When someone else speaks the truth.

After avoiding the truth for so long, I was overwhelmingly startled when they were spat into my face: these sharp, cornered, origami-structured words, without any coating to cool the throat that swallowed them.  I didn't know what else to do but let the tears bubble up in my eyes and boil over (weak!). I grimaced, I cried, while she stood there, dumbstruck that she nailed it in one shot.

"I didn't mean it."
Oh yes, you did.  You have, for many, many years.

"I'm sorry."
You probably are, but it still hurts.

I have been dodging the bullet by refusing to acknowledge the entire extent of the problem.  But see, it isn't as though the problem is something new - of course. There are two continuing "problems" I have - both typical, both painful to even consider as I write these words.

(1) I am insecure, as a result of being either picked on or left out (of the "cool" group) as a kid.  I was what you Americans call "lame"/"nerd"/"geek"/what have you. All I want to do if find a scene in which I would fit in and, well, fit in.

(2) I have always resented my father for being an abusive and quasi-psychotic bully. I continue to resent my mum for being a nagging, bi-polar weakling.** Regardless, I live for their approval and yearn for their acceptance.

Even though I've repackaged myself several times over the years, I still face these same two things every day, and it doesn't get easier.

Especially when someone whom you love aims at your head and hurls it at you without any remorse and with full conviction.




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** I know I am being harsh with my choice of words (and for that, if my parents ever read this, I am truly sorry).  Of course, my parents are not always the caricatures I make them out to be.  They are wonderful people.  Generally.