I still don't want to be here though.
I spent the last year being absolutely tortured by my child and their other parent. Lies, manipulation, embarrassment. Covering for my child, even when I said I'd stop. Going above and beyond to be a better parent, going so far as to change my entire personality for the better. I'm not that mean old bat anymore. I don't yell and scream and cry until my eyeballs dry up and my head hurts. I'm calm, collected, I can step away and come back gathered and ready to communicate.
I think that's the thing though. I used to care, but I don't anymore. My kid looked me dead in the eye earlier and said the nastiest things you could imagine coming out of a child, and I … didn't even flinch. They kept trying to get my goat, pushing and threatening me but all I could do is agree. I am all of those things. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't have been tasked with the cosmic role of being a parent, even if I will never regret bringing them into this world because I love them so much I absolutely hate myself for making me their parent.
I'm tired, but not an exhausted fall on the floor tired. The kind of tired where you feel like you've seen it all, done it all, there's no more room for magic. The boredom. The apathetic droll that pushes through another day.
If I didn't have my doofus dog, the only thing keeping me tied to this circus, I very likely would've met with some long term nap solutions by now. I feel more duty to him than anything because he truly has nobody else. I am his world. He knows nothing but our little spot of land and the occasional jump in the car. The thought of throwing his life for a loop is much more upsetting to me than my own kid. Funny how that works. Probably because only the dog would be upset.
I think the icing on the cake is that I'm fully medicated. I am doing amazing. I don't have that deep sorrow, like I'm drowning in a sea of black ink and the only way to fix it is to hurt or go away. I just don't think I feel anything inherently good either. I'm not sure I've ever felt truly happy.
I kind of miss the dark side before the medicine, it was raw and comforting. Now it's like I wake up in a gray room, live a gray life, go home to sleep in the gray again. I've been so sad and so lost for so long, it's strange to me. Like I lost my security blanket. I can remember the first time I began hurting myself to make the ink flush away, I was only nine but I had seen my mother do it so I did it and never stopped. I feel like that's important to know, that it's been such a deep seated issue that goes back generations of mutated genetics, that it isn't my child or my current state of living. I live a comfortable enough life. I just… don't want it. I didn't ask for it. I'm just ready to get off the ride, to the point that I drive down the street excited that maybe today is the day I'll get slammed so my family can get the life insurance. Always planning ahead, you see.
I wouldn't risk hurting my child before they become developmentally capable of handling it, even if I don't think it would have much of an impact in the first place, but I yearn for the day I can look at them and know that they'll be okay without a doubt. That will be the day I can take care of myself, when I can hang up my hat and finally go to sleep. When I can join my partner on the other side of existence, even if there's nothing there. That sounds nice.
I spent the last year being absolutely tortured by my child and their other parent. Lies, manipulation, embarrassment. Covering for my child, even when I said I'd stop. Going above and beyond to be a better parent, going so far as to change my entire personality for the better. I'm not that mean old bat anymore. I don't yell and scream and cry until my eyeballs dry up and my head hurts. I'm calm, collected, I can step away and come back gathered and ready to communicate.
I think that's the thing though. I used to care, but I don't anymore. My kid looked me dead in the eye earlier and said the nastiest things you could imagine coming out of a child, and I … didn't even flinch. They kept trying to get my goat, pushing and threatening me but all I could do is agree. I am all of those things. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't have been tasked with the cosmic role of being a parent, even if I will never regret bringing them into this world because I love them so much I absolutely hate myself for making me their parent.
I'm tired, but not an exhausted fall on the floor tired. The kind of tired where you feel like you've seen it all, done it all, there's no more room for magic. The boredom. The apathetic droll that pushes through another day.
If I didn't have my doofus dog, the only thing keeping me tied to this circus, I very likely would've met with some long term nap solutions by now. I feel more duty to him than anything because he truly has nobody else. I am his world. He knows nothing but our little spot of land and the occasional jump in the car. The thought of throwing his life for a loop is much more upsetting to me than my own kid. Funny how that works. Probably because only the dog would be upset.
I think the icing on the cake is that I'm fully medicated. I am doing amazing. I don't have that deep sorrow, like I'm drowning in a sea of black ink and the only way to fix it is to hurt or go away. I just don't think I feel anything inherently good either. I'm not sure I've ever felt truly happy.
I kind of miss the dark side before the medicine, it was raw and comforting. Now it's like I wake up in a gray room, live a gray life, go home to sleep in the gray again. I've been so sad and so lost for so long, it's strange to me. Like I lost my security blanket. I can remember the first time I began hurting myself to make the ink flush away, I was only nine but I had seen my mother do it so I did it and never stopped. I feel like that's important to know, that it's been such a deep seated issue that goes back generations of mutated genetics, that it isn't my child or my current state of living. I live a comfortable enough life. I just… don't want it. I didn't ask for it. I'm just ready to get off the ride, to the point that I drive down the street excited that maybe today is the day I'll get slammed so my family can get the life insurance. Always planning ahead, you see.
I wouldn't risk hurting my child before they become developmentally capable of handling it, even if I don't think it would have much of an impact in the first place, but I yearn for the day I can look at them and know that they'll be okay without a doubt. That will be the day I can take care of myself, when I can hang up my hat and finally go to sleep. When I can join my partner on the other side of existence, even if there's nothing there. That sounds nice.
