Sunday, July 1, 2012

#69--Heh heh.

So I took a glance at some of my past posts. Of course, every writer should do this when they need a blurb of inspiration or something else to reflect on. Maybe I do too much reflecting but that's alright.

Sixty posts ago (#9) I read again. I was angry. I think I somehow managed to forget that anger. Maybe I buried it that day, leaving it to rest and be outside of me. I don't like being angry. Does anyone? There was another post regarding the same topic though I don't remember what post it was...I think it was called "Was It Worth It?" But anyway, I am astonished at myself. Because during that meeting, that one lunch time, I did not say to you the things I wanted to say. I did not really express all of my pent-up anger, because I had stowed it away in a corner of my mind and I had allowed it to gather dust. Does that mean I am moving on from that angry person I was/am? Rereading that post made me realize the disgust is still there at least. But what can I do? What does it matter if I'm still angry with you or not? If I die without telling you how angry I am, is there guilt attached?

I suppose it is enough to know that you don't know me, and that you likely never really will. And still, even after that brief meeting and attempt at discussion, things are still broken and unfixed, rusting in the rain and wind and sun. It was never a problem that would be solved with a simple apology, not that you offered one. I suppose in that way I'm just as bad as you because I didn't offer one either. In fact, when you put me on the spot about the wedding I lied to you, just the same as I imagine you would have lied to me in any other situation. Why did I lie? I hate confrontation. I hate fighting. I hate yelling. I hate feeling guilt for something I shouldn't feel guilty for. I didn't invite you because you would have been upset. I didn't invite you because you didn't invite me. I didn't invite you because you never come to things that I do, things I'm involved in, or even just for a damned visit. Would people have liked you better if you had? Probably not. But at least they wouldn't have been able to speak out against you. And that's the worst bit about it too, is that they tore me apart. Every mention of your name and they cringed, they grimaced, they spat it at me like it was poison.

I saw something recently that hit me like a brick in my gut. It was a meme-thing that said basically, every time a parent bad-talks the other parent in front of/to a child, that child feels like shit because they are one half of each parent. And that's so true. So a big shout out to anyone and everyone who ever had something nasty to say about you, and who said those nasty things to my face. Thank you for making me feel like one-half a loser. And you know, once you're halfway to something, you just keep on going. Thanks for impressing upon me that I am one-half bum, liar, scumbag, cheater, thief, coward, gossiper, sleazy, likely drug abuser, whore of a person. Because those are all things I heard about you. And will you ever admit the truth? Will you ever own up to your own past and your own actions? Did you ever? Not likely. And here I am, an adult, trying SO hard NOT to be you, based only on what I know from other people. Here I am, half-poisoned. And whenever anyone said I did something that reminded them of you, I sunk so low. Instantly. I was the lowest thing ever. I was despicable to them. Unmentionable. Disgusting. Worth spitting on. ONLY worth spit. And sometimes not even worth that.

This seems--is--a defining characteristic for me. I am the offspring of all of the above. There is no escaping that, even if I try my damndest to be a good person. Even if I struggle and fight and claw my way up out of this hole.

I did not intend for this to be a violent post. I think this is something that I will have to deal with perpetually for the rest of my life. Unfortunately.

On another note, I went to a BBQ this afternoon/evening at a friend's house. It was quite fun, the conversation was engaging and such; I got to hang out with Baby Z and Miss Jewel & Miss Cordee, though the girls were more involved with the rabbit and tribal drums. It was a little uncomfortable though, since I was the only one there who didn't bring a child along, having none to contribute. I'm still not sure how that makes me feel. And of course, there's never a "perfect" time for that sort of thing... Anyway. I'm not getting into that. It was a good time. I took beer bread & some dip, both of which were quite tasty. I had a couple servings of strawberry daquiri but all that did was give me a headache that took FOREVER to get rid of. And yet, here I am at 230 cranking out the longest blog post in history. I don't mind calling attention to my actions in this way. Random.

I stayed up with the intention of writing more on a story I've been working on (the one about monsters) but I didn't do any writing since I re-opened my computer at 100. Ah well. At least I have all day tomorrow to do something. While my body is wearing down, my brain is still pretty awake, so I may end up staying up longer after all. Who knows. I feel like this post is too long so here it is.

Happy 69 to all.

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