Venting …from my journal

Posted: September 30, 2011 in My Mother, The Real Me

September 30, 2011

I will never be who or what they evidently want me to be. I am not an imbecile, though they treat me so. I am not naive, though they think my defense of the faith and of the faithful is clear proof of it. I am not on their side, though by my choice to remain moderately silent to keep the peace, they may still hold out hope. I do not look up to them or respect them much, though their haughty condescension reveals an assumption to that effect. I do not desire or ever look forward to any interaction with them, though they keep acting like I owe them my time. I owe them. I didn’t choose them — I came last. I suffered for her choice; I suffer now for their condescension and expectation. Somehow, I have earned what has, thus far, proven to be the life-long punishment of always being treated like a naive, child-like imbecile who needs instruction — constant instruction — in every facet of life. I am 28 — 29 in two weeks — not claiming to be especially wise, but asserting that I’m not exceptionally green, either. I survived her hellish choices that served to really screw everything up, and I went to college on my own dime. Graduated with honors. Been a teacher for over five years and married a doctor, whom I’ve been with for nigh on a decade now. (I’m still happily married, too, despite their inclination to call this amazing man my “first husband.”) I aspire to do everything, and I want to make a difference. I work hard, I teach my students to work hard, and I plan to teach my children to work hard. To realize that the world doesn’t owe them. To be decent, charitable, responsible people, because that’s what I try so hard to be. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m a naive child; I’m an imbecile. They are in charge even in my own home, and they rank even above my husband — the one who outshines the lot of us — and they are brazen and unapologetic, feeling entitled due to their age, or perhaps their hard knock lives. It doesn’t matter. I could get 72 graduate degrees, save Africa, and pay off our national debt — I’d still be a child unworthy of respect. They mock me, and they always will. I’m ashamed to admit that I’d be thrilled to never, ever see them again as long as I live. I’d like them to move away, find a Christian they actually respect (ha!), get saved, and meet me in heaven where Jesus could be a mediator. My heart and my head and my blood pressure just can’t handle them. And we’ve only been back here for 3 months. It’s gonna be a long life. Help. I am a terrible, dark-hearted person sometimes, I know. But really, I’m not an imbecile. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s