Most people that know me would say that my parents were to blame for my depression, I’d have to say that from what I’ve told them, that’d be correct, but I’d like to correct that information today. 90% of the people I talk to haven’t met my parents, so all they’ve got to go off is what I say. To them, my parents can barely stand to be around me. While this is true sometimes, most of what I say is ridiculously exaggerated.
My parents have never said they hated me, wished I wasn’t their son, nor completely kicked me out. I’m not going to say they’re the best parents, because they have their flaws, but they try. If anything, I’m a crappy son, and it’s not their fault I was born with all kinds of problems. Straight up: yes, I did want to die quite a bit while I was in high school. No, this is not because of my parents. It was because of the mental war that was discussed in my previous post, and one from a few weeks ago.
I don’t really recall much of my childhood, but the pieces of it I do are fun. Sometimes things get sticky because paths clash, but never as bad as I may make them out to be. I feel bad doing this, because my parents are labeled as assholes because I was too scared to admit the truth about my sexuality and nothing else made sense.
Yes, my mother is loud and irrational. No, my mother does not understand the concept of individuality. Yes, my mother thinks I should act like everyone else because it’s acceptable. No, my mother does not accept homosexuality. Yes, my mother really did tell me I could get out if that’s how I want to live. No, I do not hate my mother.
Yes, I do love my mother. It took me moving out to realize this. My mother and I are extremely similar. We’re both blunt, honest, bitchy people, and keeping us in close quarters with each other for long periods of time (like 19 years) has cataclysmic consequences. She’s a yeller; according to her, her entire family is. She’s hard of hearing and quite lazy (she calls my cellphone from the room adjacent to mine because she doesn’t want to get up to knock on my door). Or she just yells, which calls for me to yell back, which causes her to yell at me for raising my voice (???).
There’s where the irrationality shines. She’s never wrong, so even if you tell her the sky is blue, you’re lying if she has it in her mind that it is the brightest shade of green it can get. My mother and I are freakishly close to have such a detrimental relationship, though. It goes back to the similarities between us. Neither of us like to sit behind the scenes, we like to be in the nitty gritty. Our strengths are also our biggest weaknesses. She and I hate to be proved wrong, and we hate admitting we were wrong. Neither of us likes to back down from a fight (especially her. If I’m over it, I’ll walk away; she’ll follow me).
But the unseen side of my mother is that of all of the positive things she does that never reach the ears of my peers. I realized this when I started talking to all my friends and realized just how easy I have it. I’ve never had to worry about gas money, I’ve never had to pay for anything regarding my phone or vehicle; my parents have always had it covered. I’m like, extremely spoiled looking back at it.
Do I deserve any of these things? It’d be mad conceited if I said yes, but I honestly don’t believe I do. I haven’t done anything spectacular to be given a car that I don’t have to pay anything on, or a phone I don’t pay for, or the tons of clothes they’ve bought me since birth. I really don’t deserve it.
It’s weird, though, I never really paid much attention to how much they do for me on a daily basis until I had my two-wrecks-in-one-day incident. I called my mom flipping out and shockingly enough, she wasn’t like, “Blake, what the hell?” Instead, I got an eerily comforting “shit happens” from her and my dad both.
My dad.. where can I even start with him? I feel so bad all the time because I'm terrible at conveying emotions to my parents, so when I see them it's just a stoic "hi" and I don't know how else to say it. My dad's always been one of my biggest role models. Sure, he may not be a doctor, a cardiac surgeon, a billionaire, but he doesn't need to be. The man he is makes him all of these things. I've never told either of my parents how much I love and respect them, instead I just act like a douche because I don't like looking vulnerable. What a stupid excuse. My dad busts his butt to provide for my family because my mother's on disability and I used to eat everything within a 50-foot radius. My dad rarely yells; if he does, it's because I deserve it. I don't talk down about my dad, I have no reason to. He tries so hard to connect with me, but I just give him the cold shoulder and nod in agreement instead of engaging in an actual conversation with him. I may not show it, but I feel bad every time this happens.
If my parents somehow manage to make it t this site, do know that I love & highly respect both of you, though my actions and words may not show it.
No comments:
Post a Comment