- Apr 22, 2018
tomorrow is the day. i can feel it in my gut that this is what i need to do. the time is right. i’ll wait until tomorrow eve to drive 7 hours to the ultrahigh bridge and jump off it during the wee hours when there is less traffic to interfere or make me feel anxious. my dad’s reaction will be anger because that is his default reaction to anything i do or think that he doesn’t agree with. my mother will be sad and they will both call me selfish. she will also be angry but she won’t show it. she will go to her room and shut the door and have my dad stand out in the kitchen to rage at me. but i won’t be there this time. by the way, when that happens, did you know he is subconsciously angry at you for making him do your dirty work? but that seems to be your agreement. you don’t deal with anything. he is your proxy. lucky me. how could an only child who had “the world by the tail” waste herself like i’m going to do? i’ll tell you how. it seems to me that there is a perfect storm brewed inside me. mother and both grandmothers, passive victim mentalities who never seemed too into life. lots of sighing and tiredness. all of them coupled up with narcissists (or drunks—just another type of narcissist). my depression is hereditary. the alcoholism i inherited as well. together they are demons haunting me along with textbook narcissistic treatment from dad. oh, but i am selfish, don’t forget. wait, i think you are the selfish ones, mom and dad. my first memories of it are being forced to have long hair when i wanted it short, being forced to get my yearly glamour shot taken with the long hair. don’t you know this was just the beginning of me wanting to express myself how I wanted to? did you actually think i’d ever want to look at those photos as an adult? there the photo album sits in your pristine house that nobody likes to visit because your cleanliness + neatness OCD hang in the air, suffocating anyone who steps into it. teenage years continually being told my feelings were wrong. getting raged at for making the coffee too strong, for not drying the dishes perfectly, for wearing on your clutch when you tried to teach me to drive standard but gave up because your clutch was more valuable than my learning. i’ve observed that neither of you learn anything new. it’s too messy and unpredictable so you stay in your ignorant box. you like stuff and you like the towels folded perfectly and no crumbs on the counter. emotional abuse continued into my adulthood. when i happily reported i’d had a big party with lots of interesting artists in my new town — i was so glad to have new friends there — your reply was weird and jealous and your tone was bitter: “but did you invite any plumbers or electricians?” ahh, so it’s a class thing, is it? i went to college. thank you for helping with that. you could have continued college but you stopped after one year because mom wanted a nice house and nice stuff. taking a job as a train engineer would provide that. you chose to be her servant. you wanted to be an artist. you chose to quit college. hey, by the way, some of those artists who came to my party happened to be tradesmen on the side. but you were too blind and jealous of your own daughter to imagine that. your world is small. i have never been able to escape it. my heart is black and i never learned what real love is. love is not the codependent setup that you all have arranged. that is called fear. i’m not afraid to exit my suffering. i’m tired of living in the prison of fear that you set up for me emotionally. if i tell you how depressed i am you will tell me to get help. thanks. when i jump it will be a brave leap, a release. perhaps i love myself enough to release myself from the pain.