tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11602875.post6451505349112010702..comments2024-03-29T10:30:05.020-04:00Comments on Colorless Green Ideas: What I want to be, when I grow upturnerBroadcastinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966930351554884742noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11602875.post-32621664588200235112024-03-20T13:55:10.143-04:002024-03-20T13:55:10.143-04:00Sometimes it’s incredible how terribly I miss the ...<br /><br /><br />Sometimes it’s incredible how terribly I miss the perfect feeling of your arms holding me, of being wrapped around each other, my skin can almost sense it. A wave of hurt will crest inside my chest around the same time, or shortly thereafter. Hurt, and the thought-voice that feels Dead On Nailed It, but is actually a liar, kicks in with “Nobody ever wanted you and Nobody ever will- You don’t get to have that”. It feels the way it always did the hundreds of thousands of times I’ve heard and felt it before. It’s 100% The Way Things Are and The Way Things Go for me. Doing battle with that shit sucks so bad. Pushing back against it the way I’m supposed to feels limp and inadequate.<br /><br />Sometimes when my dad drank, he looked just like himself and was outwardly calm, but his usual personality was gone and in its place was a mean, resentful man. On breaks from college, I would give my mom some money to reimburse her for my occasional long distance calls to catch up with 2 or 3 college friends. I’d just been talking to my friend Larry from Philadelphia, who was heavily into industrial and gothic-industrial music, in addition to lots of other interesting stuff. My dad had apparently been drinking in his & Mom’s bedroom next door for some time, watching tv. He materialized in the doorway suddenly, filling it, and looking hard at me with a very calm but unnerving expression. <br /><br />“Who do you think you are?” he asked, quietly.<br /><br />He was dead serious. I froze- confused, scared, and dismayed, I tried to explain to him that I always paid Mom back for my phone calls. He cut me off. “I don’t care- I don’t want to hear it.” He kept his eyes locked on my face, and continued to interrogate me about….having the nerve to be his daughter and use his phone, I guess…I honestly don’t remember what happened right after that, but I told Mom worriedly about it the next day about how I was In Trouble (the prospect of which always scared me too much, and still does).<br /><br />She rolled her eyes and told me to ignore that and forget it, that he didn’t mean it, he was just being a jerk and I wasn’t in trouble. He never referred to it, and never apologized. It just sat there in my experience and emitted toxic radiation that’s slowly decomposing, but not fucking fast enough for me. That brief moment is stored with lots and lots of other troubling incidents. I wish I could ignite all those stored experiences into a firestorm. To burn them all the way down into floating specks of ash, and never remember or feel them again.<br /><br />I feel sad for my youngest self, unable to ask someone to please look at her, talk to her, & hold her close in your arms for a while. Talk to her and treat her as though she matters, as though she’s very important to you. Neither of my parents knows that the mystery of why my self-esteem has always been so shitty has been solved. It would break their hearts to know that they had anything to do with it. I can’t do that to them. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Laura Palmernoreply@blogger.com