notfitforconsumption - Tumblr blog

[notfitforconsumption]

Dear dad,

Since you died, I can't stop feeling your hand on the back of my neck. That tiny, threatening squeeze has lingered for a month. I can feel the warmth of your face close to mine as you explain the way the world works. "I'm such a nice guy. Everyone gets along with me. If you don't get along with me then something is wrong with you. I haven't done anything wrong. No one is going to believe you because I'm so nice."

I can't even depersonalize to get rid of the feeling on my neck because it's buried somewhere in my lizard brain that danger is imminent. What danger! You're fucking dead! You can't tickle me until I can't breathe and can no longer beg you to stop. You can't squeeze my arm and pin me to your side. You can't make vague but plausibly deniable threats about my sexuality. You can't tower over me, screaming in my face, about how you could beat me, a tiny blip less than one-sixth your weight, if you really wanted to. You can't berate me for flinching. You can't punch me and pretend you never laid a hand on me. You can't pit me against my siblings. You can't make up any more lies.

You can't waste all the household money on your latest hobby or project so Mom's forced to use her savings on the mortgage or the phone bill or the gas. You can't keep me up at night screaming at mom about how it's all her fault the money is gone, that no one else will love her like you do, that she wants to leave so bad, she can just go. You can't shove books at me about eugenics or how men can barely control themselves. You can't brag about how magnanimous you are to buy me glasses. You can't punish me for not being happy.

You shouldn't be able to hurt me from the fucking grave.

Leave me alone,

Your daughter, the ugly one

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Sometimes I have a flashback. Sometimes I just hear his voice, ringing in my head, over and over, all the words he used to grind me into paste.

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Usually I think to myself "what did I do that I deserve such a loving and understanding partner?" Today I stopped myself with "have I done anything to deserve not having a loving and understanding partner?"

Don't we all deserve to be loved and understood?

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Therapist: that sounds like a coping mechanism you developed in response to how you were treated then which is no longer serving you now.

Me: ......... are you sure I'm a person cause I'm starting to sound like a bunch of trauma responses in a trench coat.

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Dad: your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world and I love her with all my heart. Such a wonderful person who took care of me during my cancer treatments.

Also dad: but I don't wanna help her with her chronic disease, and the meds make her fat. See ya!

Also also dad: I'm back with diseases!

Also also also dad: your mom has abandoned me in my time of need.

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Therapist: how about you try to schedule a get together with your friends?

Me: what if they ignore me and I go from 2 friends to zero friends?

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Is anyone else paralyzed when it comes to social media? I want to reach out. I want to be a part of a community, a network, a group, a something. I want to let my creative works run freely through the algorithm and be captured and copied and edited and transformed. I want to know that someone else has had this uncomfortable feeling, this doubt, this awareness that I don't seem to fit in anywhere. Like I'm uncanny valley personified, a realistic render of a person, so very close to real until I make some misstep and the faux pas is too glaring to be human.

I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate over every action and every variable, hoping to find how I fucked up this time. Did I freeze too much? Did I bore them? Did I forget their cat's birthday? Did I not pay enough attention to their blog? Did I pay too much attention to their posts? Did I make a face without knowing? Was I too much? Will I ever be just good enough?

One day, I will be more human. One day, I will not be too much. One day, I will say the right things, and my face won't contort and I will remember to send treats for their cat in the middle of spring. One day, I will be good enough, I just probably won't be me.

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Me: people are generally good.

Also me: and I trust none of them.

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Myself: I'm going to do it! I'm going to be social!

My mind: lol, NOPE

Myself: I'll reach out to my friends!

My mind: we have friends?

Myself: ... Acquaintances who tolerate me.

My mind: ... don't we want them to keep tolerating us?

Myself: ........... damn it.

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Not gonna lie, one of my first bills from this round of therapy said "high complexity" and I felt a little validated.

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Therapist: I want you to stop throughout the day and say "I am a worthwhile person."

Me: I ....

Therapist: am a worthwhile person.

Me: exist.

Therapist: try again.

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Mom: you were SUPPOSED to be a boy.

Also mom: NO NOT LIKE THAT

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Dad: hey there, why don't you do something? Kiddo, you gotta do something. If you don't do something, I'm gonna stop recording.

Eight week old napping baby: ...

Dad: Fine! Be that way!

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Mom, after seeing evidence of self-harm: therapists only blame the parents. It doesn't actually help.

Also mom: why can't you get over it already?

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Dad: just cause I still haven't divorced your mom doesn't make all my girlfriends mistresses.

Also dad: why won't you let me introduce my grandbaby to my mistress girlfriend?

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Dad: I'm so sick, I'm dying. Nobody loves me and I'm merely waiting for the end.😥

Also dad: I'm healthiest man the doctor has ever seen. Nothing is wrong with me. I no longer need my life saving medication that will absolutely kill me if I stop taking them. 😇

Also also dad: the glucometer and blood pressure cuff are liars. I'm only dehydrated. 😤

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Dad: I'm not your dad.

Also dad: why can't I see my grandbabies?