wallow    

do you know what it's like to come home to an empty bed?
to flip through journals of repeated self-assurance and plans to improve, yet never moving an inch?
to change the orientation of your room in hopes of feeling refreshed, how many orientations are there?
to rely on the same three movies to give you a feeling you've only ever had while watching them?

you reject degeneracy, avoid bad foods, work hard, exercise — feel horrible.
you give in to desire, rot away, eat like shit and feel even worse.

the silent hostility of family who refuse to help.
being forced to learn everything by yourself.

the amount of time i wasted for so long without any interference until i was an adult. now it's my responsibility, and i accept that but surely they saw it coming.

they give the kid zero direction or advice, only to frequently ask:
“So, how are things working out?”
“You can do anything you set your mind to!”
sometimes i think the inferiority i feel is the acceptance i never got from my dad. he always made it brutally obvious that i wasn't what he had hoped for.

playing into what he wanted me to be so I wouldn't hurt his feelings, imagine that lmao.
going on hunting trips and fishing always made me realize how close we could've been if i were actually interested in those things.

he never hit me, but I always felt that it was possible.
he started hitting my mom a couple years before the divorce.
i think he truly believes we don't remember.

one night, drunk, he slammed my mom to the ground in front of all his friends.
not one person said anything, the lack of conviction in these people makes my stomach feel empty. they also let him drive us home. before we pulled into our driveway he tried to start a fight with a guy walking his dog, once we were home he kicked my mom around on the floor after he thought we were asleep.

another time, coming home after a day on the boat, the tire on his trailer popped. out of drunken rage, he kept driving until the rim was grinded in half. he started a fire on the edge of the highway and the fire dept had to put it out.

the only thing I fear now is making anyone feel the way i felt around him.
the discomfort is unbelievable.

the good times weren't even good, because the possibility of them being worse was always a hair-trigger pull away.
the awareness that being around someone like that gives you as a kid is so fucked up. to think like an adult at that age completely removes any chance of naivety.

all of that sinks to the bottom, and people continue viewing you on a surface level — expecting a kid to be a kid.

even the people who literally witnessed all of it will ask themselves:
“Why isn’t he normal?”
“All the other kids his age are ___.”

and the best one of all. the cold, hard: “Are you depressed?”

you force a child to permanently live in his head, then complain when he's self-absorbed and dosent want to come out of his room.

the child i was is spiritually dead now, so at least he doesn't have to bear it any longer. that's one perk about growing up. this is only meant for adults.

the worst part wasn't living through it, but the years i spent asking myself why i wasn't normal. years of complete disarray.

the comfort i feel when i'm alone bothers me, because i know this isn't how it should be.

i wanted to be normal so badly as a kid.
to live in a two-story house with parents who loved each other.
tight-knit family gatherings and comfort within myself.

expecting that was a terrible disappointment but it is possible.
i will build that when i start a family of my own.

my mother is everything.
i have to succeed — for her.