Another Mark left in Hell

First of all, I have found out that Killer_Spork isn't dead. She died, clinically, but was then revived. Her mother heard that she was dead, immediately phoned Spork's sister, and she went to tell us. She was obviously in a weird mood, so she wasn't contacting anyone or anything... and her mother was unable to reach her, and thus let us know that she was alive.

She seems to be recovering, and I wish her a speedy recovery.

Now, back to today's regularly scheduled rant.

My rant today will be something different than from what I usually do. It may or may not be boring to you. If it's boring, I'm terribly sorry, but no one is making you read this piece of shit anyway.

This is one of those times where I sat down, thinking, again. I thought... and then decided I didn't want to think about it. Really, I didn't. It's not something that anyone would want to think about. That, and I didn't know how to explain it. Me, sitting there, screaming fucktawtcuntdickshitcocksuckermotherfucker wouldn't help anything at all. And that's what it would be. In my rage, it's all I can do. It's pathetic, if you really think about it.

But, then, I read Faye's blog entry, and I thought that I woud try anyway. Because, seeing that, it forced me to think of the most pathetic, wretched, useless, pitiful, and worthless creature known to me.

Myself.

I'm sorry for being myself.

I am. I don't mean to be what I am. I've been told numerous times that I'm a kind and gentle being. I'm not. I'm violent, cruel, and, on top of that, a suicidal twit. I know that I can be kind. I do care for my friends, after all. More than care. I love them. Whom else am I to love? I've only got my friends, my husband, and my son.

I can't bring myself to say that I loved you - my parents. I tried. I tried because they were my parents. You are the people who gave life to me. All of my experiences, bad and good, are only possible because you brought about my existance. And I am grateful that I am given the chance to live. To experience what is denied to many. Yet, I am still an ungrateful swine, but we'll get to that part later.

I was never enough for you. There was always something more that was wanted of me. I understand that wanting the best possible for and from your child is all right. To push your child, to want them to strive for the best possible outcome... but is it ok to never tell that that they're fine the way the are? Is it ok to never realize that no one is totally perfect and that there will always be something wrong with your child?

That there will always be something wrong with me? That's the way it was, wasn't it? I wasn't manly enough, I wasn't smart enough, I wasn't funny enough, I wasn't quick enough, I wasn't handy enough, I wasn't kind enough, I wasn't assertive enough, I wasn't tough enough, I wasn't tall enough, I wasn't cute enough, I wasn't coordinated enough, I WASN'T FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH.

That's all you ever told me.

"YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO BE MY SON."

.. Well, I'm so fucking sorry. And then you wonder why I'm bitter. Well, at first you wondered. Then you just stopped giving a shit. My sister had to do your job. She didn't have to do that, and she shouldn't have needed to do it, because it was your fucking job.

I wasn't even worth your time for that. But why? Fucking tell me why. I demand it. This is something that has messed me up and fucked me up and nothing will ever fix it. And you did this to me. I want to fucking know why!

And... love you? Love you? ... I can't. I hate you! But can I hate you? Am I allowed to hate you? I don't know... I just don't know what I want, or what I can do. I feel like an aweful little prick for hating you - you're my parents!- but you never treated me like a child. I was a stranger in my own home.

And so... you tormet me. You're both gone, you've both succumbed to your age, but you still torment me, and it will probably never leave me.

You made me feel like nothing. You made me believe that I am nothing. I want to die. What do you think of that? Do you care? I never told you that I wanted to kill myself, and you never heard of my attempts. I couldn't confide in you. What was there to confide in? There was nothing there.

Would you care? Would you ever shed a tear for me, Father? Would you give me a hug, Mother? Would you regard me as your son and not some monster in your house?