Okay, so I’m just a tad bit curious at the moment as to why it is that people seem to think they know me…and more specifically, that they know what’s BEST for me? I’m serious. I mean, I’m pretty sure that the last time I checked, that date on my birth certificate says that I’m 25 years old. Not 5 or 10 or 15…but 25. I’m not a child…and I’m sick and tired of being treated like one. I’m done letting people try to control me and tell me what to do. They’ve been doing it my whole life. I realize that as a child, it was for my own good. And that I needed it…as I was too young to know what I wanted or what was best for me. I needed the guidance and the sense of structure that they gave me. I needed them to hold my hand and to be there–to shelter and protect me from the big, bad real world and the horrible people in it. But there’s a difference between being protective and being OVER-protective–which is what they did. I’m just done. With them. With all of it. Just…done.
It’s not that I’m being ungrateful, because I am. It’s just that sometimes, I find myself resenting them for it…for being TOO protective. I know they had good intentions for doing it, but ultimately, I think they protected me from too much–which, in turn, left me so unprepared when it came time for me to go out into the world. They didn’t prepare me for what could happen or for what I would see. Nor did they prepare me for the hell I’d have to go through. Most importantly, they never prepared or warned me that it would be this hard. But it is. It’s so very hard. What happened that horrible night all those years ago–I wasn’t ready for it. Or prepared for it. For any of it. Until that night, I never knew the extent of the evil that exists in the world. I didn’t know that people could be so cruel or so cold. I was so naive then. Totally clueless. I had no idea that one wrong choice–one mistake–could end up changing my whole life or tearing my world apart…but it did. I wasn’t ready for it…but then again, I don’t think anyone is ever ready for something like that.I don’t blame them for what happened that night. I’m the one that chose to go there that night…to defy their rules. It was doing, not theirs. While I don’t blame them, I do feel as though they could have prepared me more for it, or at the very least, prepared me for how to get through it somehow.
That night changed everything, It changed me. I lost my innocence that night–in both the figurative and literal sense. I grew up that night, in so many ways. After that night, I realized something that they never taught me–which is that life wasn’t as black and white as they had led me to believe. To be honest, I’m not sure what hurt worse–the actual attack itself, or the aftermath that followed. Both were absolute hell though, I know that much. Not telling them what happened only made it worse, I think. That, albeit indirectly, I do blame them for. I couldn’t trust them…not when I’d just found out the hard way that everything they taught me–everything I thought I knew–was all a lie. I couldn’t tell them. After all, I was supposed to be the good girl–the girl with the perfect grades and perfect behavior…the puppet that did everything she was told and never broke the rules. They wanted me to be perfect. Expected me to be the best. And for some reason, I actually felt as though I had to be perfect for them….almost as if I owed them to be or something. In the end, I think that was my biggest downfall. Living my life according to their rules and expectations nearly destroyed me. It took me years to get past that night and even longer for me to realize that what they wanted for me–wasn’t want I wanted for myself. I realized that living life on their terms–wasn’t living at all. I was miserable and unhappy and weak. All my life, they’ve told me what to do and what not to do, what not to believe and what to believe, and how to feel. And all my life, I’ve let them do it…because I was too scared to stand up for and trust myself–and too worried about disappointing them or letting them down somehow. I took a long time, but I finally realized that it wasn’t about them…that no matter how hard I tried, it would never be enough for them–so I stopped trying to be and started living the way I wanted to. Maybe it’s selfish, but it’s my life and I’m sorry, but I won’t apologize for wanting to live it my way. I won’t do that. And granted, I know they mean well and all, but contrary to what they think, they don’t know everything about me. Nor do they don’t know what’s best for me. Maybe they did when I was younger, but they don’t know now.
I’m 25 years old and yet, they still treat me like a child. They’re still trying to control me…still trying to tell me how to live my life. Now, I’m done letting them do it. Just done. With them, with their near-impossible expectations…all of it. I’m done. Until now, I’ve just tried to ignore their interference. But lately, they’re making it nearly impossible for me to do that. At the moment, it has to do with my moving to NYC in the upcoming week or two. To be honest, it doesn’t have to NYC–it could be anything else…just as long as they have something to bitch about–something to fight with me about.
Speaking of the fighting, it’s gotten pretty bad over the last few years. Or so it seems to me, anyhow. It’s ridiculous. If it wasn’t frustrating as all hell–it might actually be funny. Entertaining, even. It’s like World War III in this family of mine. So much so that we could probably have our own reality TV show. Let’s just say that the way we go at one another…it makes the Osbornes look like angels. That’s the truth. I love my family, I do. But they don’t always make it easy to love them. They push you and push you until you crack under the strain and start to lose it completely–a fact that I know all too well, unfortunately. I mean, I know that all families are dysfunctional in some way or another. And yes, I know that families fight. But not like this…this is far worse. It’s really bad. Not a day goes by that someone (s) doesn’t start a fight. It’s almost as though they thrive on it. And while they might need it–I don’t. I don’t want or need the drama. I have plenty as it is already, believe me. It’s been this way for years…for way too damn long. I think people need to get over themselves and just grow up. The fighting…it’s all so childish, and most of the time completely unnecessary. So basically…it’s useless. It’s always the same routine, over and over. And to be honest, it’s getting old. It used to be amusing and now it’s simply just irritating and exhausting. If they want to know why I’m leaving…this, right here, that’s why. I don’t want to stick around for this–the fighting and getting pulled into the middle of it all, as usual, and well, I don’t want any part of it anymore. I’m done. Just…done.
And on that note….