iLoveYouWithaKnife
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2002
- Messages
- 8,351
How many times is this, that my caller id is blinking? It’s the same name, time and time again.
Don’t you think there’s a reason I’m not answering? Perhaps because I don’t want to talk.
And one of the last things you said is you wanted to come over, if only for 2 minutes and I just kept reciting the words, “I’m going to bed. Did you hear that? I’m going to bed.” You said I’m an asshole. It’s nothing I didn’t know before. I know you just needed to talk to me. About your ‘father’. I didn’t want to talk.
It was sort of like the same thing with me though, ya know, except with my ‘mother’. She didn’t say those things to me… and I’m sorry he said them to you. But ya know, I’m apologize cause I just wanted to be alone. Perhaps because I knew exactly what it was like to be going through this.
Except even if I wanted to talk to my father, to yell and scream or just cry and ask him why, the only way I could do it is staring into space. Hoping that wherever he is, he isn’t mad at me… for being mad at the world, for leading me to this. And Mom, well yeah… that’s another story.
I have to somehow day after day, try to explain to her when I feel like it, that I’m not mad at her for leaving 19 years ago. I’m not mad at her for doing what she had to do. And I hope that you aren’t mad at me for doing the same. Perhaps it’s my mother’s traits…. That make me a fucking bitch.
Thank her for that, if you ever get the chance to meet her, if I ever see her again.
I’m think about that day, ya know. When we would be out with here, eating at some fancy restaurant drinking wine and talking about finer things…. When all I want to do is break down. And just start badgering her and life. It’s not her fault. It’s the way it happened. And I can only say I’m thankful she’s trying to make it better from her end. I’ll give her that credit.
Perhaps I don’t want her to get to know the ‘me’ I’ve turned into. I’m useless, not good for a damned thing. I picture her sitting in front of me, in my room with all these beer cans toppled over and me cutting another line of whatever, then getting up for the ashtray. Stumbling over my own two feet. And later on, I’ll fidget through old pictures of a sister I don’t have anymore and my dad, who yes, I don’t have anymore, and wonder the whole time…. Why she wasn’t in those pictures.
And I’ll start to hate her again and then hate myself for hating her. For doing what she had to do. Even though I do the same thing. Whatever it is I want to. But I hate myself, it’s irrelevant. And perhaps that is the reason I can’t hate her. Because I know she hates herself for doing what she did. Maybe this is once again the traits, the footsteps I follow in. And I feel too bad about myself, to try to bring someone else down, who I know, who I can sense, is very regretful for her actions.
And it seems as though it comes back on you. That it’s all being taken out on you. Well maybe you feel alone, and you need someone to talk. But I just feel alone, and have grown comfortable to that. I can’t be that cushion to break your fall at your hardest time, as much as I wish I could. We both know I could do it well, because I’m so low…. To the ground.
I even hate myself even more for not being able to do that for you. You know I love you. Whatever that word means. But I really hate myself for not being more empathetic. It’s something I don’t know how to do. I’ve grown up with one quote in my mind my whole life and for some reason I can’t get rid of it. No matter how fucking hard I try. It helps me get through tough times though.
Everything happens for a reason.
So right now, I’m meant to love you even if it means not to your standards.
Or definitions.
Or my own.
It’s just that, it comes naturally, (my love)
Even if it is a fucked up state….
Even if I hear you say
Repeatedly
That isn’t love…. You’re just crazy.
I don’t know what else it is I’m suppose to do.
I’m waiting for a signal from someone
Or a push or shove
But it just doesn’t seem to come.
Perhaps it’s my mother’s trait…
That says good things will come
To those who wait.
But what was she doing when I was waiting for her to call?
What she sitting by the phone,
Six digits dialed just to say hi
Or what she off getting drunk every night
Like I do… did I inherit that too?
No no, I don’t think she really drinks.
I had to have gotten that from Dad.
So she must have been the quite one
Like my ‘sister’ who says nothing, just does what she’s suppose to.
But then she’s in my shoes,
Because when she’s had enough she stands up and walks away
No matter who the fuck it affected.
She’ll deal with the concequences
Like we all do.
I’m so like the both of them,
Mom and Dad.
It’s too bad neither are around.
Don’t you think there’s a reason I’m not answering? Perhaps because I don’t want to talk.
And one of the last things you said is you wanted to come over, if only for 2 minutes and I just kept reciting the words, “I’m going to bed. Did you hear that? I’m going to bed.” You said I’m an asshole. It’s nothing I didn’t know before. I know you just needed to talk to me. About your ‘father’. I didn’t want to talk.
It was sort of like the same thing with me though, ya know, except with my ‘mother’. She didn’t say those things to me… and I’m sorry he said them to you. But ya know, I’m apologize cause I just wanted to be alone. Perhaps because I knew exactly what it was like to be going through this.
Except even if I wanted to talk to my father, to yell and scream or just cry and ask him why, the only way I could do it is staring into space. Hoping that wherever he is, he isn’t mad at me… for being mad at the world, for leading me to this. And Mom, well yeah… that’s another story.
I have to somehow day after day, try to explain to her when I feel like it, that I’m not mad at her for leaving 19 years ago. I’m not mad at her for doing what she had to do. And I hope that you aren’t mad at me for doing the same. Perhaps it’s my mother’s traits…. That make me a fucking bitch.
Thank her for that, if you ever get the chance to meet her, if I ever see her again.
I’m think about that day, ya know. When we would be out with here, eating at some fancy restaurant drinking wine and talking about finer things…. When all I want to do is break down. And just start badgering her and life. It’s not her fault. It’s the way it happened. And I can only say I’m thankful she’s trying to make it better from her end. I’ll give her that credit.
Perhaps I don’t want her to get to know the ‘me’ I’ve turned into. I’m useless, not good for a damned thing. I picture her sitting in front of me, in my room with all these beer cans toppled over and me cutting another line of whatever, then getting up for the ashtray. Stumbling over my own two feet. And later on, I’ll fidget through old pictures of a sister I don’t have anymore and my dad, who yes, I don’t have anymore, and wonder the whole time…. Why she wasn’t in those pictures.
And I’ll start to hate her again and then hate myself for hating her. For doing what she had to do. Even though I do the same thing. Whatever it is I want to. But I hate myself, it’s irrelevant. And perhaps that is the reason I can’t hate her. Because I know she hates herself for doing what she did. Maybe this is once again the traits, the footsteps I follow in. And I feel too bad about myself, to try to bring someone else down, who I know, who I can sense, is very regretful for her actions.
And it seems as though it comes back on you. That it’s all being taken out on you. Well maybe you feel alone, and you need someone to talk. But I just feel alone, and have grown comfortable to that. I can’t be that cushion to break your fall at your hardest time, as much as I wish I could. We both know I could do it well, because I’m so low…. To the ground.
I even hate myself even more for not being able to do that for you. You know I love you. Whatever that word means. But I really hate myself for not being more empathetic. It’s something I don’t know how to do. I’ve grown up with one quote in my mind my whole life and for some reason I can’t get rid of it. No matter how fucking hard I try. It helps me get through tough times though.
Everything happens for a reason.
So right now, I’m meant to love you even if it means not to your standards.
Or definitions.
Or my own.
It’s just that, it comes naturally, (my love)
Even if it is a fucked up state….
Even if I hear you say
Repeatedly
That isn’t love…. You’re just crazy.
I don’t know what else it is I’m suppose to do.
I’m waiting for a signal from someone
Or a push or shove
But it just doesn’t seem to come.
Perhaps it’s my mother’s trait…
That says good things will come
To those who wait.
But what was she doing when I was waiting for her to call?
What she sitting by the phone,
Six digits dialed just to say hi
Or what she off getting drunk every night
Like I do… did I inherit that too?
No no, I don’t think she really drinks.
I had to have gotten that from Dad.
So she must have been the quite one
Like my ‘sister’ who says nothing, just does what she’s suppose to.
But then she’s in my shoes,
Because when she’s had enough she stands up and walks away
No matter who the fuck it affected.
She’ll deal with the concequences
Like we all do.
I’m so like the both of them,
Mom and Dad.
It’s too bad neither are around.
