As I hear others talk about their abusive childhoods I am often reminded of my own. The reason I still need therapy. The reason I still need a sliver of hope. The reason I need someone to tell me life is worth living. The hand that reaches down the well to show me that people still care.
Then I realize I was meant to fight all of this alone. That my life will be forever chained to my own loneliness. My own battles. I was never meant to share this journey with anyone else. No one is coming to save me. I think my father was trying to convey that to me when he tied me up with skipping rope and locked me in the bathroom with no lights on. I had to rescue myself. I had to learn how to save myself.
24 years later, I am still mentally stuck in that bathroom looking for a way out of my own madness.
I never deserved people who cared for me. I create my own illusions of friendship. I conjure feelings of attachment to those around me, but they're always quick to leave me as my strings are nothing but a spider's silk thread. So easily torn. So easily broken once it's magic is revealed.
I often wonder when my last days will be and where I will be when they finally come. I already know that those last moments will be spent wondering if I had lived a different life, what kind of life I would have lead. What kind of people would I have met? How many of them would remember me then? Would anyone had come to my funeral?
Would my parents love me if I was born different? If I wasn't me?
I had begun therapy. It doesn't seem like my thoughts have changed much on my issues. I only look at it and wonder why I was left without so much. Why I grew up in poverty. Why parents couldn't ever love me. My dreams and aspirations are as clear as mud. There's no one here to celebrate them but myself. What good are dreams if there's no one to share them with?
I fabricate a world for myself with dreams and goals unobtainable by my class. Every step higher I take on the ladder I am reminded that my place isn't there with everyone who had obtained those goals. My place is down bellow. Producing the products that promote others dreams. I am no more deserving of life's blessings. It was never mind to withhold.
Even after all this time my thoughts still linger in the negative. While those around me tell me depression isn't real I suffer in my cage on a day to day basis. Wondering if anyone could fill the gap my parents left me with. Wanting to be an inspiration to someone. Wanting someone to encourage me. I've always wanted to think "well that's ok, because my (mother/father) will always love it so I'll try harder" in fact, they could care less. I used to make my mother gifts, my father as well. They would always throw them out. I'd spend a week painting a picture for my father for father's day or his birthday and he would always be quick to crumple it.
Be it my insane artistic devotion to always wanting to be recognized by either of them.
As artists we're always growing. It's a harder road to walk alone. Without encouragement. Without love. Without words of wisdom.
So I continue to walk the lonely road. Trying to better myself. Trying to win the battle with the demons within me.
I was born to deserve this kind of life. This is my war. I've won the battles I have fought up until now.
Homeless, loveless, helpless, starving, anemia, hospitalized.... I have beaten them.
My one man battle continues....
