eighteen
I’m still scared of my parents, scared of talking to them. This fear was created out of my love and respect for their opinion and expectations of me. I can’t help but feel so powerless in front of them: nothing as changed since 14-year-old me. Even if they don’t raise their voice my mothers harsh criticisms and my fathers passive pressing encircles my mind, consuming me and my ability to “breathe deeply” to calm myself down. Instead, I’m left feeling so utterly drained, weak, and pathetic. All I can do is sit there with tears falling down my cheeks feeling humiliated and hateful towards myself for being this way. //
My nails engraved crescents in my arm as I attempted to bite back my tears and not let my emotions get the best of me. I bled. My father gently pulled my right hand off my left arm while my mom muttered “what an attention seeker.” It broke me even though I should’ve expected it.
It’s always the same, whether it was my anxiety or panic attacks or suicidal ideation, it wasn’t true and I was doing it all for attention, isn’t that right mom?
That’s what you always said it was. All a lie. //
This is not about my parents and their words. They won’t change, that’s already been made clear. This is about my lacking willpower and inability to stand up to them, which leads me to be consumed by self hatred and sabotage. What should I do? If this is how I react anytime we have to talk about anything serious about my life, I will never grow and things will never get better. But I’m also terrified of really standing up to them because I don’t want our relationship to completely disappear. I know most will say “they are your parents so they will always be there no matter what” but I have received threats from my mother that she is not afraid to disown me if she has to. This is why I hold back and choose obedience over rebellion and cowardice over courage. //
I’m sitting in my bed now, hugging the life out of my pillow pet, and in my head I picture it’s your chest I’m crying in as you whisper everything will be okay because you’re with me. //
My nails engraved crescents in my arm as I attempted to bite back my tears and not let my emotions get the best of me. I bled. My father gently pulled my right hand off my left arm while my mom muttered “what an attention seeker.” It broke me even though I should’ve expected it.
It’s always the same, whether it was my anxiety or panic attacks or suicidal ideation, it wasn’t true and I was doing it all for attention, isn’t that right mom?
That’s what you always said it was. All a lie. //
This is not about my parents and their words. They won’t change, that’s already been made clear. This is about my lacking willpower and inability to stand up to them, which leads me to be consumed by self hatred and sabotage. What should I do? If this is how I react anytime we have to talk about anything serious about my life, I will never grow and things will never get better. But I’m also terrified of really standing up to them because I don’t want our relationship to completely disappear. I know most will say “they are your parents so they will always be there no matter what” but I have received threats from my mother that she is not afraid to disown me if she has to. This is why I hold back and choose obedience over rebellion and cowardice over courage. //
I’m sitting in my bed now, hugging the life out of my pillow pet, and in my head I picture it’s your chest I’m crying in as you whisper everything will be okay because you’re with me. //
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