I feel more secure writing on livejournal now that it's pretty much dead.
I don't have fun. That's one of my biggest problems. I'm too afraid of everything in the world to just sit back and enjoy myself. All of life is either planned or feared. I don't leave things to chance and when it comes down to 'fight or flight,' I usually choose flight.
My family loves me and I love them. But I don't think they really know who I am. I am so used to them wanting me to do better than they did, to be successful, to follow my dreams. And those are all things I want, as well. But whenever I express interest in something, nobody cares. My mom thinks I exhibit overly violent and pre-homicidal tendencies and my dad thinks I'm boring. I always favoured my dad over my mom because I was always under the impression that we could have intelligent conversations. That was until he stopped a conversation while we were driving, once, to call my mom because he was bored. My mom is disgusted, appalled, horrified, by my fascination and interest in anything violent. Ted Bundy, Dexter, Sylar from Heroes, even Disney villains. She spent the entirety of her time as a mother trying to protect me, as well as Allyson, from the big, scary, dangerous world. Well, thank you mom. I am obnoxiously cautious and afraid of pretty much anything.
Mom and Dad, I don't know whether I'm happy or upset with the way you let my childhood play out. I'm not sure whether I'm upset that I didn't get to have real friends, that you let them keep me in speech therapy, that you didn't fight for the financial aide to pay for me to go to Cranbrook or Country Day, or that you didn't press the school to move me up a grade sooner. You let me exist with the cruelty and hatred that you so desired to protect me from. I sprained my wrist and broke my nose at recess. I didn't have a real friend until the fourth grade. I was the smart kid who nobody liked. I was picked on mercilessly for it. I never told you. And you never asked. I got perfect grades and learned everything. You never talked to me about it. You let me lock myself away in my own little world, already creating high and impossible goals for myself. I wanted some sort of commentary from you guys. I wanted to know that it was okay, that I was okay.
You told me that I was gifted, that I was special. But you never made me feel that way. Special and gifted got me into trouble. I, who only spoke in school when answering questions. In the second grade, David Antior was throwing nachos at me at lunch and we both got in trouble. What did I do to provoke this? I was reading. We were both put on the stage at lunch for two days. I vomited and cried the first day, and the principal told me to cut the theatrics, I was guilty. The second day, I convinced Ms. Schmidt that I was sick and had to go home, just so you wouldn't find out. You still don't know. Last year, after I graduated from fucking high school, you finally confronted me about a story I had written in the second grade and turned in about dinosaurs eating a bunch of kids from my class. It took nine years to ask?
I tell you what I want to do with my life, and you shoot it down. For five years, I wanted to be a history teacher. No, no, you said. I was better than that. Why would I waste my life being a teacher, when I was capable of so much more? I entertained the idea of one day running for President, but that didn't receive your approval either. Foreign Service Officer? No. "Why would you want to go to a shit-hole country in the middle east?" Because it interests me, that's why. Dad says I wouldn't stand a chance applying to med school and mom thinks going into evolution/genetics would be too boring for me. What do you suggest instead? Museum curation. And now that that's my plan, it's not good enough either. What is good enough? When will I be good enough? Never. You guys have let me fuck myself over so bad that I will never be able to set myself reasonable goals.
I don't need to hear that I'm special, that I'm gifted. I just need to hear that you approve of who I am becoming. But you don't.