| Written by Diana, on 20-11-2000 23:00 |
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When I was little and I'd had a really bad day at school or elsewhere and I told either my mother or father about it, they didn't give me a hug and tell me everything was going to be okay. Instead they told me what I had done wrong and why it was my fault. My father actually seemed to have no opinion whatsoever and never made more than a grunt so I learned long ago to tell him as little as possible. I don't remember a single time when my mother just let me be right about something.
She always has to say why my feelings were wrong or selfish. Even if I was in tears over it or, later, over what she had said in response to it, I was still expected to take her advice in hand and suck it in. Then she'd ask me if I wanted to get angry with her (yell at her). By the time she started asking me that I was already so angry with her that it was no use anymore. By my 18th birthday I had learned to stop telling her things and after that I never told her how my day was, kept to saying my riding lesson was "okay" even when I smashed my knee into the standard. So by this point, anything that was wrong I kept to myself in fear that she would somehow make it my fault. That's why I have such a hard time at horse shows, because they're already stressful enough and then they insist on coming. The only time I went alone I was completely calm (out of the ring) even when my horse got kicked while being tailored there. If I do poorly in a class, my father would come over and say what I had done wrong (he didn't really know, just thought he was being cute) then Cyndi would come over and get angry with me for something I had done, then I would go home and sulk because I hadn't won every class. It shouldn't have been that way. With school-in elementary school and junior high I didn't do very well in my classes. I think this is when I realized I had to push myself as hard as possible to get noticed and I had to do well to get into college so that I could be the only one to go to a four-year college. I think about my birthday and how her actions made me never want to celebrate it again. And she'll never understand that. I would rather not get any presents than have to spend that day with them. And this year it's on a Saturday so it's going to be even worse because they'll both be home all day. It's just hard. Right now I can't tell them what's wrong. They wouldn't understand. Especially Miss Perfect seeing Dr. Bloom four times a week. And all this time my father defends her from Santa Barbara. I still want to move away from here and make a new life for myself elsewhere. I'm not sure I can ever love them and I can't live here the rest of my life if I don't. It's hard to hear people talk about the things they did with their parents and how much fun they had. There's a larger issue there but I'd rather let it be because I'll never sleep again if I bring it up now (neglect).
Last update: 28-11-2006 22:29
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