The amount of the bad is immeasurable in terms of things that are not right with the world, the specifics and the details, the general and the ambiguous. That changes nothing of its current appearance.
The fact that I have been trained by my brain to forget so much and in forgetting this thing they name trauma and relatives rip things off you in some sort of aggressiveness you still don’t understand, and after a certain amount of that, you can’t help but think yes maybe I am attracting every abusive asshole in the century on the planet and in any sphere where they will absolutely and completely misunderstand me and misrepresent me to the point where I start to wonder why some people clearly understand me and others who seem to seep into power positions in my life — time and time again, almost fucking destroy me (and I’m talking in the way most Americans would turn and look the other way — unless you are poor, rural or city, but this is an up and down poverty roller coaster based on you doing something wrong — and in a creative realm, that has become such a worthlessly precarious slippery slope. I simply can’t take all the firing lines I am supposed to be lining up in for the rest of my life.)
And so be it.
the thing crumbles.
i can’t even tell myself what to do
it’s meaningless incremental
i’m not bitter or jealous of all that perfect happiness boasted from the two car garage and the perfectly neurotic kids who you talk about as if they are somehow neglected by not having enough STUFF it’s as if the people who raised me, if my life had gone even slightly as I, who seemed to be so successful so young, had planned, those who taught me things that I wanted to pass along, it’s as if that never actually took the time to exist. I had wanted a grounded, stable family. I was a grounded, stable girl, after all. Overcompensation and sublimation know no bounds
Until all hell broke loose.
That life didn’t matter, no one remembers those passed down stories, those way of keeping each other alive, of fending off the bad, of giving the good a chance to survive to fight another day. That has completely gone away. There is no fire to set, no one wants to learn about those things you thought might matter.
How is it that I end up with absolutely the opposite of what it was I so wanted.
And then I remember, as my grandfather referred to me, I was the bastard child.
It is only fitting.
…to be continued