When I first told my mum that my boyfriend had raped me, her biggest concern was that we couldn't tell my Asperger's Syndrome brother because it might upset him.
Funny that, I'm not too thrilled about it either!
This happened back in December. I probably shouldn't be bitching about it now. There comes a point when you should get over these things. But for some reason it's ticking around my mind tonight, along with the line she used when she first saw my arm (newly scarred from the self harm).
"And I used to think you had such pretty arms."
Parents. They kick you where it hurts sometimes.
I alternate between finding that line utterly hilarious and like a punch to the stomach.
Had an unpleasant thought today. Dad still doesn't know. The inner thirteen year old that despises him thinks this is a good thing - after all, he'd probably enjoy all the sympathy he could get out of it and tell all his friends and people at work and they say, oh, poor Michael, and he'd be happy.
Or maybe he just wouldn't know how to process the information at all.
To my autistic family, ladies and gents!
Sometimes I actually forget that I have a father. That sounds odd, but I do. I just don't think of that man as my father, and so I don't associate anything with it. When I think of my family that part is just kind of a blank in my mind, it's as though I have to remind myself it's still there. Haven't spoken to him in years now. Last time he hugged me, it took a year and a half to get rid of the feelings of panic at the memory. I mean, why? It's not like he ever abused me. He just failed utterly to have any feelings for me either way.
This is my teen angst entry. Bitching about the parents. Wasn't I meant to grow out of this? Amusing.
To be honest, I could never see my family again, and as long as they were okay and stuff, doing whatever it is they do somewhere that's not around me, I'd be fine with it.
I'm fairly sure that's normal once you move out, though. |
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