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Depression is Anger without Enthusiasm

2008-03-30 10:07

I’m not sure how much I agree with the above statement. Yes, this is another post about depression, no I’m not THAT much of a whiny bitch considering I still have a self-respecting hero boyfriend who knows NOT to stick with people who will drag him down.

This will be an analysis on my very strange relationship with my parents.

I love my dad, he’s a very good man, loves to tell me stuff about his day, his views on politics, his history, the food he loves to eat. He loves to talk to me, which is nice, and would be nicer if it wasn’t for the fact that I still get intimidated by him. After all, I’ve seen him lose his temper and I really don’t want to again. But I’m sure that’s like all parents.

He’s got a lot of friends, which is obviously due to his friendly, helpful nature.

Which my mom abuses.

I hate my mom’s voice. I still jump at the sound of my mom’s voice. She loses her temper frequently and usually without warrant. She gets upset by something completely trivial and she screams, which does nothing but make things worse, as it completely unnerves my dad. That happening during something potentially life threatening, such as DRIVING AT HIGH SPEEDS – is wholly inconsiderate.

My dad and I talked aside one evening, and he said something along the lines of “Please, don’t get into a relationship.” I hadn’t considered until now that that was commentary on his own marriage.

For the relationship between my mom and I – I don’t talk to her about anything. She has to ask me the questions, and she usually does so at inappropriate times (like when I’m driving “her” $60,000 car at over 50 miles an hour – remember, I jump at the sound of her voice). She knows nothing concrete about my life except that I don’t talk to her, which she thinks is MY fault and nothing of her doing. Which I suppose could be it, but any relationship is a two way street.

She asked me what I was doing all the time in my room. I tend to be vague around her, the less she knows about me the better, you know? So I said “art project.” (read: Avatar, sometimes haha) She asks me if I was taking an art class, I said yes. She gets upset.

Yes, she fucking gets upset that I would take time away from the biology classes I’m only doing mediocre in because I have absolutely no fucking interest becoming what she wants me to be – a rich, successful money grubbing “doctor” with no regards for dreams or self respect – LIKE MY DAD. He’s a good man, like I said, but he is stuck under her thumb for no obvious reason. And he works what, 80 hours a week, bringing in good money which my mom lavishly spends on… herself?

I know, I’m not forgetting that he’s also paying my tuition, so he takes care of me, but you don’t see me going around wanting to get plastic surgery or Louis Vuitton handbags, or a billion pairs of shoes, or a closet full of hideous clothes, or overdone Buddhist shrines (doesn’t Buddhism focus on moderation?), or getting a second kitchen outside so the rest of the house wouldn’t smell like food. I haven’t asked for anything that costs more than my 3 computers, which combined would probably be in the realm of $3000, or the amount of my quarterly tuition. I know that’s a lot, but spread it over, say, a decade.

Okay, I lied, my trip/study abroad in England/7 other countries was about $8000. For two months. Steep, yes. I think it was worth it, I would gladly work to pay him back for it if he asked me.

I don’t tell her about my interest in art, or computers, or anything definite about Jay. It’s not that I’m not proud of him, it’s that she will try to weave herself in my relationship, create a wedge by making sure I believe I am wholly incompetent of having a true relationship by intensifying my own insecurities, which she knows very, very well (because she created them). Sad how I believe that.

She is the woman who crumpled up my art pieces (which are about as holy to me as any religious artifact, considering they’re my emotions and dreams on paper) when I got a C- in history when I was 12. She didn’t care about my art, said I was “wasting my time”, when she never asked why I didn’t like history, never wanted to help me, never really cared about my schooling, just the number on the report card.

She’s always reduced me down to a number.

And I hate her for it. You can tell, I’ve been seething for half an hour on this, and 90% of my post is about my mom.

So if you have any beef with my depressing posts – now you know where they come from.



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