maybe something else, who knows? It doesn't matter because she's no longer among the living, as of about 5 yrs ago.
Between the two of them, why should it be her? To me, this just proves that God, i.e. "personal saviour" doesn't exist. "He" is great in theory, but obviously "he" is confused, and clueless. My mom's response would have been: "I'll keep praying for you."
There's something comforting, warm, inviting about a typewriter. Especially a manual, with the bells, and carriage return. A technology that few can appreciate these days.
Family, seems to be like that: warm, inviting, comforting, but few feel and experience it these days. The cold march of progress has created a society empty, devoid of emotion and true connection.
Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag
This post was edited by zen on Dec 02, 2010.
Dec 03, 2010 07:25 # 46951
Been a while, no?
I tried writing a post back to you, but nothing seems appropriate.
Words don't suffice at this point. But thank you.
At this point I picture two of us in a bar sharing a drink and just smiling. One of those knowing ones.
There is a poem. You might know it.
Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
oh well..Thank you for listening.
*insert something profound/witty/humorous here*
This post was edited by jael on Dec 03, 2010.
Feb 02, 2011 12:38 # 46993
I don't know if this will bring comfort or not, but last year many people had the same year you had, only theirs was taylor made for their own journey.
Questioning what is accepted as truth as well as tradition is never easy. To know who you are requires this from you.
To know your heart, to know your mind and to know your soul means that everything is tested for truth that rings in your bones.
You are indeed strong. You got to see the tinsle strength of your will to survive. By the way, thoughts of sucide are normal in places like last year. It doesn't mean that it's an option, it just means that it goes through the mind and sometimes likes to visit often.
That too is a testing of you. Survival is the proof of your strength.
The need to be alone is understandable. There are those who need to be alone at least durring some part of the healing process.
Although this last year made common ground for you with a large number of people and although they know what your talking about in how hard last year was, there is nothing so sweet to the soul as having family understand and back you up.
There's healing in words that come from a parent that we all hunger for.
Unfortunately there are many who only get to see that from a distance. Seems too cruel sometimes. And sometimes it just seems so down right wrong.
From a perspective that my eyes have been opened to, I don't see it as crewel or unkind, I have seen it as part of the hammering process designed to bring the best of me out entirely of the dirt and clay and junk that I've lived with for most of my life.
Hardship seems to go hand in hand with growth and being human and moving into line with the purpose of your life.
It would be nice if growth just came like the grass grows without struggle, without pain.
But hardship has a way of doing things that nothing else can touch.
In this place you get to see parts of the real you. That's an amazing gift. I know it doesn't look like one, but it is a gift non the less.
I don't know if this will help either, but I was never enough of anything for my father. I found out three weeks before he died that I would never be enough for my father no matter what I ever did. I realized my father had been lying to me all my life about what he led me to believe all my life.
I spent 5 years after he died wanting to violate his grave because he lied to me his whole life.
My mother never defended any of us while he was alive, as she was too frightened of him to stand up to him.
It took me 5 years to make the choice to let go of the rage and betrayal I felt.
I finally got to the place where I could accept that my father was who he was and for what ever reason he did what he believed was the right thing in parenting.
I've accepted that as good enough for me in the making peace with it department.
As far as I am concerned now, I spent my life being fatherless inspite of having a father who lived at the same address I did.
I know now that even if my parents had gotten a divorice, it would have still been the same.
I can't tell you it will get better because in truth that depends on you. I know for me it has gotten better. I know for other people it has gotten better as well. I know some who seem stuck in it, and some who have gone sideways.
I've come to the conclusion that the road out of a place like what last year was for you, is mostly dependant on what you want and what choices you make.
Just a few thoughts...