22-7

22/7

Today I write with the intention of addressing several grievances. I feel the need to not only defend myself but provide an explanation as to why things are the way they and a personal theory into how. Firstly, it is important that you understand that I will never be able to see eye-to-eye with you. This is not a matter of difference in opinion but a difference in nature. Secondly, I will make mention of my own frustrations to these misunderstandings and your seemingly outright refusal to even consider the fact that, no, your brother is not who you believe him to be. Thirdly, I request complete and utter silence and disconnect in communications. Do not, I repeat, do not contact me about anything irrelevant lest it be an emergency. This is a harsh beginning but I encourage you to continue.

Before I begin my descent, let me make it clear that I have no grudge or negative feelings towards either you or your family. I appreciate that you have tried to accommodate for us and I acknowledge that I have a plethora of personal issues that have caused me to behave in a way that is either unwarranted or unbecoming of a guest in your home, and as rude as it may sound, I feel conflicted as to whether or not I should apologise. Please understand that the image my father has painted of me was only an illusion. Whatever he has said of me, specifically positive, should mean zilch to you. I am no genius nor excellent daughter nor a child of praise. I am selfish, cold, unaffectionate, highly unexpressive, and non-verbal in communication. These are things that I’m unsure of needing “fixing.” My way of living has protected me from further losing control of myself and my grasp of reality. I am not built to survive in loving or attentive environments. I have to admit that your home is not one that I can live in peacefully; all I can say left is that I hope you exclaim from the depths of your heart, “Good riddance!” once your back is turned.

My first and second points are interconnected. The inability to be on equal standing is tantamount to the fact that my father is not the same as your brother. These men are not of equal existence, rather they are completely parallel existing on separate planes of reality. I understand that you have seen your brother in his lowest and highest moments, how splendid. I have to admit I am envious that you know so much about a man who speaks nothing about his past or personal life in detail to me, his daughter. It is not that I am disinterested in it, rather he simply never spoke of it. I never knew where he lived in his youth. I never knew his living circumstances throughout his adolescence. I never knew any of his pitfalls or achievements other than the vague and occasional recounts he would provide. My father is not a man that speaks of his past to me, therefore I do not know him. Your brother is someone you grew up with and have directly experienced and interacted within that same past. I type with infuriating pain. I know nothing of this man. When you speak of these past events, I simply cannot picture that same man; he is not someone who exists.

The man I know as my father is a brute, he is harsh with his words, controlling towards others, of short temper and expresses verbally violent outbursts. I cannot vouch for how he feels when he interacts with me though I can understand that I am difficult at times, but he has never once showed me an attempt to “try.” To Try to understand me is not something I have seen him do (or perhaps I had shut myself from seeing it.) I will admit that I feel an emotional disconnect to him due to the overseas studying situation. The lack of his presence has caused me to see him in a very warped light. He is my benefactor. Emotional intimacy on a familial level is foreign to me. It doesn’t help that there is a language barrier with mum; she stayed fairly distant as well despite being physically with us. My childhood memories are scattered fragments and completely out of order. I can’t provide an accurate timeframe for when my personhood broke. I can, however, go into detail as to why I behave the way I do.

Nothing has ever been enough. I cannot recall a moment where, as a child, I would receive praise simply for being a child and accomplishing something a child would do. I am not competitive. I am not overachieving or ambitious. I am not a superstar in any sort of way. My parents believe otherwise. It seems they have conjured an image of myself that is no longer “me.” The child my parents are familiar with is someone not only with a future of grandeur but someone who should be doing everything in her ability to achieve that same goal, disregarding her own personal wants and needs. Despite these expectations they have never trusted her. She has yet to earn her parents’ trust, her actions and beliefs being constantly challenged in her day to day life. I admit that I lack an understanding of their relationship with parenthood, I may have begun to misinterpret their intentions. But what is a child to do when her parents are unforgiving of a score or milestone that she herself took pride in? What is a child to do when she is expected to be perfect in every way with no possibility of growth? What is she to do when her achievements, little they may be, mean nothing? What is a child to do when she is laughed at for crying about feeling invisible in her own home? What is a child to do when the constant dismissive behaviour of the people around her made her selectively mute? to the point that she could no longer deal with her own emotions in a healthy manner? I learned very quickly that my parents are unable to ever be satisfied by me, therefore I will no longer live for their satisfaction, but to my own. I will be selfish out of pure spite and rage. I will never forgive them. I will utilise them the same way they intended to do so with me.

I am envious and lonely, a bitter and hurt soul. The past month has been nothing but torture to me. To think my father was so foolish and naïve to place me in a household where there is nothing but affection! My heart, or seemingly lack thereof, is overflowing with disgust and discomfort. I simply cannot understand how everyone is so… loving? kind to one another? I recognise that all humans have their struggles, surely your family has been through a number of negatives in life, and hurrah, you’ve pulled through. Each passing moment, a magnitude of passionate contempt wells within me. How wonderful to see a decently healthy family relationship! How I wish I had that! How I wish I could simply talk about anything! How envious I am! How hurt I am! How lovely to have parents who are present and willing to understand! How I wish I could tear out my eyeballs and use them as earplugs! O, pray tell, should I end my life and should it reset, will I have the same? Will I be happy too? Can I live a life as a child where my emotional and material needs are balanced healthily? Will I also experience healthy parental bonds? the satisfaction of getting through a rough moment and becoming stronger altogether? Am I also deserving of this? Will I no longer feel like a misshapen trophy to wave around by my gold-fitted benefactors saying, “Hear ye! Take a gander upon my Child which I have spent hundreds of thousands on! Become bewildered as to how fantastic I am!” If there is a God so merciful above I pray He instills within me the ignorance and stupidity necessary to avert my eyes from my pain. Perhaps then I can live a life of joy, free of worry.

I feel it necessary to address that I completely, utterly, wholeheartedly despise this entire situation. I am a bundle of seething hatred and rage. I was made to WAIT years after my own graduation because of my brother (bless his soul, I can’t tell if he is ignorant of everything or if he simply refuses to acknowledge it, though I won’t hate him either way), and because my own parents refused to believe that I would be capable of doing anything on my own. I understand that they are trying to take security measures, but to what point does security become a binding harness? a straitjacket, almost? This will never be forgiven, I will never get those idle days back. I spent days, weeks, months, two years simply doing nothing at all because I was not given the opportunity to. I begged my father to allow me to get some experience by working somewhere, this was shot down. He would only allow me to work under his gaze. The idea of this was so horrid that I would rather lodge a knife into my own throat—due to this, the kitchen became a dangerous and tempting environment for a period of time. And so with each family member’s birthday that passed, I was reminded of how utterly fucking useless and disgusting I was—at how I would have moments where I was “okay” with leeching off mum and dad despite the rapid passage of time.

I will never get the full scope of the situation. They will never tell me why things turned out this way, and I resent them for it. Should they tell me, not only would it provide no amount of relief, but I may very well fly into a vicious rage with malice aforethought. I have been held back, and for what? It doesn’t matter what other reasons they could possibly have for doing this to me, I have heard no apology. Nay! Not once have I heard my parents genuinely apologise to me, and of course not! They are perfect beings who do me no wrong, I simply dramatise everything that’s ever happened to me! Naturally! No, the reality is that they refuse to admit. Whether or not they feel guilt is something I will never have insight into. I care not if they seek forgiveness from me, they will never earn it. No one will earn my forgiveness, I must reserve what little amount of humanity is left within me for myself. I have been so very close to ending my own life on multiple occasions, each of which I backed down on. I find myself to be a coward. I find myself to be an ugly and disgusting excuse of a person. I find solace and glee in the idea of traumatising those who knew me with a final act of self-destruction. I wouldn’t leave a letter or note. I would leave nothing of the sort, deleting all evidence of “Me”.

Perhaps I am twisted. I realise that I lack the understanding and ability to grieve, that there is a darkness within me that must be purged. This has caused me to desire to cause others to grieve over me. I so desperately wish to be able to see the horror that would strike someone upon seeing my wretched corpse, specifically after a moment of great success or happiness. Ironic that I wouldn’t be able to see it at all considering I would be dead. Humour me with the effects of my passing!

So let me die! leave me be! Don’t ever involve me in your affairs! keep me out of it! Should we cross paths in the future, I desire only to be ignored! I was never going to be the kind of person to maintain these ties, don’t try to force it! Wasted energy is never regained, I know this best. The least anyone could do for me is leave me alone. Let me heal and recover, God-willing. I must separate and carve my own path with a needle. May you turn a blind eye to my life henceforth and thrive within your own.