Snide

"I think, before I gave birth to her, I drank too much sour plum juice." 
"Why?"
"Her face is always so sour." 

At this point, I feel like a broken record. What other complaints and rants could I possibly have other than myself? When will I ever write quality posts about the world and my thoughts? When will I stop this shitposting because I need to realise how irrelevant I am.

If she could just impart those motherly instincts that she often talk about (brag about) to me, maybe she could understand why I am so angry, so hurt. She would talk about how she could feel her heart drop when the boys are hurt or in pain, but it doesn't seem like it works for me. Every single day, I feel this bone deep ache and she can continue about her day, without ever stopping to ask whether I am okay.

One look at my face and she goes into a tirade of how I need to understand them. They need the help, the support. She feels them, empathizes with them.

But I am never a part of that equation. When I wanted to die, she went ballistic on me. She called me an ingrate for not cherishing my life. He laid his hands on me and walked out, leaving me behind like forgotten trash.

When they messed up their lives, they were both angry and disappointed but so concerned, so supportive. When they felt down and about with life, we went to counselling as a family to seek help. Us three put our all into helping them get back to their feet.

They've grown up into adult men, guided by the love of our parents.

And I'm still 11 years old.

Rant: 20170501

"You're still angry at me from yesterday? Your whole body language portrays anger."
"I'm not angry."
"You are."
"I'm hurt."
"Okay, fine. Hurt."

Hurt does not equate to anger. Anger, is a strong feeling of rage. When I'm angry, I snap. I throw things around, I want to hurt things because I'm angry and inflicting pain on others will take the edge away. What I am is hurt. I am in pain. I withdraw within myself because when the air hits me, I bruise.

"You're always angry at me, always angry at the world." 

I'm never angry at you. I'm just so disappointed, so pained because you can never understand all these feelings I have because I don't matter to you. You lump all my emotions as anger because that's the easiest to deal with. When you think I'm angry, you turn my anger towards myself because why can't I ever be grateful? But when I tell you I'm not angry but some other emotion, you dismiss it away because you have no idea how to damage control. All my sadness is permeating this house and it's nauseating so you get me to stop but I can't stop because I know now that I'm not someone who matters.

When I'm angry at them, you take on the role of the villain so that my anger will be directed towards you but you forget that you matter to me so it'll never work but you still throw your life away for them, shielding them from my hate and you just show how much you love them and I will lose even if I win because I will never have you throw your life away for me like that and that at the end of the day, whether I win or lose, I will be alone.

Connections

Sometimes I hesitate to know, to reconnect with people because that means I have more people to care about, to worry about. I've been keeping bare minimums with my contacts because there's only one of me to constantly fret over whether they're safe driving/riding in the rain, whether there's shelter, whether there's a place to eat at lunch and whether they're okay. It takes so much out of me to care because I have so little of me left, so little of the past me left to pass out to everyone and I'm rapidly draining that fossil.