While I find ICP some great shit to listen to, they aren't really catharic. I just can't face Ani or Tori today, though.
No Billie Holiday. No Nina Simone.
Becuase while they're horribly cathartic... they just aren't right.
Their songs, beautiful songs, just aren't my songs. I'm not lovelorn, and I'm not fiesty. I'm not aching and I'm not needing.
I'm just a little overwhelmed with all the shoulds.
I'm 23 years old and I've done absolutely nothing with myself.
I've done some drugs. I've had some sex. I've been in love. I've been loved.
If emotional baggage were some sort of existental currency then I might be getting somewhere. But as it is, that's just a liability, isn't it?
It means I'm perceptive about people and about what they need or want. It means I'm pretty sure of the things I will and will not do. It means that I'm more willing than most to take some chances that might not might be considered 'wise' or well.. heh... 'sane.'
So my life is nowhere near anything it's supposed to be.
And that is 100% my fault.
And I am still not sorry about that.
And I'm thinking that maybe I should be. That I should be more ashamed. More in need of the world's approval. That I should be out there, working to make my daddy proud.
I think the problem with that right there comes in when we examine my father.
Unlike the nirvana song, I had a FATHER, not a DAD.
A figure head. Someone who sat at the head of the table. Someone you tiptoed around, lived in fear of, and hoped they never ever noticed you.
Hope never worked.... but it springs eternal when you're living with your personal nightmare with absolutely no hope of escape.
So, knowing that.... why am I here again? Why the FUCK am I living in this house with him and my mom? Well, lots of reasons.
I was broke.
She begged me.
I know I make my mom happy just by being here as the buffer.
He's mellowed out.
He doesn't scare me anymore.
The last time he hit me, I was 16 and I let him know that if he ever touched me again I would kill him with no regrets, hesitation, pity or remorse.
I meant it then. I still mean it.
I really do sometimes wonder though what it would have been to have a father who didn't fuck me and my brothers and sister up. What it would have been like to actually ask for help with homework, instead of just figuring it on my own, because I know that he'd just let me know how stupid I was for having to ask. What it would have been like to have been able to HUG my father.
What it would have been like even to just be totally ignored.
Just totally ignored. The ghost child. That's all I really wanted when I was 7 years old. To evaporate... just stop being.
I know people who got no love from one or both of their parents. They tell me it was horrible. And I can see that. But I can't relate.
If a day went past without something happening it... well.. okay.. it never happened.
So I don't have that whole "make the old man proud" thing going on. I would drop out completely and fuck skanky men for weed and rent money and give blowjobs in club bathrooms for rounds of drinks and clothes if I thought for a second he would actually give a fuck.
But he just doesn't.
So this is all on me. And so I know that this is my fault. And yeah, I'll fix it, I know I will. But right at this moment, I'm not feeling like I am capable of anything. I'm feeling 10 years old. I'm feeling the fear of the belt and the hopelessness of tears.
"I will give you something to cry about"
All assholes say the same thing, ya know.
I know... I've known a lot of assholes.
I dunno what my problem is.
HEY! maybe it's just pms! wouldn't that be a nice explanation?
Truth is, I've never really been content. Even when things have been great, they were never right. I haven't found right yet.
I miss Tom.