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princelucivaryaslana · 6 years

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hngh

what’s it like having parents that care about you?

Like, lemme be clear; the only abuse my parents can be accused of is emotional negligence and, in the case of my mom, emotional abuse. I write in tags and stuff all the time about how both of them have the collective emotional intelligence of a 7-year-old with adhd, and I wish to god I was exaggerating. But that’s all, the only physical stuff I dealt with was the occasional spanking on my behind with a hand.

My dad has a reason for being the way he is, since his mom emotionally (and probably physically let’s be real she was a huge bitch) abused his dad and probably him, and he vowed never to let a woman treat him that way, even if it meant treating his wife the way his mother treated his dad. As for my mom, as far as I can piece it, despite having six siblings she was at least her dad’s favorite, and she idolized her mom something fierce. I can only imagine being married to a man who didn’t love her and who emotionally (and probably physically lets be real he used to not even let her visit her family and made her quit a well-paying job because it wasn’t “a woman’s place”) just so she could have children like she wanted, only for her husband to have some accident that left him infertile and left her only the option to adopt two children who had already experienced trauma and to watch her husband emotionally (and definitely physically, my mom told me of instances where he’d broken their teeth and gave them bruises) abuse them as well as her and to exacerbate that abuse because it was the only way she could feel in control.....could do that to a person.

Luckily for me and unfortunately for my aunt and birthmom, I was a pretty low-key kid to raise compared to them, what with my aunt exhibiting behaviors that could be attributed to borderline personality disorder and my birthmom having stereotypical “daddy issues” and running away at 16 to be with some guy, only to come back home covered in lice. They also had the misfortune of living with my dad when he was still young and hadn’t lost 80% of his lung capacity to pneumonia yet, so he hadn’t mellowed out and had a lot more energy to take out his own trauma on them.

I was fortunate in that 1) they had me my whole life so I didn’t have the chance to have sexual and physical trauma thrust upon be before age 5, 2) despite the fact that I was a grade A brat when I was little, all you had to do was scold me sternly enough to make my emotional ass cry and I’d immediately give in and come to you for comfort, and 3) despite having some.....deeply disturbing thoughts, I enthusiastically honored and feared authority (unless my mom told me to fold the laundry and sweep my room lmao) and drew and read when I wasn’t doing homework, so I wasn’t very much trouble at all compared to them. The worst I ever got was when homework started getting hard for me and my parents couldn’t understand why, so most of our conversations about that ended either with me in screaming arguments with my mom about grades because neither of us knew why I was doing so poorly (hint: it was undiagnosed inattentive ADHD that no one knew I had because I enjoyed quiet hobbies) and me being grounded V E R Y frequently, or else it ended with her bargaining with me to try to motivate me to do better (hint: it never worked because when I tried to force myself to do homework I always ended up crying because I couldn’t make myself do it and I had to rely on in-class work and tests to coast by). Since that was the worst of it and not me, say, sneaking a boy into my room so we could fuck, only for my dad to find out and chase him across the yard with his rifle to scare him away, they didn’t really have a whole lot of trouble with me. That’s not to say my dad wasn’t ridiculous still, I’m p sure he threatened to call the cops on me a couple times when I was like 19 despite the fact I wrote him a note telling him where i was going and what exact time I intended to be home by that day, although I can’t for the life of me remember where I was going. All I know is that my mom talked him out of it by telling him exactly how dumb he sounded and how the police would never take him seriously because he cosigned me onto the car insurance.

Funny how they only ever had my back if it went against each other.

Whatever. Despite all that, and despite how well they looked after me physically (I went to the doctor annually and the dentist semiannually, any dental work I needed done got done, they fed me well enough I’ve been fat my whole life and Mom bought me so many clothes I only ever wore 1/3 of them regularly, and they even indulged me with books and, a little more rarely, art supplies), they were always...kinda ass...at taking care of me mentally and emotionally. Like I said, neither of them could figure out why I was doing so poorly in school after showing so much promise, and while they were really good at the emotional care that little kids need (my dad used to read to me and let me take naps on his belly and rode bikes with me, and they both used to take me on car rides and tell me about the world and their pasts), the older I got the less equipped they were to fulfill my emotional needs. Even when I finally decided I needed to talk to someone about the severe depression I developed after I broke up with a guy who enjoyed exacerbating the guilt I felt for breaking up with him and after the whole AidanReese fiasco, my mom had to go behind my dad’s back to take me to therapy because he doesn’t believe in psychology and thinks that all psychologists think Christians are delusional and sick in the head, and all I ever heard from my mom was that fact and the fact that she was super shitty that she had to pay $20 every week for me to go to therapy just to see no improvement on my “attitude” and grades, despite the fact that she refused to drive any farther than the town she grew up in and despite the fact that that “therapist” was a lawyer with a PsyD who did therapy on the side. Mom’s real good at making you feel bad about things you can’t control.

I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt by saying they’d never had the chance to develop that skill because they hadn’t ever had a “normal” kid before, because though they didn’t understand my passion for music and art and stories, they tried their best to support those parts of me, and I will never forget that no matter how much I hate them now. My dad even funded my brief time as a music performance major because he and I genuinely believed that I loved it enough and was good at it enough to make a life out of it, and he never once tried to convince me to do something else when I told him it was what I wanted. I’ll never forget that either, as much as I have to hate him. Also, my mom sorta understood, although she could never really accept, that I wasn’t exclusively into dudes and that I didn’t want to get married, and she was even the one who actually came to me about me being trans because she read an article in the paper about it and realized a lot of what the lady in the article talked about could be attributed to me, although I couldn’t confirm nor deny it to her because it’s impossible to explain nonbinary as an identity to 70-year-old women. She never spoke a word of it to my dad. That was genuinely the closest she ever got to acknowledging my personhood, and I will never forget that either, as much as I have to hate her.

The only thing I wish they’d been able to give me is the love I needed. I wish I didn’t find the idea of openly sharing myself with my parents as grotesquely absurd and hilariously nonsensical as I do. I wish that my mom could see me as a person with desires and needs, and not as a sentient malfunctional doll. I wish I didn’t have to move away from my parents to finally have boundaries with my mom because she couldn’t ever really respect that I am a person and not her toy. I wish my mom wouldn’t see every behavior and ideal of mine that wasn’t in line with hers as an intentional and direct slight and an indication that I hated her instead of just an expression of myself. I wish my dad wasn’t the type of person to subtly give me the silent treatment the year I chopped all my hair off, just to start speaking to me again when I realized the reason for the silence was because he thought I was indirectly telling the world I was gay and I reassured him that I wasn’t (it was a half-truth, after all, so I wasn’t technically lying). I wish that I didn’t have to actively lie about small details of my life because the simple idea of me not wanting children and not wanting to have sex with another human being isn’t one my mom accepts or my dad would understand, so living with primarily men as a “girl” would make them see me as the same as my aunt and birthmom, which is ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE to me. I wish I didn’t have to drop subtle hints to my dad that I’m still a Christian for fear of him finding out I’m not and removing me from his will.

I just...wish my parents loved me instead of either just doing their duty as a parent or seeing me as a toy, and I wish I loved them enough to not only see them as the gateways to the bee farm I intend to manage when they die and I get their house.

because i really need a hug from a parent figure that I care about and who cares about me right now

#i'm not mad about anything #I'm just really craving parental affection #this is really long #and I wish I could say it's melodramatic because it reads like it is #so if you don't care skip it #and if you're a nosey bitch go right ahead just know there's a lot to read and it's probably repetitive #im so fucking touch starved fuck #I know for a fact I wouldn't have had to struggle to learn how to be a human if I'd had help #I know also that I might have actually grown to be a good person if I'd had that kind of warmth #shit sucks #I can only imagine how bad it is for people who have actual problems lmao

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