They yelled, screamed, judged, and most of pressured me into being the perfect daughter. Why don’t you understand this, yelled my father, who was teaching me mathematics since I was in junior high. How many times do I need to repeat myself, he yelled again, frustrated, while I shrank back in my seat, digging my nails into my palms and yelling at myself why I didn’t I understand. I just didn’t. I couldn’t- not with his menacing frown and the slicing words that shredded any confidence I had in me. I was pretty much useless in their eyes, a waste of space. I would never be right. I would always be in the wrong. I would never know when to do things myself, how to do things myself, and be able to survive alone, they believed. I was useless. Not like their son, on his way to making partner at Deloitte who recently bought his own car with his own money and has already seen half the world with an equally successful long term girlfriend. I am the failure, I am useless. They hold no confidence in me, yet judge me whenever I show I have no confidence. Have more confidence in yourself they say. And yet, all this time, all they’ve been doing was stomping it out, destroying it, while pretentiously encouraging me that I should have more in the first place. How messed up is that? I hate being weak. I wanted to prove them wrong. But they’ll never give me the chance to. Each fight I have with them only puts me in more shit. Why do I bother anymore? I want to get out of the house. But how could I? If I could just keep running forever, I would. I want to run away from all of this and just be left alone. I have faced it. And there’s no stopping them- no matter how hard I’ve tried for the past 16 years.
At the end of the fight, my father said: I think you have a grudge on us.
And for a moment of silence, I took those words in. Maybe he was right. Maybe I did. I remember I had written quite an angry post when I was little- oh very, very little if you were wondering- and it’s right here actually, in my hands.
I will prove you wrong.
I had written that many many times over on the page- guess I was adamant about it. Maybe that’s why I give such snarky retorts that make them angry. And it actually gives me a little bit of comfort to see them angry. Because they can feel what I feel. But at the same time, they get to show it while I get to hide it.
So it makes me wonder. What the hell is family.