Wednesday, 16 March 2011

that I was loved.

My father this week will pick up all his things from my house, take them away-
where, I don't know? I never asked. I'll continue to act as though I do not care- just as he does, just as he always has.

I won't be home when he comes round.I've organised it as such. to avoid those conversations.

the accusation that it is I.and not he...who forgot the other existed.left him cold and alone in parliament square. me who lacked the effort to be who just isn't good enough.

I pretend once more, that it doesn't really matter. that it all bounces off me. is me who's the child isn't it? I'm empty inside.If I let myself.I could cry, for the longest time.I would splutter and shake.

I would be in pieces.I would be that little girl, who just wanted someone to hold her hand as she grew up.

I would be a mess, basically just a mess. with no one else responsible for picking up the pieces anymore- because I'm not a child. I am an adult- trying to do the things that adults are meant to dont fall hold it together.even if it aches.even if you feel if you keep it in one moment longer...everything will implode. that's what I learnt growing up.from observation.

I can read the most infinitesimal flickers of emotion as they appear across a face.I had to learn that as a child. I didn't talk. because no one else did, not much. you hold it in.keep it to yourself.say only what you have to,only what is asked of you.
but the face.even if for only a split second, it's all there. plain as day.

so I learnt to observe, so that in order to know things- I didn't even have to speak.I can walk in to a room and have the basic story down in a few moments. those fake smilers, "polite" arseholes...I don't like many people..I don't want to be anyone's fool.but then, I always assume most people don't like me I let paranoia get in the way of my judgement?-the flaw in my observational skill...I always think I'm better off alone, with nothing to lose.

Sometimes, I wish...that I could just pull around some vast invisibility cloak, that I don't have to explain myself. so that I don't have to pretend that I'm not finding life hard. that I don't think I'm coping as well as I say, because I feel the need to put a cap on how much I'm allowed to much is acceptable. that I can scream my lungs out, until my throat is raw and my voice escapes me.

I wish that I had been told that I mattered when I was growing up.that what I thought was important.

that I was loved.

how do you repair what was broken in you when you were a child. the very basis of everything.of faith, of relationships. how do you fix your own foundation.

I guess I must be my own parent.

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