Ah, once again, I'm home alone.
Not entirely alone, the rats are running around having a grand old time.
But they're not incredibly friendly. Maybe that's just the way they were brought up. Derek and I have always just been so busy handling our own lives, we don't have the time to play with them all the time, on a daily basis. Or maybe that just the excuse that I use so I don't have to suffer more shame on behalf of my neglecting them for attention.
I realize I probably sound like a million teenagers when I say this, but I recently discovered a very passionate hate for my mum. I blame her for a lot of things that leave me in this dispassionate state of mind. Mostly because if it weren't for her, and if it weren't for some of the things she's said and done to me, I probably wouldn't be in a position of utter self-loathing. I realize there's a lot of people out there that don't get a long with their parents, a lot of teenagers that lay claim to the worst parents in the world, a lot of loners that blame their parents for their bad upbringings and the wrong choices that they made. I don't blame my mom for those, I blame myself, I should've been smart enough to look past drugs and booze as sources of reprieve, but I didn't. What I blame her for is the self-loathing. I blame her for the fact that I see a bloated cow with a million and one imperfections everytime I look in the mirror despite all the times Derek has told me I'm beautiful, or skinny. I blame her for the distance the size of an ocean between my sister and me because she's the one who spoiled and pampered the living crap out of her, guiding her every step, which she still does, while I was left to fend for myself mostly. And when I look at my dad, I pity him because I hear him making excuses for her all the time, "you know how your mom is, she gets these moods sometimes." yes dad, yes she does, but that doesn't give her the right to downgrade me until I'm little better than a speck of dirt. "You just have to weather through these moods. She's had a really hard time weening herself off of painkillers." Yes, dad, and those painkillers never affected her judgement towards your other daughter, it seems, they're like two peas in an extremely spacious pod and I'm the bug all farmers fear will destroy everything, I'm the pest we all have to get rid of. Hello, self-pity.
Has anyone else ever been in a long standing relationship and wondered just how much there is to this claim of love hanging over your heads? I find myself wondering it frequently, not every day, not every week, but still. I know there's a very profound feeling that I have for Derek, I know I'd be lost without him, I know that I'm happy when he smiles at me, that I'm sad when I say the wrong thing and upset him; is this really the definition of love? I remember being a wee lass and thinking "love cannot be defined because in words, it doesn't exist." Do I still feel that way, I wonder? Was there a small fraction of truth to those words, or was I just a hopeless romantic, a daydreamer with ideals unfathomable. I wish I still was a hopeless romantic at times, instead of the bitter shell of a woman that I am today. Sometimes I just wish Derek will spring through the door when he gets home from work with something romantic over his shoulder, but at times it feels all the romantic things that we do end up doing are shaped and planned and initiated by me. When do I get to lay back and be floundered in words and motions of passion and enchantment? I probably spend way too much time thinking about this, but the last truly romantic thing I can remember him doing on a whim was the box of Batman band-aids he sent me out of thin air as a symbol of the mending our relationship had to take a good while back. I will never forget the feeling that one small act has left, no matter what it means to anyone else.
Maybe the reason I'm left thinking about this is because the reality of the relationships around me has been nothing but heartbreak and pain. My friend's of seven years recently broke up, out of the blue, no warning. They always seemed so perfect on the surface, the couple that everyone wants to be, cute, happy. But it turns out, when you crack open the shell the relationship wasn't anything of what it seemed. Derek's friend, albeit an absolute idiot, is suffering himself through a girl who makes open confessions of love to another guy and then tells him about it. Not only that, but she frequents in taking her shirt of for men and he makes excuses for her, saying it's just how she is. In reality, the guys an absolute moron for wanting to stay with her, for willingly accepting that this girl is doing those things, and for trying to progress in a relationship that is just going to kill him in many ways in the end.
Fools. |
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