A claw swiping from the cave.

My fingers hurt, but I have to write this. Ow. Yeah, my fingers are going to be so fucking sore.

Mom asked where I’m going Saturday. I said to Cliff’s. She asked how he’s doing. I said usual. She asked if he’s still going to county. I said he’s going there and resenting it, that hasn’t changed.

I was pacing in the kitchen eating pizza, right? I had just gotten it, and I was finishing off my second slice, while holding a near-full cup of milk.

So my dad says that Cliff is a spoiled brat. “Kids these days are given everything but don’t do anything about it.” Of course, I knew he was talking about me.

So I replied, “Oh, fuck you, you don’t know what it’s like being us.”

One sentence, and my heart rate’s already up. I feeling of disregard, neglect.

He says something about how we’re given all these resources and don’t use them. “Instead you’d rather sit around talking about your philosophy and..”

I cut him off. “Conform. Shut up, conform, and do as you’re told.”

He says something to the effect of, “Get a job, move out. … All you do is sit in your room.” Ironically, that’s exactly where I was heading. I know better than to stick around heating conversation. My reaction is to walk away.

But too late. Two seconds later, I lost it. I threw my cup of milk back in his general direction, landing somewhere between the trash and the carpet. I threw my the crust of my pizza in the general direction of my mom. Passing by the bathroom, I felt compelled to take my hands and completely mess up the entire counter, throwing things on the floor. Clear of my door and about to close it, I yelled, “I HATE YOU!” and slammed it.

I’m not sorry.

But this will have consequences. I’m tired of walking on a firepit around them. Change happens when you stop caring. I feel like he does not respect me or care about me or listen to anything i have to say. The irony is that while moving our (or being kicked out) would be the best thing for me, I probably would never want anything to do with them ever again.

I want more pizza, but I’m five years old again, hiding in my room. Do I ride the adrenaline and talk while it’s fresh, or do I wait and run the risk of going back into the hole?

Funny, and I thought circumcision-related upsetness would be the entry of the night.

Addendum: Aftermath.

Nothing ever happens. Just sweep it under the rug. It’s like he likes listening to himself talk to pretend everything’s okay.

I had calmed myself down finally. Though, I couldn’t get the terror out of my mind. I kept imagining my parents throwing out all my stuff.

I thought I’d be honest for once. Just. Just try it. As if I had nothing else to lose. Tell them how I’ve felt neglected. How I the reason I hide in my room is because I’m uncomfortable to be around them. How so often I’ve wanted to burst at my dad, but have resisted. How I don’t feel treated like an individual, but as an object. I’m not Timmy, I’m just his son.

Like that’ll ever happen.

Cliff once said something to the effect that the world did not abandon me, I abandoned the world. (Don’t ask what brought me to bring that up. My mind moves fast.)

He knocked on my door and asked to talk. I took a bath, cleared my mind. He apologized. I walked to the living room thinking for once we’d actually talk. He said that if he was in my position, he’d feel exactly the same. He said I had every right to feel upset.

Wait, isn’t that exactly what I’m supposed to hear? Validation of my emotions? Then why does it still feel fake?

I didn’t even get a chance to say what I really wanted to say. He had American Idol on and eventually got distracted. What crap. That show, I mean. I refuse to watch it. Years ago, I’d totally walk out if he had it on. I haven’t watched TV in.. shit, I can’t remember.

We mentioned the college-job disconnect. I said I was going to county to just finish it off and that I never intend to ever use my degree. He said that’s okay, just so long as I have it to put on a resumé.

I did not apologize. I did not say I was sorry. I was never scolded.

And so the defense mechanisms are allowed to retake my mind. I shot out of my cave if only for a moment to take a swipe. And seeing that nothing will ever change, I shot back into my cave. I got up and came back here, as I didn’t want to watch American Idol. Nothing said, nothing shared, nothing gained.

Go ahead, point out how immature I am. Go ahead, point out how my parents should kick me out. Point out how much of a shithead I am. Do you know how embarassing it feels whenever he points out how Wendi and I are failures who lived at home forever?

*sighs*

Their niceness turns me off. Can it really be that what I’ve wanted all along is some consequences? It’s possible. If only, just for once, to have something backlash at me, to cause me to do something. Even a simple, “We love you, it’s okay you got upset, but clean up that mess you made.”

But no, nothing of the sort is said.

It’s the same way I failed a semester of college only for them not to bat a lash.

Sigh once more.

As much as the call for me to get off my ass is right, I can’t help but recognize it as the voice of my critic. It’s the tone, not the message. I hear it. It’s condescending and unloving. It’s almost like I want them to be unloving so I can resent them. I have a hard time dealing with people who care about me, whereas it’s so easy to write off and curse out people who are The Enemy.

Heart rate still isn’t back to normal.

Funny, I never would have pegged myself as being the guy with anger issues. I short-circuit when I feel threatened. It puts me in this Timmy Versus The World mode where I just want to kill the first thing in front of me.

I’m still upset, and feeling not worthy of love. (YES, TELL ME OTHERWISE.)

I imagine Erik would say how his parents would beat his ass. I’d probably snap at him, telling him that doesn’t make me feel better, and maybe call him an asshole. He’d probably say in his humorous manner, “Calm down, Timmy!” Yes, he calls me Timmy. He used to say that phrase a lot at Panera.

I imagine Liz would take it the wrong way. Imagine, she may be more empathetic than I give her credit for.

But Cliff would probably nod and not say anything judgemental. He never does. Ever since I admited two years ago that there was something wrong with me, he hasn’t set me off like he used to. He doesn’t upset me anymore. I know whatever I’d say to him, he wouldn’t make me feel uncomfortable or threatened in return. That’s a very good thing, as I feel that way about precious few people.

When it comes to my emotional core, my first reaction is to ATTACK out of self-preservation. If you upset me, you’re probably on to something. ; )

As I noticed a while ago, I tend to make it very hard for people to get close to me. Like so many times as an early teen, hoping my parents would put forth that one extra step of effort to show they cared or really wanted to pay attention to me. But they didn’t. They became slaves to my defense mechanisms. I shut down because I didn’t feel loved, and any love that was given towards me I wouldn’t accept. It’s getting easier to accept affection, but.. that bitch of a glitch is still around.

And from there, the seeds of my critic were born, I bet. A mechanism to keep everybody away from me. Anybody who makes the inner circle can do no wrong, and anybody outside of that is a threat. So claims the gospel of the critic. As we know, the real world is not so black and white, with friendships ranging all styles and intimacy levels.

Forever in debt to your priceless advice.

It must be hard caring for me. I’m so. Difficult. I am. I’m so fucking difficult. But beyond all the contradiction of defense mechanisms is someone who very much wants to be loved. To anybody who reads this, I hear you. I love you.