grappling with lack of
How do I continue living normally when you’re intentionally not responding to me? When I can tell you’re hurt and don’t know why, and I can’t confront the conversation that would allow for you to understand. I just don’t want to speak to you because you see, you never hear anything for what it is. You don’t understand me. You don’t understand that speaking about it and longing for a response that I’ll never receive hurts me more than not talking about it. So I sit in this uncomfortable silence, avoiding you until you wilt away and try to accept I don’t want you.
But you don’t understand how badly I do want you. You don’t understand how badly I wish I had just one parent to lean on and see me for who I am. You don’t understand how long I’ve tried to understand you, empathize with you, how much I still do this for you. I see you. I know you. Or at least I think I do. But you don’t understand me.
And the reason for this is because you never recall the harsh words or depravity, or the neglectful care and animosity. You don’t even see yourself for who you really are, or at least who you were(?) so how could I ever expect for you to know me now. If you can’t face your past, you sure as hell can’t face mine. So what do I expect?
I don’t know. And I try to not have expectations and just say what I need to say, but it’s hard to not feel obligated to have at least one parent. And I’ve gone over every possibility in my head, guilt ridden after the fact. Maybe if he dies you’d understand me, maybe if you died, maybe if I weren’t yours, or maybe if you gave me up, or maybe if I just never was. I wonder if you ever consider this. Do you ever wonder about the relief you’d feel if you never had to put up a wall and disremember what was? Or maybe you just don’t think about it at all.
Sometimes I think I’m just crazy. I oftentimes have an impractically hard time even believing myself or my feelings or my memories. Everything shifted suddenly, maybe when I reached a certain age, maybe when there was no more sickness, maybe when I finally learned how to be right for you. But something changed and then I became spikey and angry and mean. I couldn’t stand you or the sight of you or even your voice. I still tried, though. I tried so hard because the guilt I’d feel was more repressive than not trying. And I loved you and I love you and I just want you. I wish you knew how badly I want you. It hurts me so badly but even if I tried to explain, I can see the look on your face of disdain and confusion.
Because you don’t understand. There’s this massive gap in understanding the existence you created for me, and the memories you retain and choose to remember. And you choose this path and I choose mine, and our paths will simply never intersect. So how do I gain insight? How do I reconcile with this conclusion?