Uncategorized

I don’t need you to make me feel like shit

I do a great job of that all by myself. 

We have a cousin in town from overseas who is staying with us for a few days. My father, upon braving the Virginia to Maryland traffic back from the airport, immediately went downstairs with a few beers in his hands and pockets. He proceeded to slam those down within the one hour we were prepping dinner. We’re making small talk around the table for dinner and he’s asking about how many positions my sister’s applied to so far. He mumbles the same sentence which goes something along the lines of “you really need to find a real job soon”. He then turns to the cousin and points at me and says, “Look at her! She’s been out of school for about 4 years now and she’s unemployed!” I look at him dumbfounded as my rage begins to bubble. My perceptive mother then retorts back at him, “What do you mean, unemployed? She has kids. She has the hardest job in the world!” He then mumbles something along the lines of “Hardest job. Psh, that doesn’t bring in any money.” My mom tries to steer the conversation elsewhere. 

But the damage was already done. That’s going to stick with me all week. Some days this post partum depression gets the better of me and I just spend the day hating myself and crying at night. Other days, I’m just barely getting by and going to bed still hating myself but able to keep the depression at bay long enough for me to fall asleep. Isn’t home supposed to be a place where you can relax? Instead I spend every single waking moment either explaining myself to my parents or trying to calm myself from having the need to explain myself and every single action I take to my parents. I can’t tell whether I hate my father when he drinks or I just hate him for who he is. I understand there are moments where he tries, but I don’t think those moments make up for the moments where he’s just pure shit and stupid. 

I feel like every time I feel like I’m on relatively solid ground and have my footing, something knocks me back down onto the ground and I have to start pulling myself out of the stupid dark hole I sink into again. It’s like quicksand. My life is quicksand. 

Advertisements
Standard

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