In My Mind I've Become in Control Somehow

don’t you start
that self-deprecating
shit on me.
like you don’t think know

i’m lying
when i say
my heart’s devoid of
infatuation
towards you. 

(Source: justseekinggreaterthings)

a blur
a gasp
a stumble
i don’t know how to go about this
how to stop
when
a black hole’s 
carving out my sanctity
of life, yet
a hand
tells me
i’m not good enough
to start healing

(Source: justseekinggreaterthings)

be weary 
before you hold me;
can never let people
go with ease.
in fact.
o0nce you show me the slightest bit of care, i’ll
probably push you away with
the full intent
of just keeping you around.
that’s the problem with
my baggage:
i often want people around so much
i 
push
them
away

(Source: justseekinggreaterthings)

A letter to my parents

Dear Mum and Dad,

            You having this note means that I’ve finally gotten out of the house and am finally going to live my own life. I’m finally free. I feel as though I should tell you beforehand that I plan on cutting off communication with you for the next five years. Don’t worry, if anything major happens, Steven, John, or Aunt Sheila will tell you. Please know that this isn’t to hurt you, but so that I can finally heal and move on from the horrors I faced in that house.

            I should probably tell you the most traumatic event; you know I wasn’t a popular kid in middle school, so most of my friends were from Tae Kwon Do, especially Rachel. She was my best friend, if you recall, but things eventually grew worse as she started getting mentally, physically, and even sexually abusive. Now that I don’t have to face your judgement every day, I feel that I can tell you that just as I turned thirteen, she raped me. There, it’s finally in the open. Don’t go feeling sorry or full of anguish, I’m sure you knew this for a while- or since it happened- but it’s been years and I’ve somehow learned not to let it affect me anymore… not to let her affect me anymore.

            Now here comes the harder part.

            Mum, when I say I’m depressed, it doesn’t mean that I’m unhappy, or full of teenage angst. When I say I’m depressed, it means that I can’t live with myself and my surroundings; my wanting to commit suicide has nothing to do with being a “cry for help” I genuinely didn’t want to live. I don’t understand how you couldn’t comprehend that. I also don’t understand how every time I tell you about something you do that’s triggering, you say “oh okay, I get it” and then you do the exact thing the next day. It’s cruel, it hurts, and don’t say that I should be able to get past it or that I should be able to work around it because no one will understand; people tend to go easier when you say that something’s hard and you’re my mother. You shouldn’t be consciously repeating triggers that harm your child. That’s not right.

            And you can’t blame me for our lack of relationship. Yes, I was distant; yes I lied at certain points. But you never accepted me. Growing up I seemed to be perfect for you, I listened to every word you said, and then I grew up. I became an artist kid, I came out as gay, and there was always this tension between us. I didn’t talk to you because I felt I couldn’t connect with you. And it hurt, it really does. You constantly say that you love me and I should work harder, but honestly; you’re the parent, your job is to love me regardless of what happens. I didn’t kill anyone. I haven’t stolen anything that was more than five dollars. I was an individual. You can’t treat me the way you did for that. It isn’t fair. You always guilt me by saying that you still love me, but that’s only because I have your mitochondria. Let’s face it, if I wasn’t your child, you’d want nothing to do with me.

            And your family… what can I say about your family? They were always physically there in contrast to dad’s, but that was because you cut off connection with dad’s family when Steven and I were kids. We never got to see them except on alternating holidays. You say your family would always back me up, but if they knew who I really was, they would pay no attention to me; your oldest brother, Joe, the one who’s my godfather, he’s called me an it. And that was without confirmation. I honestly feel like a stranger whenever I’m with you or your family.

            Dad, I can’t say there’s much to complain about you, apart from your neglect. When I read that poem at coffee house, you treated it as nothing. You always treat everything as nothing. Okay, I wouldn’t talk about it anyway, but you could still ask. You could still act as though you care. And all you do is joke about my problems, which isn’t helping anything. I just… don’t know.

            I know this letter was pathetic, I know that it’s cowardly. But I need to go. I needed to write this. I’ll see you later