Daddy Issues

daddy issues

This is going to be a long post, that also may go off track.

I wish I had the budget to move out, but I don’t. I wish you had a little more empathy and a little less pride and vanity to acknowledge the fact that your side of the family has serious depression problems. But you don’t.

My first memories of you are of you asking me to do stuff otherwise you’d call that little girl that was adorable and so well-behaved. Of you calling me to lay beside you as you watched a game show. Of me asking mom why she was so angry as we waited on the entrance to the movie theater that was playing The Lion King and my brother was inside. Then you finally showed up and she argued with you and I did not understand why. It was because you were late. You never did ANY children’s stuff with us.

I remember mom doing these albums with us, watching us color, watching Star Trek with us. I remember you always talking about the other little girl you’d call if I didn’t do as you asked, until I cried… until one day I told you to call her in all my honesty and naïvety and you were dumbstruck. And then I realised she didn’t really exist. I remember you making drawing contests between me and my brother and how he always won and my drawings were never good enough. How he got to go to a drawing school. How he got private guitar lessons and I didn’t because I obviously was only imitating him. Nevermind I came up with that idea at 6. You have this belief that we want what the other has just because the other has it.

I remember how on big brother’s 7th birthday you took him to this travel, just the two of you, to this place where it was full of wildlife and I never understood the reason why. I was the one crazy about animals but he was the one who went on the trip and got to take pictures with baby wild animals. Then you got sick on the trip and as I cried and cried for mom to stay with me, she left me all alone with my nanny back home, to meet you and take care of you. Then you promised to take me to Disney and then you had a money excuse and I feel guilty for resenting that. When we finally did go, it was a family trip when I was 12. Because the family is important.

I still don’t get why I couldn’t go with you on that trip.

I wasn’t allowed to wear skirts to pre-school, and only found out we had gym class days later, thanks to mom being paranoid of pedophiles. So all my friends had long hair and looked pretty, I was chubby, wasn’t allowed to have long hair and had to wear shorts to school. You were always saying my brother’s female friends were adorable, even when one of them did everything to scare me. Everyone poked fun at how chubby I was and that I was found in the trash and adopted (today I kinda wish I actually were adopted). You would even tell me I was so fat I looked deformed. Mom’s sisters all frowned at how chubby I was and made it clear to me. some of them wanted me to wear shorts and shirts showing off my belly but you would throw a fit at that. One of them cut my hair incredibly short (like a boy) and I was made fun of at pre-school. I had to go to ballet when I longed to do martial arts, one of your sisters insisted in giving me pink stuff I never used. You wanted me to be girly, wear ribbons and tie my hair up and mom would tell me I never let my hair down. I remember I was so frustrated because one was always nagging! You abhorred these shoes I loved and made sure to make it clear.

After all, I’m just a property labeled daughter, niece, I don’t have feelings.

You and your best friend from university got me this stuffed dog that I love and have til today and you insisted on calling him a different name. You would put him on top of the old air-conditioner when I was little and I would cry and scream and you would laugh. You got a funny name to every teacher that I loved in mid-school, as you did with all my friends.

Then you got a teacher from my brother’s school lose her job after saying something he wrote correctly in an essay was wrong, but, since she also taught at my school and you were afraid of retaliation, I had to change schools. And so I changed.

I went to this school full of grown-up brats that didn’t play with dolls and liked brands. I became shy and cried like hell so my mom wouldn’t send me to school. I got bullied a lot and the school never did anything or my mom so, I stopped crying. I went to school with baggy clothes to cover up my body and try not to stand out. I got uglier and gained weight. I didn’t have friends, I never went to parties and my brother was extremely popular.

I found a friend, the one that introduced me to one of the best friendships I’ve discovered. You were always complaining about her and I felt bad. I was truly a good-for-nothing.

I got good grades and got into the advanced class. You and mom reformed my brother’s room, sound-proofed his window because the noise bothered him and even made him a desk (he never studied). I also complained about the noise (which included him playing the guitar at 3am) since our rooms were separated by a wall, but you guys said the noise wasn’t the same and it was costly to sound-proof.

Since your parenting philosophy (?) dictates conflicts be solved between me and big brother, and he was unable to grasp why noises after midnight are frowned upon, I took my stuff and moved upstairs to this big living room that happens to have the best view in the house. He got my old room, a suite. Thing is, you never get out of bed, mom never was able to get you to spend time in that room and even in parties it wasn’t used. And it’s full of old stuff, like your books and notebooks from college.

Now you complain about it, that mom and I did it without your consent and you don’t call it my room. Once you asked if I was using your father’s desk (that gets converted into a furniture). I said no. You opened a drawer and of course, pulled out an ancient backpack of mine that I didn’t even know mom had put there. I had told her, no, I wasn’t using it and mom had put it away in there. Other arguments include how I use the biggest area in the house and the electric bill due to air-conditioning. So, more guilt. I FINALLY put a lock in my door, so many nights I sleep with a bare minimum of clothes in order to spare energy and the air conditioner doesn’t even refrigerate anymore. Still doesn’t drown out the bad feeling that you’re an unwanted tenant living in your parents’ storage room.

Meanwhile, you use your a/c in winter, leave it on with the door open, use it along with fan, tv, laptop and nightlight and sometimes leave the room with all of that on.

I need to get out of here. I’m suffocating.

I’m so fucked up.

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~ by 1cellinthesea on February 3, 2013.

One Response to “Daddy Issues”

  1. […] usually happen at night. Thing is, I’m a light sleeper, with serious issues to fall asleep. I had to move my room because my brother insisted on getting loud in the middle of the night, and parents were no help […]

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