1/11/09

The constant oscillation between angry and bored, happy and sad, self-worship and self-loathing…it gets tiring after awhile.

I’m tired of it.

It would be nice if someone could tell me why  I’m like this.  Or if I could trace it to some concrete event in my past.  That is, aside from years of ridicule at the hands of my peers, my utter abandonment by everyone I trusted, my parents’ indifference to my existence, and my asshole alcoholic father. 

Some huge percentage of people who self harm have been abused.  I’ve never been abused—my parents were afraid of what I would do to them.  It actually makes me feel more  defective.  My life has been pretty good.  I mean, I had a house with electricity and indoor plumbing, which is more than most people in the world.  I grew up in a safe town with almost no crime.  I went to decent schools and graduated at the top of my class. 

So what the fuck am I so upset about? 

I’ve always suspected that I was just bored.  That all of this was the result of an under stimulated brain trying to amuse itself. 

Or maybe I’m upset about the years of ridicule at the hands of my peers, my utter abandonment by everyone I trusted, my parents’ indifference to my existence, and my asshole alcoholic father. 

I used to be really angry.  All the time.  I would throw things, and destroy, and hurt Them, and when that wasn’t enough I would hurt myself.  However, such strong emotion is generally frowned upon.  Now, it seems weird that no one bothered to try and figure out what I was so angry about.    They just told me I needed to hold it in.  So I learned to stop throwing things, and destroying my surroundings.  I stopped fighting.  And then I was the only person who had to bear the brunt of my anger, and They were okay with that.  Because then they didn’t have to deal with it.  The boat stopped rocking, so all was well.

Have I ever told you how much I hate  Them?  I will blame myself first, for everything.  I hate  myself.  I am a failure.  I am a useless piece of shit.  But sometimes, when I’ve had enough to drink, I’ll blame them.  Because where the fuck were they?  When I was younger, it was THEIR responsibility to save me.  But no one ever did. 

And yeah, you can argue that I needed to take control of my life and save myself and yeah, you’re right.  But this shit started so. fucking. long ago.  I was suicidal at 9, self harming at 11, and what 11 year old should take control of their own life?  How does an 11 year old save themself? 

If one person had taken responsibility, if someone had actually cared, if someone had opened their fucking eyes for one goddamn minute…how much of this shit could have been avoided?  How many scars would I have then?  How many?

So yeah.  I hate Them.  Because they didn’t do right by me, and now I can’t save myself.  Or I won’t.  Because I’m so used to being a miserable fucking waste  that I don’t even want<spa

n style=”mso-spacerun: yes”>  to be “saved” any more.  I just want to throw myself aside, because that’s safe and comfortable and predictable.