October 21, 2008

I'm in mourning and need to vent.

Sometimes I wish I didn't know better. And sometimes I wish I didn't bite my tongue. Or that I didn't know any better to bite my tongue. I know that if I actually was to say all that I wanted to say I would end up regretting it, but sometimes it just feels so relieving to yell all the horrible things you think about that person in their face after years and years of doing so to me. Sometimes I am annoyed that my mama raised me right.
I think it's sad when family members choose favourites and least favourites. I am THE least favourite on both sides with my extended family. It's sad. I'm not sad for me, because frankly they (with two, possibly three exceptions) aren't nice enough for me to care. But sad for them. I'm really a pretty okay gal, and yet they will never get the chance to know that. I don't understand how my living situation is a. any of their business or concern, or b. somehow wrong. I don't know what I have ever done to offend them other than be born. It's very sad for them. And a little bit for me. I do wish I had nice family. But then I see my parents, who would defend me and love me to the death. I go to them with my problems. Can you say that? And my siblings. I'd take all kinds of horrible torture to save them and they'd do the same for me. My baby sister calls me when she learns to dial phone numbers to ask how my day is and tell me that she's "at school learnin' stuff." I have the best friends ever. I'd do anything for them, and they'd do the same for me. We can be serious and ridiculous, and do it sober. I have a bright shining future ahead of me with a ton of possibilities. I'm a pretty cool young woman. And with the way I have been treated, I'm not sorry that you don't know that. You don't deserve to know that.
I am sad. I'm sad that I've taken this for so long. I should have said something back when I was five. But I didn't. Because I was raised to be polite and keep my opinions to myself when they weren't needed. It hurts to know that that's what you think of me, because it isn't the case. You don't know me, or my life, so what right do you have to determine whether or not I'm making good decisions? I could lash out in anger and tell you all the things I really think of you, but that would be stooping to your level. So I won't. I will mourn for the death of that glimmer of hope I've always had that somehow I'd be good enough for you all to like me. But I don't need to have you like me. SO I leave you with this:
Don't ever mock me again. Don't talk to me anymore because I will not respond. Don't joke with or about me. Don't even feel you have the privilege to say my name. I will not think of you. But let me tell you that I will show you. I will show you big time that when you mess with me or the people I love, you will get what you're asking for. It will not be pretty. I will someday be someone you wish you could know, but ya'know what? You won't. You can try all you like to leech off of other's success, but you won't leech off me because I am done with you. You never existed, and will not in my thoughts from now on.
I hope you're happy with yourself. Have a nice life.
And I know now that I'll never be good enough for you. I'll be better.

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