thetruthifeartelling

[thetruthifeartelling]

There is nothing new or revolutionary you can tell me. I have explored every avenue with this pain. I have highlighted all my faults, and I have deeply cherished the sweetness of my life’s wins all the same. Still, I feel it consume me. Every negative emotion makes me wince. A side effect of suppression in my formative years. I feel them consume me, entirely. Every breath I exhale soot. Every inhale, is a breath I take for granted. Every step, is symbolically a step towards a life that I never wanted to live- at least not in this way. Every waking moment is agony. The feelings burn me from the inside out, and to make matters worse, I cannot show them. It is not socially acceptable to show them. It is not socially acceptable to be depressed. It is not socially acceptable to cry in the workplace. Sensitivity always demonized. Lack of empathy, praised. “There’s so many emotions here.” “People crying but they have work to do.” I hear it. I hear how they speak of one another. I want to whisper to them. Not everyone has grown up with the same riches as you; emotiinaly, spiritually, mentally. So maybe you see their crying as weakness, and maybe it’s too much for you but their feelings are fucking real and people don’t get to choose when the bubble up you piece of shit. Praise yourself for working through all of your feelings. Recognize the blessings you have to be able to talk down upon people who feel. Because clearly you’ve never felt threatened enough or bothered enough or hurt enough to have to fight or cry or suppress your own feelings for the sake of your job. Or maybe you have. But there is nothing noble and righteous about being the guy who dick rides “the machine” for a minimum wage. Let the fuckers cry you piece of shit.” It’s always the neurotypical people who huff and puff “I don’t get how” until it happens to them. Sorry that you’re so disconnected from your feelings and your humanity that their expressions of emotion are just “too much” for you. Fuck you!

[thetruthifeartelling]

I don’t want to hate my dad anymore. When I told my dear friend about that 15% there was nothing he could say to take my pain away, or to undo the past, or to remind me of better days. I understand that it is my obligation, it is my responsibility, it is apart of my life’s journey to be the one who “breaks” these family curses. I know this, logically and spiritually, but there is something still so devastating about how self centered all of this is. I was hurt. Then I identified the pain. Now I have to be the one to release it and heal it and move past it. I feel resentment towards the cards I’ve been dealt. I felt resentment for having had to feel any bad feelings at all. They disgust me. They anger me. They infuriate me. The childish version of me is saying that all of this cuts into my happiness. It cuts into my alone time, my recharging time. It’s shaved years of authenticity off of my life because my mind and my heart were trying so hard to make sense of life while my soul and actions were being guided by pain. That dissonance my therapist speaks of. It was always there. In middle school. In high school. In my early twenties, just a disgusting ball of negativity and shame. I didn’t know any better than to try to swallow it down. I didn’t know any better than to cower in fear. I didn’t know any better than to blame myself for every negative emotion I have ever felt, because I was not prepared enough or taught that you are not your emotions, your emotions are reactions. Even as I write this now I feel nauseous. This disgusting energy of hatred that I’ve held back and swallowed down for so long. It’s why I never felt comfortable getting too close. It’s why I never felt comfortable expressing myself. It’s why I never felt comfortable letting things go. It’s part of the reason I always felt so odd. So off. So uncomfortable in my skin. It’s why I never allowed myself to be childish. It’s why I’m a childish adult now. It’s why I still get small when I speak. It’s why. It’s why. It’s why. It’s fear. It’s shame. It’s anger. I’ve gotten comfortable enough now to play toss with it. A cruel game of hot potato. Every time it’s in my hands. Every time I face it all for what it is, it seems never ending, and it’s so very sad. And it looks so grotesque. It’s what’s driven a wedge between myself and life this entire time. It’s why I don’t feel free when I have sex. It’s why I don’t feel understood when I speak. It’s why I don’t feel connected no matter how genuinely I try to form bonds that would alleviate the negativity I feel from the mountain of coagulated black ink and blood clots and soot and cigarette ash and milky tears and cum and ice cold tears and steaming hot harsh words that caused welts on my skin as child. It’s the world’s eye. The world’s eye. The world’s shame and hatred and judgement and criticism personified. The four horsemen of the religion of my mind. And so often and so deeply people say to make friends with it. Bitch how am I supposed to make friends with an entity that I can’t even look in the eyes. How the fuck am I supposed to make friends with all the dried up scabs and broken dreams and river of disappointment that runs inside me. That river never goes dry and I’m supposed to find a way to let it be, happily? I never wanted the responsibility of this dark kingdom in the first place and when someone hurts me or insults or me things don’t go as planned I cannot help but think that “that’s what home’s like”. That’s exactly how it feels. I know that feeling. I know that pain. I know that sound. I’m pushed back into the kingdom that has grown from a single drop of blood. And every time I am pushed in, I climb myself out. I’ve never wanted to find a home in it. I’ve never wanted to find comfort in it. Despite how loud and echoey that land within me has become. I swallow the blackness whole. I can’t let it slip out yet.

[thetruthifeartelling]

You never had consideration for anyone besides your self. Your ego has kept you safe your entire life but it has also limited your ability to connect with anyone because all that you do and say is bullshit. Utter bullshit. You ask me questions just to tell me you disagree with me. You ask me about my life just to tell me what the fuck I’m doing wrong. You want to know shit just to be a fucking prick. BE NORMAL. You will never be normal. I absolutely hate you most days. My therapist has been trying to get me to have compassion for you because your mental states seems to be much worse than mine and “he’s probably not managing anything very well.” I don’t need compassion for his feelings or behavior. He does not deserve compassion from me! Where is my compassion!!! Where is the apology I’ll get for having cptsd ?! Where is the compassion I get for having to figure any and all of this all out on my own???? Where is my compassion for it?! Where do I get a group of people telling me that that’s just how I am after I emotionally abuse and tear everyone apart just for fun???? WHERE IS MY COMPASSION?! I DONT GET ANY. PEOPLE HAVE SEEN MY NICENESS AND CONFUSED IT FOR WEAKENSS MY ENTIRE LIFE. WHERE DO I GET THE UNCONDITIONAL LOVE THAT MY MOM GIVES MY DAD?! WHERE DO I GET THE ENDLESS FORGIVENESS THAT MY ENTIRE FAMILY GIVES PEOPLE LIKE HIM?! I AM THE ONLY PERSON THAT SEES CLEARLY. I SEE THE COWARDICE. I SEE THE EGO. I HAVE THE FUCKING TERMINOLOGY, AND MY DAD ALWAYS GETS THE COMPASSION BECAUSE OF HIS SOB STORY BUT WHAT ABOUT ME?! WHAT ABOUT MY OLDER SISTER?! WHAT ABOUT MY OLDER BROTHER?! WHAT ABOUT THE PEOPLE WHOSE LIVES AND SELF LOVE HE ACTUALLY RUINED OR STUNTED?! WHY IS THERE NEVER ANY COMPASSION OR UNDERSTANDING FOR ME?! I HAVE PUT IN THE WORK TO IDENTIFY THE ISSUES, ADRESS THE ISSUES, attempt to “HEAL” and NOW I HAVE TO ALSO SIT AND JUST ACCEPT THAT YEARS OF MY HAPPINESS AND JOY HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM ME AND MY ENTIRE 20S JUST BECAUSE SOME POS ASSHOLE DECIDED TO HAVE KIDS AT A YOUNG AGE. FUCK THAT AND FUCK YOU. AND FUCK ALL MY FRIENDS WHO I TRIED OPENING UP TO AND NEVER HELPED ME. NO ONE EVER HELPED ME. NOT EVEN MY OWN MOM OR BEST FRIEND HELPED ME. EVEN THE FRIEND I OPENED UP TO LAST NIGHT SAID “WE MAY BE GOOD MEN BUT WE ARENT THERAPISTS.” WELL THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR THAT. WHY DOESNT ANYONE WANT TO ADMIT THAT ALL OF WHAT MY DAD HAS DONE AND SAID IS WRONG?! “Why does your Dad need to know that he’s hurt you or done wrong? Why can’t you give yourself that validation?” “If you need other people to validate your beliefs then you don’t have integrity or conviction.” WELL I THINK ALL OF YOU ARE FUCKING STUPID AND WILL NEVER HAVE TO HAVE FELT THE WAY I HAVE FELT IN MY OWN MIND FOR DECADES!!! YOU CAN ALL SPEAK SO SMUGLY AND CALMLY BECAUSE YOU DIDNT EXPERIENCE THE MENTAL 🍇 AND EMOTIONAL DYSFUNCTION I DID DURING MY MOST FORMATIVE YEARS SO FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU TO MY THERAPIST AND FUCK YOU TO MY FRIENDS FOR ALWAYS DISMISSING MY PROBLEMS JUST BECAUSE I AM “INTELLIGENT” AND “STRONG”!!! I SHOULDNT HAVE TO HAVE FIGURED ALL OF THIS OUT ON MY OWN!!! I SHOULDNT HAVE TO HAVE BEEN STRONG IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!! ALL OF YOU SLEPT COMFORTABLY AT NIGHT, AND LIVED YOUR LIVES, WHILE EMOTIONALLY I SUFFERED. FOR YEARS!!!

[thetruthifeartelling]

It infuriates me to be looked at by him. He cannot be trusted. I’ve been taking a few days off of work simply because my depression and sideation has been getting the best of me these past three weeks and immediately he asks me “are you on vacation?” Such a simple question, but so loaded. I ignored him completely because he never shuts up. I give him an answer and he ignores it completely and comes up with his own anyways. “Oh she must be depressed. Oh she must’ve gotten fired. Oh she’s being lazy.” “She’s probably sad because of a guy. Why would she take time off is she has bills?” Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. What I would’ve loved to say is- thinking about how much of a fucking idiot you were and a shit parent has been plaguing my mind recently and I’ve been contemplating how much time and energy I’ve lost. How many relationships have been damaged by the issues you’ve caused me, and just how much of my OWN GOD GIVEN LIFE HAS BEEN FUCKING PLAGUED BY YOU! I cannot STAND being in your presence because YOU are an example of all that is wrong with the world: ignorant, racist, homophobic, misogynistic, hypersexual, authoritative, narcissistic, “traditional”, and just plain fucking stupid. YOU are what’s wrong with the world and YOU are what’s wrong with me, because in every issue I’ve had, it all traces back to you. I ended up friends with and in relationships with the shittiest of people because you set me up to be the perfect fucking victim who isn’t allowed to have boundaries, an opinion, self expression, or anything. You raised me to have absolutely nothing. I watched you cheat on my mom since I’ve been 10 years old. Why the fuck did I know why cheating was at 10 years old??? Hearing you talk about having sex with my mom every day and you being uncomfortably sexual and horny for her without any respect for my ears or my mind. Or for the fact that that’s my mom you’re talking about. Shitting on everyone’s dreams like you’re a 17 year old older brother and not a 47 year old old man!!! That’s what’s on my fucking mind. That’s what’s been bothering me. And it absolutely kills me to know that I can’t snap myself out of the depression long enough to keep my head straight enough to get a normal job to support myself so I can be out of here. And if the day I leave, I choose to cut all contact with you, I will be the bad guy. Even though I’m fucking screaming and crying on the inside to get the fuck away from you and your emotions and your problems and your opinions that I was FORCED AGAINST MY WILL TO LISTEN TO MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE. YOUR PRESENCE ALONE MAKES ME WANT TO END IT.

[thetruthifeartelling]

I told the person that I thought was the love of my life about all of my “father wound” issues. Although I spent about four hours talking to them about it all, it only seemed to be about 15% of all I’ve ever been through or all I’ve chipped away at. There’s just so much I’m uncomfortable with discussing when it comes to my Dad. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted in many ways since I was about 12. Not being able to say no, never feeling comfortable in myself or my opinion, always being argued with instead of listened to, made to feel afraid, being frozen in fear, having no boundaries, always being looked at “lovingly” when I never wanted to be looked at at all. There was never any space for me to be me, and now I am an adult with severe depression and the bastard has the audacity to look at me in pity as if he isn’t the only reason I’ve been fucked in the head since I was 10. I don’t want to feel the way that I do anymore about who I am or what I’ve been through, but this mental prison I created to keep me safe, the same one keeping me so confined I can no longer grow has been because of him. I hate him. I hate how he was genuinely more narcissistic than anything. Emotionally abusive. Verbally abusive. An intimidator. A cheater. A liar. A piece of shit. I fucking hate that guy because I suppressed so much of myself for so long because of him. Fear of judgement. Fear of criticism. Fear of being seen all because of that motherfucker. I live and love in my head and it makes me happy that way because that motherfucker doesn’t deserve to know anything about who I am. Not now. Not ever. What grown man decides it’s okay to beat down the self esteem and confidence of all of those around him just to make himself feel good? Who does that to their own children? Who speaks with pure misogyny and ignorance to their daughters? What idiot does that?

[thetruthifeartelling]

The largest and meatiest part of all that I’ve had to overcome, comes down to my childhood trauma. Thankfully for myself, I don’t want to have to live under that narrative anymore. No one will quite understand just how fucked up I was in my mind for a while in my teens, and I can only describe with words the sense of deep exhalation I felt when I first learned about the buzzword “narcissistic” and “guilt tripping” only a handful of years ago. I’m going to be 27 this year, and I finally feel that I am allowing myself to become and feel like an “adult”. I still feel childish and absolutely stunted in many ways, but all of the skills I never gained in the years of isolation trying to scoop all the shit out and remove all the conditioning I received from my parents. My dad being my dad is very symbolic. He is representative of society in its least evolved form. He is a walking ego. He is a very dramatically exaggerated representation of what it means to be a “man”. An Andrew Tate of the world. And we need them. We always need them. We always need the worst, most damaged, most selfish people to show us how not to be, who not to embody, how not to hurt people. For the longest time I didn’t want to look at all the damage he’d done, and I save a lot of it. I saved a lot of it, because I was in a deep state of avoidance. I truly felt that I wouldn’t be able to look at it. I truly believed that I wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of all the worst parts of myself that I had internalized because of my dad’s sheer willpower and authority. All the parts I didn’t want to hear. All the misogyny I didn’t want to see. The little girl on the inside that feels like a man, who wasn’t treated like a little girl, by the man who was supposed to treat her like one. It’s just a sad reality, one that I thought was all too damaging, as if I wasn’t living in the disappointment and carrying it with me every day. I’ve touched many bases inside myself and I’ve touched many bases on my journey. I’ve created road maps and trauma maps. Affirmations. and journal entries. I’ve created many a thing on this journey, and honestly I lost three good years while I was in that relationship. Three years of work. But also the reality is that I was broken open in all the worst ways in that relationship. So in a way, it may have sped up the process. I feel in my soul that I am ready to move forward. I don’t care to have my parents or a narrative of them holding me back anymore. I accept that I did it all myself, no matter how badly I wanted to not. No matter how badly I wanted support. No matter how badly I needed them to know how hard I had come, for myself, and indirectly for them, and to my ancestors “for us”. I think I’d really like to finally experience all the things me in my early 20s didn’t get to experience, and all the little things I would have loved to fully enjoy and embody in my teens. I’ve scooped about 80% of the poison out. I have no problem working as hard as I’ve been for a few more months, so I can stand confidently at 27 and the rest of my life with the knowing that “I did it.”

[thetruthifeartelling]

learn who you are, unlearn who they told you to be.

[thetruthifeartelling]

I can be everything and nothing. I have been limiting myself. Dumbing myself down. Maybe at one point in my life I was caught in the wrong pockets of the internet, being filled with ideas that I didn’t need to be learning. Filled with memories and societal criticisms that were not mine to digest. Why can’t I be everything? Why can’t I enjoy everything? Everything is art. I understand it because everything is art. Everything is art. Everything is emotion.

[thetruthifeartelling]

I mentioned all of that in that last post in order to say that I knew that my thoughts were not mine. I knew that all of the self hatred and the self disgust and the disdain, yes it was the output, but the input was predetermined. I knew that the input was predetermined. I cannot remember now, internally screaming at the kitchen table as my Dad always chose to spew out the most racist, sexist, misogynistic bullshit he could think of. Criticisms and judgements of anything and anyone he could think of. Anything and anyone that was unlike him. Anything and anyone that he deemed unworthy of his good graces. And if in his field of vision you disagreed or demonstrated that you didn’t care about what he was saying, he then had a meltdown and made you feel as though you were wrong for not agreeing with the utter bullshit that came out of his mouth. Never. Never. Never could I disagree without some bullshit attempt at an argument always coming out of his mouth. Eventually, id just walk away because I couldn’t even stand being in the same place as someone so idiotic, uneducated, ignorant. He took differences of opinion as a challenge, as if every single fucking conversation had to be a conversation to win and could never just be an exchange for ideas. There always had to be a winner and there always had to be a loser, and being a loser was never enough, they had to be destroyed. If you’re not racist, homophonic, or deeply misogynistic, you’re “wrong”. Speaking and not speaking didn’t matter, so time after time after time, I uncomfortably ate my food while this dictator at the head of the table asked the most uncomfortable questions, made the most ridiculous assumptions, and got joy out of making everyone physically uncomfortable. All of this to say, it’s no wonder I was never comfortable sharing my truth or being seen.

[thetruthifeartelling]

Years ago, when I furiously wrote in my diary at night, with tears in my eyes and the deepest of frustrations, I had no idea that I would “solve the problem” of all that had held me back. No longer dwell in the pockets of your shame and self doubt, they said. I never considered it dwelling. I considered it all a very necessary assessment of all of the darkness and upset and hurt that I had allowed to fester within me. Unintentionally, I was feeding it. All the worst parts of myself, with all the cruelest of ideas. All the worst parts of myself with the meanest of language. All the sadness in myself with the potent beliefs that I would never be or could never be all that I had ever wanted to become. If I were allow anyone to look inside myself at that time, those teenage years, those early 20s (which feel like yesterday as well), one would peer in and find pitch blackness, with a soft sound of the formation and release of tears, every now and then a screech of anger and despair would pierce the sadness, and deep deep down at the absolute bottom of this abyss laid myself, in my younger years. Misunderstood, quiet, sad, but in desperate need of a hug. No one cared to search for me. No one cared to find me. No one cared to question where I had gone. No one cared to wonder why I had been away. No one cared to ask if I was alright. No one cared to hear that my tears were not empty, they were saying all of the things that my childhood self couldn’t. They were morse code. They were another language. They were words that feel on deaf ears of those who had never been taught that the crystalline saline droplets that fell from my eyes were not just water, were not just a hassle, were not just a hindrance, were not just a distraction, were not all for show. I would never tell my child and I will never tell my child that the tears that they cry are annoying. You told me over and over that every time I cried it was annoying. Every time I cried it was too much. Maybe you should’ve done your fucking job as a parent and understood that when a child cries it means something. Have a fucking heart and consider the fact that you shouldn’t have ever seen my sadness, my confusion, my hurt, my despair, as sadness, it should have been a signal to you, an alarm, that something was wrong. Instead your fucked up self saw disgust in my sadness. Instead your fucked up self saw my normal reactions as a nuisance. Instead your fucked up self sighed and grunted at the obligation of having to control your child and get them to calm down and not cause a scene instead of console your child and ask them what is wrong, or where it hurts, or why I even cried.

[thetruthifeartelling]

Random thought, but what’s lame about my situation is that people experience childhood trauma and (realistically/hopefully) move on from it, but what do you do when you remain under those conditions? Under that same room, with those same people, within those same walls, with that same pain, with those same voices, with those same thoughts, feelings, and fears that have been conditioned into you? I feel like a science experiment at times. How much can you grow under the same conditions that broke you? How far can you take your life when the external hasn’t changed for ten years? When your parents are as immature as they were when they were sixteen, when they’re just as fearful of change and growth and power and anything different as they’ve always been? How far can you take it when you have the two people that were supposed to nurture, care for, and love you unconditionally do the opposite for you? How does that affect someone? How far can they get along until they break? Is it a good thing if they haven’t? Should they ever? If they never have, will they one day? Grow the rose in the dark. How beautiful can the rose grow in the dark? How big can the rose bloom in the dark? Back to a child every time I step foot into my home, but supposed to be an adult every moment I step outside of it. Do you see the contrast, the contradictions, the confusion, the limitations? Do you see my argument? My perseverance? My perspective? Can you not see how I’ve been clawing at my way to freedom and self love? Remaining the same is the worst thing I could ever do. Handing down my parents emotional instability and immaturity is a death sentence. I refused four years ago to be the same. They aren’t evil people, just stuck mentally in their early 20s. I refuse to be stuck mentally in my early 20s. But what does freedom even look like for me? What does freedom even entail? What is this freedom I so desperately long for? What does she look like? What does she feel like? When I find an answer, I will run to her.

[thetruthifeartelling]

Your reality simply comes down to all the thoughts you have of yourself in your head. I’ve written it out a million times, there is no “reality”, only your perception/interpretation of it, which you are in complete control of. So why not only wish/think/feel the best? What is stopping you? You aren’t real. And if life is such a silly game, why not play it to your best advantage? Release the shame, fear, guilt, trauma, sadness, and win. You are alive. Every day you are alive, is a day that you’re winning.

[thetruthifeartelling]

Yesterday it hit me. The idea that you are a bird in a cage, with the cage door wide open. I’ve spent my entire 20s identifying and researching and observing all of my ins and outs in regard to my trauma/pain. I’ve spent this entire time studying the cage, when I should’ve been spending the entire time learning to escape it. “You are in your own head”. I know. I am aware of my awareness. I am aware of my overthinking. I am aware of every fault/flaw/incorrect action I’ve made from 15 years old until now. You are the key to your liberation. I can’t help but feel that acting on the idea that fear/trauma/pain does not exist for me or in my life would be revolutionary. You are the creator of the cage. You upkeep the cage. You hold the power to disintegrate its bars, but you spend all of your time and energy in keeping its shape, in maintaining your enclosure. You’ve studied every grain of grass, every measly pebble, every grain of sand. But did you look toward the sky? Did you use your legs to stand? Did you notice that there was never a cage at all? It’s all been in your mind. You could’ve had everything you wanted, but instead you used your head and heart and mind to identify to criticize to nitpick in the same way they did to you. Thats why you fear being seen, because you see to much. Thats why you’re afraid of being around other people, you categorize them, you nitpick them, you study them. Identification was simply the first step in the process, what you needed was to act. To run. To climb. To break through. All of the walls and every single bar that exists within the cage you keep yourself in has been man made and self made. If you step outside the cage, who are you? Strip yourself of gender norms, societal norms, cultural norms. Hell even strip yourself of your body, and your own mind. Peel all the layers back. Scrub them off of you with sandpaper, and what are you? Are your crying about it, or for it, or about them? Are you angry about it, for it, or about yourself? Where does all of this come from? Clearly the pain and burden isn’t yours. Who planted all of this within you? Remove your feelings from it all, who are you? Remove your fears from it all, who are you? Remove your home and your workplace and your friends from it all, who are you? Remove your mission from it all, who are you? Why would you let them win? They aren’t even real! There is no “they”. All of these thoughts and opinions that you internalize from “society”, where do they actually come from? You haven’t met 8 billion people, you barely have met 2000 or 3000 in your life, so who is stopping you? And why do you let them? Why can’t you just exist? Why can’t you give yourself permission to just exist???

[thetruthifeartelling]

My entire life I’ve been thinking in terms of glass half empty when I should’ve been thinking in terms of glass half full. I am trying to find compassion for myself because life would’ve been much easier to be hopeful and positive about if I hadn’t been constantly dealing with feelings of voicelessness, incompetence, and guilt in my own home my entire life. I’m starting to see my parents as human beings and it took me such a torturous and long time to do so. All the pain and criticism and confusion and emotional dysregulation and all of the fear based ideas that I had come to know as my truth and my reality because it was the one they had given me are now just an illusion to me. Hurt people hurt people and although I learned that many years ago I could not give my parents the benefit of the doubt, especially my Dad for the longest time. Now that I’m emotionally ready to leave, and now that I’ve been working on my confidence and self esteem in order to give myself my freedom (physically) in order to remove myself from this house of fear, I am getting glimpses into the fact that they simply are who they are. And despite being hurtful and uninspiring on their worst days they have also been incredibly hard working and selfless my entire life. I don’t see my parents having been anything else but parents and I’m sure in their next lives they will have the same group of five children in another way shape or form. The concept that parent and child souls are connected for eternity was introduced to me once and despite feeling upset at that statement given the context then, I find it slightly comforting that even though I may not be the closest to my parents now or ever, and their own emotional dysfunction has made me physically ill, I will still be theirs in some way shape or form, forever. And they will always be my mom and dad, until the end of time. And if we couldn’t “get things right” here and now, I will happily and proudly be their baby in the next go around.

[thetruthifeartelling]

I feel as though I am being pulled in two different directions. My past is grasping onto me for dear life and my future is tugging me as best as it can. I really and truly would love to get to the point where I never have to look back at my past again. My parents were the key and always have been the keys to my liberation. I have resented them, and grieved them, and loved them all over again. I keep my distance now, but I cannot deny that I love them. At the same time, I know that there is a world of opportunity and freedom beyond living under this roof. I cannot help but feel like there is more to my life than all they’ve ever shown and given me. My mind is still all over the place in regards to this topic, but I fear that I am stuck in a frame of mind, where I am a child, and they are all knowing all powerful and I will only ever be “me”, in their eyes.

I’m starting to believe that no one ever truly stopped me but myself. At the same time, there was so much legitimate fear that kept me stifled and still does.

I went on a car ride with my Dad today and he told me to make peace with everyone so I don’t die with regret knowing I should’ve/could’ve said something different to the people that I truly care for. Considering the past, that was an incredibly large step for my Dad. Unfortunately, with him it is always one step forward, three or four or five steps back. I feel that he delivered a message to me. I need to forgive and reach out and communicate to everyone, just in case.

I still am certain that I need to get out of my home. At the same time, I am beginning to regret not having cherished my home and family and having spent so much time “away”, escaping. I needed to and I had great reason too, but my parents are getting older and their hearts are getting softer and they’re finally becoming the parents I always needed them to be. Conversation is uncomfortable and I know I hurt my dad’s feelings when I said the drive was boring at one point, but I’m trying. I still believe that leaving is the best choice. They don’t know that I’m planning to leave, but now I feel so sad. I spent my entire life wanting to be away from home and now that I’ve developed the courage, my parents are much kinder and older. I spent so much time trying to preserve myself and my mental health and it breaks me that the best option for myself for the past ten years has always been to flee.

[thetruthifeartelling]

My life is in my own hands and I am afraid to live it. No matter how many times and in how many different ways I’ve tried to scrub me of myself, I am just always there. No matter how many books I read, or places I go, or friends I make, I am still me and it makes me miserable. I remember feeling this way at 17, and a decade later I still feel the same way. I’ve made my own existence a land mine. Can’t do this. Can’t say that. Can’t join this crowd. Can’t join that one. Can’t walk here. Can’t walk there. So long as I am me. The way I look. The way I talk. The way I think. The way I move, I cannot help but be unhappy. I’ll never understand why I was given the physical form I was given, so hairy, so fat, so strong. Or the mind I was given, always ahead, always ahead of its time. Everything about me I feel, sticks out like a sore thumb and that’s why people are nice to me. It’s like they know that I’m screaming to be someone else on the inside. I would have love to been born someone skinny or womanly or petite, with no desire to think of anything outside the silly little constraints of the western world.

[thetruthifeartelling]

That is not their fault that your friendships are superficial. It is your responsibility to be vulnerable and honest and truthful, your abandonment wound bleeds into them. Communicate and recognize that you are projecting onto them. No one hates you and has never hated you. They enjoy you because you’ve given them the best of you, the refined version of you, the sweet version. You don’t show them the entirety of your being, that is not their fault. You try to hold it all together for them, to be digestible, to be cool, to be fun. You’re dishonest when you hide the darkest parts of you. They don’t know how you’ve hurt. They don’t know how you’ve doomscrolled and stuffed your face with food that you know will make you sick, they don’t know that you’ve neglected yourself for years. If you’re a fraud it is because you’ve made yourself so. If you’ve trapped yourself in a box, it is because you made it yourself. You cannot blame other people for your fear of vulnerability anymore.

maybe I’m not a good friend after all. I have all of the acquaintances in the world, but does anyone really know me? It’s all superficial. It’s all been superficial. Once it gets too deep I become irritable and critical. Why the fuck can’t I just know people without seeing all that they do wrong? Without seeing all of their character flaws? Without seeing all of their trauma? Without this immoral superiority and desire for justice?