a whiny voice

This is perhaps not the right place for this. But this place is mine.

When I was younger, I was neglected.
It hurt like fuck but it didn’t seem like that at the time.
Didn’t seem like I had any right to feel bad about it.
Instead of love and support at home there was what felt like hatred.
But I am used to hate.
And scorn.
And being the person that people took their shit out on. At school I was tormented simply because people were bored.
But now it was enemies without and enemies within.
There was no safe place. You chased me to my room when I tried to escape.
There was no one to really talk to, when I should have been able to talk to you.
At one point… you told me something so horrible. You told me it because you knew that’s what you thought was true, some part of you wanted it. You told me only to absolve yourself.
It just destroyed my hope in you.
You basically told me that you wanted me gone and that we’d all be better if i just died. That was the message, clear and concise. Not in such words but with even more bluntness.

And so half a life time later I still have bad dreams…
I drempt we were staying somewhere for a short British holiday. But at the same time as I am looking for a spare room to be in in the building, I am looking for a place to remain, some part of me wants to, some part of me feels pressured to stay behind here.
On the day of leaving, you are angry with me. But I haven’t done anything wrong. You are seething.
I’ve just started cleaning up the mess someone left in the room before me, broken egg shells, but you leave without me.
I run after you, but you don’ t want me to.
You say things with no regard for my feelings.
You tell me that I should go to a university we walk past and learn t-shirt design. It is not a motherly suggestion. It is a command because it is a thing within line of sight that gets rid of me.
I try to tell you I don’t want to go to university again, that it isn’t worth the money, that I don’t want to learn t-shirt design. But you never cared anyway. I want to talk to you, I want to at least ask you to slow down so I can catch up. You wont. You are annoyed that I am still bothering you. You get angry with me. I am in tears, I am just about fast enough to catch up with your walking and grab the edge of your jacket but you pull away. I am openly sobbing in public. I am begging you. Mum, please wait. Mum, why wont you listen to me. Mum, please talk to me. Why wont you listen to me. Please, please, please, please, please just talk to me mum.
I am now causing you embarrassment.
You are really pissed about that.
You only slow down so as not to show yourself up.
I realize that and some small corner of my brain is still trying to please you, I try to lead you to a nearby empty room for privacy.
You don’t want to go in there, because you cant walk away from me as easily, because you might hear me talk.

The alarm clock wakes me from the dream and saves me from any further damage.
Today I am meant to be proactive and get things done. Today I am meant to be quick and efficient. Showered, dressed, and out of the door to get bloods done.
Today my heart will be moving through tar. It will slow my thoughts down, my body down. But hey, I am used to that as well.

Yesterday on the phone, you mentioned it. You’ve never ever ever said anything ever that made me think that you realized that time had a negative impact on me. And what you said was not charitable. It was consequential. You said that back then you were really stressed and Consequentially, I didn’t ‘get the attention I wanted, or deserved’, because you were so stressed that it was killing you.
I didn’t want attention, I needed love.
I don’t know if she realized she took all of that stress out on me, at the most difficult time of my life, and she nearly killed me. She gave me the impression that I was always at fault with everything, that I was worthless and my existence was detrimental. That she’d secretly be relieved if I killed myself.
At a time when I was hurt so badly I would have done if I was anyone else.
But I am not.
So instead of getting on with my shit this morning, I am sobbing and writing the words out so they don’t cut as deeply, twisted wires inside of me.

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