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So I've beeen sick the past couple days [Kayla I love you but stay away from the soy sauce and flour.] so I decided to take a nap when I got home today.
Put it bluntly I felt like s**t and I needed sleep.
But my stomach demanded otherwise. After raiding the kitchen and settling down in a REALLY comfortable chair, I ate my food.
Finally got upstairs and changed into some comfy clothes when mother dearest comes home and walks in.
"We need to talk."
Oh really? Mom, you've already given me THE talk. Birds and the bees remember? I promise I remember. It was probably twenty of the few most uncomfortable minutes of my life. And it did NOT in any way include birds OR bees.
Then she started blathering on about high school credits. Oooh yeah, THAT talk. I got rescheduled for art one even though I passed it my Freshman year on top of art two. And she wasn't sure I was qualified for my Forensic Science class. So. . . she talked to the school admin person guy. That didn't really bother me. Sure I was kinda ticked off that I had already TOLD her I was fine for my forensics class and she didn't believe me.
Its what came next that I was speechless about.
"Also we need to talk. . . about you. I just dont know what to do for you any more."
Woah, wait, say what, repeat that please? O___o
"I know its kind of hard to understand but I think you still need to grieve and vent."
No I understood it quite clearly, but what the hell? Grieeeeeve aboooout? What am I supposed to be grieving about?
"I think you're still upset about all the deaths that have occured and you're anxious about your sister and brother leaving. I know you were having panic attacks."
Ooooh riiiight. Yeah about that. Uhm, momsey loveheart, I don't plan on grieving and my 'Panic attacks' are just from stress. Good ol' regular stress of life. She thinks not being able to fall asleep until the early morning is a 'Panic attack'
"So I think you should talk to someone about it. I was going to talk to your doctor about it. I mean I had older sisters and your sister had a neighbor to vent to. But your sister's moved out now so you don't have anyone."
To clue you in, I hardly ever talked to my sister about things that were important to me. Boys, yes. Makeup, yes. Some singer or another, yes. Otherwise, I wisely kept my mouth shut. I love my sister to death. But I don't trust her with my thoughts. She tends to let things slip or be like "well Holly said she thinks blah blah blah" when she's put in the spotlight for something. I learned quick that what you truly think is better left unsaid. The best kept secret is the one you keep to yourself.
"but I wanted to talk to you about it first see what you think."
Uh. . . huh. . . Right. You don't want to know what I think. What I think is that you don't know how to talk to your kid about how she feels without getting pissed off or using the age old line of 'Don't get an attitude with me!'. You think I'm some hormonal, disturbed teenager that is honed in on self distruction and about to explode in a frenzied mutilation spree. Boy, do I feel so lucky right about now. Do I really give you that impression, mother? Damn do I have skills or what? I mean I don't FEEL like a hormonal, disturbed, self destructive teenager but if you want, I can pretend to be one. Now, where's that fake butcher's knife from Halloween I need to start on the 'destroying and mutilating'.
"So what do you think?"
I think you should've asked me this months ago when I was actually angry and upset and needed someone to talk to more than anything in the world when no one was here and I most likely would've agreed. A little late now. I would love to scream 'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING, NO ******** WAY' , but I'll be nice. I'll forgo my bittered discontent at the fact that you've finally noticed me.
"Uhmmm. . . I'll go if you want me to?"
"No no! I don't want you to go because you feel I do."
"Er, right. Well I guess I'll think about it then." - not a chance in hell woman.
Then she sat in the chair at my desk and continued to tell me about my family's history for hormonal imbalance and how she doesn't want them giving me medicines and yadda yadda yadda. Yes, I did listen. Promise. I could repeat verbetum what she said if I had to. . . maybe. But I really don't feel like typing it all out.
Fact of the matter is:
I'm not good at sharing unless its something that made me happy.
I suck at telling people how I feel.
Never let 'em see you cry [do it later for now just smile pretty and nod slowly]
Especially the person or people that made you do so in the first place; if there was one.
Keep this weakness to yourself.
 ~+xVANDALx+~ · Fri Sep 05, 2008 @ 10:55am · 1 Comments |
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