Stop it

Not sure why I still let you get to me. Why do you have such control over my emotions. I try to separate myself. Be independent. Make my own choices. Live a healthy lifestyle. And yet you manage to make me feel so little. Vulnerable. Needy. Sad. Like that little girl who was never cared for properly. The child who just wanted to be noticed. Fed. Hugged. Why do I let you in so much. I am still somehow trying to fill that void. And I seem to be delusional and think you can do that. That you can step in and fix all that I am. That I feel. When it is most likely your fault to begin with.

Bruised

I have been told by many recently that I should share what I am feeling. Not hold back. Playing the martyr. Adult. The one always in control. I'm afraid. Afraid that if I share, I will never survive. I will unleash this flood of tears that is suffocated so far down in my soul that I will not be able to stop. I will drown if I open up.

The truth is that I am bruised. Inside and out. My skin is black and blue. The staples go way deeper than my skin. They puncture my heart. Each metal piece cutting deeper and deeper until I am almost see-through. Non-existent.

I'm tired. Worn out. Beyond exhausted. Too much energy needed to pick up all the pieces. Again. Put everything back together. Function. Would you be surprised if this time I just can't. That I just want to give up. To be done.

Have I not lived long enough. Gone through it all. Put in my time. Why is thirty not considered a full life. I've given it all. I've lived. I'm tired. No more.

Whatever. That's it.

Polar

Polar opposites

Two sides of a coin

Day and night

Sun and moon

One young and the other old

The young one is quiet. Often introspective. Thoughts flood her mind at all times. She is mostly sad. Stuck in a past life. Forever reliving memories. She is 6 years old. Wants to be held. To be heard. To be listened to. She is artistic. Creative. A loyal friend. Would drop anything to be there for you.  

The old one is loud. A leader. A bitch. Take charge kind of gal. She has a hard shell. Built a fortress around her heart. No one would dare enter. Giving up is not option. She shows up. No matter what. Fights to lead a functional life. No one can think she is weak. She is 80. Propelled into adulthood. Forced to be mature. Make life decisions. She is a fighter. She will leave before you hurt her.

One is mean to the other

Telling her to snap out of it

Not to fall into the trap

Of life

Of love

The other is sad

She is tired

Begging the other to make things ok

To hold her hand

Waiting for a pain free moment

They are polar

But perhaps one day they could meet

Join forces

Unite

And form an alliance

an orphan with living parents

How do you write about something when you've been avoiding facing reality for so long. How do you open that wound that has been so neatly packed. Danced around for so long. What do you say when you don't think anyone is listening. And if they are, you know they can't handle what you have to say. What do you do when you are afraid of your own humanity. Your own reality. The power. The sadness. What do you do when the sadness takes over your life. Threatens to swallow you whole. Suctioned to another place. Six feet under. How do you verbalize those words. Capture those deep emotions. Where do you place that self awareness. How do you keep going.

I am an orphan with living parents. I am alone. I am surrounded by people but I am alone. My parents are living and breathing. But they are not here. They do not know me. They do not want me. They are selfish. They never really looked at me. Seen me for who I was. They used me. Abused me. And left me to rot. All I wanted was to be loved. To be welcomed. To be wrapped in their hearts and never let go. But they were distracted. Consumed. And I was left to fend for myself. I am left to pick up the pieces. Of my shattered soul.

You have abused your power. You were supposed to be there. Love me. Hold me. Guide me. You held the blueprints to the future. And instead you shunted my growth. You altered my reality. You forced me into roles where I did not belong. I took on everyone else's burden. But no one was there to protect me. You abandoned me. I am abandoned. And now all I feel is a void. An emptiness deep in my gut. That cannot be filled. You were supposed to be the parents. You were my example of how to navigate this complicated world. And you failed.

All I ever wanted was unconditional love. And support. And you couldn't even give me that. A basic need. My human right. Everything with you comes at a cost. A hefty price. Sanity is not an option. You don't care if I make it through the day. If I ever materialize to be something real. You have sucked me dry. Corrupted my thoughts. Controlled my mindset. Your voice echos in my brain. Saying nothing helpful. I lead my life in fear. Of others' knowing me. Of myself. Of never amounting to anything. Because you never believed in me. You didn't even give me a chance.

And now you have robbed me of my anger. The only defense mechanism left. There's no more hiding. Or avoidance. The truth has finally surfaced. Hit me in the face. You are toxic. You were never good for me. No matter how hard I try to find another conclusion. I can't. There is no choice. I can't survive with you in the way. You missed out on knowing me. Of being in my life. Of making a positive impact. I am an orphan by choice. Because although you are biologically my parents. You don't deserve the title.

I am an orphan with living parents. It's not something anyone wants to hear. It's not something I want to say. But I can hide from it no longer. I am an orphan with living parents.

Sarcasm is A bitch

Once upon a time there was a girl named Olive. She lived in her perfect little world where everything was amazing. She was surrounded by butterflies and unicorns. Money grew on trees. Her family and friends all adored her and appreciated all her many great qualities and talents. She was happy and healthy. Life was fabulous. She just emanated joy. She had a future. And lived every moment of her present.
The end.

passive nothing

Dear A

It’s very hard for me to write this letter. To verbalize what it is I am feeling. But I feel that if I don’t get it out, I might burst. I just don’t understand why you act different toward me. Do you even notice? Do you feel the difference? Do you even notice that you are avoiding me? That you are distant. Not around. Is it because of something I did? I just don’t get it. Don’t you want to have a relationship with me? Why shut me out? Do you feel happy? Coming home late and avoiding me? Making Shabbos plans and not even including me? When is the last time you called me? Texted me? Do you even notice? Do you know that sometimes I feel like an orphan? All alone. No parents to turn to. That if something happened to me, they wouldn’t even know. No relationship with any family. My siblings only call me when they need something. And when I call them, they don’t have much to say. Why have I always been there for you and for them and I can’t seem to get the same in return. What happened to the backgammon games? Eating supper together? Shabbos meals? The walks? The guitar lessons? We need each other. We have always been there for each other. To bounce ideas on. Our days. I don’t understand what happened? Are you mad at me? Do you feel happy in the way that things are? Because I don’t. I have made effort a few times and you have pushed me away. You are not approachable. You talk to everyone but me. And I am not ok with that. If there’s something you want to say, then say it. This passive behavior is not getting us anywhere. So here is me stepping out of myself. Reaching out to make a change. I hope you take this letter to heart and make a change.

You know where to find me.

Your daughter,

R

What Did I Do

What am I supposed to take from that
Is there a lesson somewhere
A punishment
Were you trying to give me a message
A wake up call
Did I need it that day
That minute
Of all places
I had to pass by then
Cross the street
At that very moment
On that specific day
Exact hour
Tell me why
What did I do
Why did I need that
What were you trying to say
Did you want me to think
Feel
Pretend there's such a thing
As coincidence
Random chance
There's no such thing
Everything matters
Has a purpose
Meaning
A reason
So tell me why
Why did you do it
Do you even care
See me
Hear my silent pain
Is that your plan
Destruction
Shame
Slow
Agonizing
Life-long
Agony
So blatantly obvious
In my face
On a terrible day
The worst kind

Tell me why

Hugs in the Street

Went for a walk with my dad last night. It was umm nice. We talked about our day. We are able to have basic conversation. Talking about nothing real. I know that he's making an effort and I guess so am I. But is this what a father daughter relationship is supposed to look like. Cordial. On the surface. I tiptoe around him. Hold back. I have this major secret. And I just can't tell him.

I sit here and I think about all the damage caused. The psychological sorrow. The never ending baggage. One line rings in my head. Refuses to be forgotten. "If I don't hug my children, they'll get hugs in the streets." That line has ruined me. A defining moment. Life altering. 

How many poor decisions I've made. Is it coincidence that I've gotten myself involved in compromising situations. Always searching. Trapped in an illusion. Unattainable relationships. Unavailable hearts. Belonging elsewhere. Never to me. For me. 

So now I choose to be alone. Share my heart with no one. Protect myself. The walls go up so no one can penetrate. Because anytime I let them down, I've gotten hurt. Been harmed. Damaged. Betrayed. It's never been about me. Not once. No one has ever chosen me. Not my father and not anyone else.