Proxycake
Matrimony
- Feb 20, 2023
- 71
No reason to be alive here, I am starting to worry others with how often the topic of suicide comes up when conversing with me. I sleep until 3PM most days, wake up, dream of death, eat only when my stomach burns and begs for food, then I stay up all night with my lover whom, as much as he loves me, hates me as well. Incredibly sick of me, I can tell he is, he's gone out of his way to try everything to keep me smiling, which went from comforting me, to telling me that I am a burden, overdramatic and that he is sick of it. I do not try to be a burden about it. I want to say I am sorry, but apologizing angers him further.
My life is long and useless, and with every passing birthday; every year I grow older, I mourn the screaming child inside of me that bangs against my ribcage and my skull, begs to live, and I want it to live. Nevertheless, it dies more every year. Otherwise, I would not want to die so badly. There is something about a child that is just so brightening, darling and sweet; that is gone from me. I still whine, bitch and cry like a child, but the sweetness in me that would make adults smile is now forever buried. I want it back.
It feels like my world is in greyscale, lost all of its color, I don't feel happiness like I used to. I think that little child in me still gets happy, though; over little things. I love going out to dinner, I love gifts, presents, and I love taking naps when I'm tired. I love visiting animal shelters and going shopping, I love sweets and I hate vegetables. I wonder how long it will take for those pleasures to leave, grey out, and die slowly. I won't jump and giggle anymore, or cling to my fathers arm and nuzzle him, or cry in his arms.
He asked me to slap him, a couple weeks ago. I think another part of that child in me withered away when he did that. He grabbed my hand, held it against his cheek, told me to "slap my old dad." To punch him in his rotting organs, shredded by alcohol and tobacco; I could never hurt my father. I love him, I love him too much, because of the things he did to me, and the ways he touched me. I could never hurt him, until I did, because he told me he'd hurt himself if I didn't. I slapped my father across the cheek, and I have never seen him cry so hard, until then. He sobbed and he held me and he told me I was his angel, his little baby.
He has never said that to me, never, in my entire life. I wish he'd say it again. I wish he'd say it everyday. I wish I really were his angel. I wish he'd hold me regardless of what I did or what I am now. Regardless of if I am a child or not, I want him to love me like a father would.
My life is long and useless, and with every passing birthday; every year I grow older, I mourn the screaming child inside of me that bangs against my ribcage and my skull, begs to live, and I want it to live. Nevertheless, it dies more every year. Otherwise, I would not want to die so badly. There is something about a child that is just so brightening, darling and sweet; that is gone from me. I still whine, bitch and cry like a child, but the sweetness in me that would make adults smile is now forever buried. I want it back.
It feels like my world is in greyscale, lost all of its color, I don't feel happiness like I used to. I think that little child in me still gets happy, though; over little things. I love going out to dinner, I love gifts, presents, and I love taking naps when I'm tired. I love visiting animal shelters and going shopping, I love sweets and I hate vegetables. I wonder how long it will take for those pleasures to leave, grey out, and die slowly. I won't jump and giggle anymore, or cling to my fathers arm and nuzzle him, or cry in his arms.
He asked me to slap him, a couple weeks ago. I think another part of that child in me withered away when he did that. He grabbed my hand, held it against his cheek, told me to "slap my old dad." To punch him in his rotting organs, shredded by alcohol and tobacco; I could never hurt my father. I love him, I love him too much, because of the things he did to me, and the ways he touched me. I could never hurt him, until I did, because he told me he'd hurt himself if I didn't. I slapped my father across the cheek, and I have never seen him cry so hard, until then. He sobbed and he held me and he told me I was his angel, his little baby.
He has never said that to me, never, in my entire life. I wish he'd say it again. I wish he'd say it everyday. I wish I really were his angel. I wish he'd hold me regardless of what I did or what I am now. Regardless of if I am a child or not, I want him to love me like a father would.
