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duplicitousmasquerade-blog · 8 years ago

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Background and Some

So, I suppose if I’m going to bitch and moan about, well, everything, then I should probably give an idea of who I am, how I’ve come to this point, and whatever else seems relevant. Special thanks to spellcheck because I spelled relevant three times before getting it right. Anyways, here goes nothing.

I’m a 25 year old guy. I’m white, straight, and middle class. Sounds like a fairy tale, right? I mean, that’s the epitome of privilege short of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. I have a good job, adorable pets, a good car, and a great place to live. Bills and toys aren’t a worry for me at all. So, what do I have to bitch about, right? I mean, I’ve got a great life. Well, if you know anything about masks, you know they can hide a lot. A smile, a joke, everything. It’s all a never ending lie.

The truth is, I’ve got a fuck ton of problems. They aren’t financial, or physical (though I could do with losing a few pounds and building some muscle, but that’s beside the point). Quite frankly my issues are mental and emotional. See, I don’t often see seemingly successful people talk about this. I mean, if you’re successful, why cry about it? It’s better to cry in a Mercedes than a box and all that. I’ve been in both positions. Actually, I’ve been in a lot of positions in my short life. I’m an absolute emotional wreck and I’ll try to explain why.

You’re now a watcher into the fucked up situation that is my life. You may not like what I say. You may end up hating me and really, I wouldn’t blame you. But I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. I won’t play the victim. I won’t make excuses. This will just be everything, with a few details removed to keep anonymity. So let me start at the beginning, huh?

My family looks perfect. It always has. Perfect parents who love their child unconditionally, kind and gentle grandparents who spoil the grandchildren, aunts and uncles who joke around, cousins who play together, family get togethers full of support. That was all one hell of a smokescreen. It’s all bullshit. My family can be really fucking cruel. See, my family has a really old name. We’ve been around forever and with that, comes certain traditions. One such tradition is the first born male is to be groomed to be the patriarch whenever their time comes. Well, guess who that unfortunate bastard was. That’s right, me.

Now, the patriarch of the family is supposed to be perfect. I mean, absolutely fucking flawless. Perfect test scores, perfect fitness, perfect mentally. They’re supposed to be able to solve everyone’s problems, mediate disputes, give guidance, everything. That’s a lot to tell a child who hasn’t even started school. None of this was hidden from me. It wasn’t subtle. If I strayed from that path, I felt it. Anything shy of an A? Punishment. Hell, a low A was considered a failure. Every male in my family (shy of my generation) wanted to be patriarch. It was such an honor. So of course I was looked at with some envy for just existing. My great grandfather was the patriarch at this time and he was an absolutely incredible man. He was kind, gentle, caring, just about everything you wanted in a human being. After he died, we found out a lot of dark things about his past but that’s not my story to tell.

So as you can assume, I was under a lot of pressure. Oh! Remember how I stated I’m middle class? Yea, that’s me currently, not me then. No, back when I was a kid I wasn’t sure if I was going to eat that night or not. You see, my mother is mentally ill and unmedicated. Always has been. Growing up, she was also an alcoholic. And the only reason my parents were together was because of me, and they let me know that often. That I was the only reason they were married and around each other in general. What was a normal night in our trailer? I’d go to bed and about twenty minutes later there was screaming. Screaming, accusations, plates breaking, glasses shattering. Might as well have had someone break in and violently rob us. But no, it was my parents, more specifically my mother. My dad was (and still is) a grade A asshole to us. Nobody else, and only in private. So, my mom would get drunk and hit a new level of anger and my dad would just sit there. He wouldn’t move, respond, anything, which pissed her off more.

I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell can’t fall asleep when there’s a tornado loose just down the hall in a trailer with paper thin walls. So, I tried playing games with it. I’d try seeing how far I could get in the hall until I got caught. I could get to the end, but then they’d see me obviously. Anyways, the results of these fights were my dad would call the cops, they’d show up, and my mom would go to jail for the next day or couple days, then she’d be back. They really got to know the police in our area. So much so that the last time my dad called the cops the cop dragged me and my half sister out onto the porch and told my parents if they were called one more time he would take us away and they’d never see us again. I couldn’t process anything at the time, I was just breaking down.

After that, instead of the cops being called, my mom would leave and take me with her (my half sister didn’t actually live with us). We’d go to this trailer park and stay in this empty trailer. The only thing we had was my book bag, one pillow, and one blanket, and whatever clothes we had on our backs. That was it. I learned quickly to get comfortable on the floor and using my book bag and books as a pillow while curling up in my shirt as a blanket. I never knew if we’d be eating that night. I also always brought my lunch to school, so I couldn’t buy lunch during this time. I’d always tell my teachers and friends I had already ate or had a big breakfast or just wasn’t hungry. After all, the illusion of a perfect family couldn’t be broken. That was always rule #1. Don’t let anyone know anything negative. The family is perfect. We are all perfect.

It was pushed into my head that my entire life’s purpose was to give. Give to my family, give to others, give anything, give everything. If someone asked for the shirt I was wearing, I was expected to just give it to them, no questions. So, as you can imagine, I grew up with a twisted view of the world. A world where I am supposed to give everything and get nothing in return. Nothing was owed to me. Nothing was in my control. I truly believed that I existed only to be a tool for the rest of the world. What else was I supposed to believe? My happiness wasn’t a factor so it didn’t matter. If I was suffering but someone else was at least content, I was doing my job, living up to my purpose.

So yea, this was way longer than I wanted it to be for my first real post. I apologize if any of this annoys you. I’ll try to break this up piece by piece in the future instead of this rambling. That’s a pretty full and overwhelming intro and it doesn’t even cover a fraction of the reasons for my issues just in early childhood. The next post will definitely make you hate me, I guarantee it. I hate myself for it. But that’s for next time.

#familydrama #lifestory #selfhate #mental illness #whining #longwinded #childhood

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