Yesterday my mother said "You don't know what "hard" is". She was flustered of course and guilt tripping me to death (as is her right) but for the tenth time just that day I visited introverts island. I entered my cave of self hate and expressed emotions as blunt and mundane as cave paintings.
That's just the problem isn't it. The exact reason why these words are being carelessly uploaded to the internet for no one to read. Because there is no book of painting or poem or song that will ever describe how hard my life is. Nothing could ever prepare anyone for the amount of self loathing and self persecution that has occurred just in my 17 years.
The other day my brother and I were half joking about being broke and taking this freak show on the road. Then things got all too real and I could tell for the first time in his life he was examining the challenges of my life. He laughed and said. " Your life sucks." Then he laughed and said "and you're only 17"
I know it's old news but I can't sleep. I stay up at night and watch my mother dream. We share a room and all night long I feel her mind stirring. I am constantly working my ass off to ignore some thing. Some feeling or emotion I'm picking up or just any thing that I probably shouldn't interact with in public. My kitchen is sometime filled with a strong presence that makes me nauseous. When I do dishes late at night I have to call my mother to keep me company because some thing I should be oblivious to is starring at me with pained eyes.
So aside from the constant struggle to pay attention to what matters (not letting any body see just how strange I am) there is also this giant resentful fear of inadequacy. I can't help the man with pained eyes. I don't know how. Not only am I a freak of nature, a giant cosmic hiccup, I'm also bad at it. My best friend watches a TV show where a beautiful, social and happy go lucky woman help people cross over to SOMEWHERE and ask why I don't do that for these people. How the hell would I do that?! Do I light a special candle? Do I gather up random and possibly violent dead people into my living room and brew up a nice pot of kiss my ass?
Sorry for the rant but, Mom, I know what hard is. Stop being frustrating and realize your woes and my woes and " the normies" woes are on completely different levels.
