3 posts tagged “parents”
I've just realized that i can write about all kinds of things about everybody else and how i feel about everybody elses business and ideas and minds and thoughts.
But when it gets rough inside me i don't bring it to paper. I don't even bring it to Vox. Which is probably the smarter thing to do cause that way i bring it to Holly or my mum or , sometimes even, to my grandmother or friends.
But i don't write about it anymore. My life is quite troubled currently. I worry about quite a lot, my graduation, my drivers license, my lack of sleep and food. There's more stuff.
And still, it's feeling like it's bringing me closer to myself. I've always had issues with getting in contact with myself. I could try to lock myself in a room and spend time with myself but this usualy ends with me being utterly depressed. Whilst i don't know if being with myself triggers the depression or if it's just me being stupid. Most likely the latter.
When i was younger i was battling this lack of contact with cutting and self-abusive behaviour in general. My (step-) dad used be violent against me. Quite much, actually. I remember my mum saying that i was provocing his behaviour and that secretly, I wanted to get the response he was giving me.
Of course she only said that when she cried hysterically, being completely overwhelmed with everything and not knowing what else to say. And of course i reacted like any 13 year old would react - hysterically calling her a cunt and storming off to get drunk ... Okay, well,not every 13 year old.
But the point is that she was kinda right. It's quite rough to admit that cause whatever my dad did was completely fucked up and i'll never forget ( dunno about forgiving, it's a thing you learn that your parents are just human aswell, somehow ). What he did was not right and even if i had physically made him hit me he shouldn't have done it.
However, in retrospect i think my mother was kinda right. And i'm still doing this - having people hurt me because i make them.
In his case he did it physically but we all know there are millions of other ways to hurt a person.
Back then the thought of me wanting to be put in the place of being hurt wasn't even crossing my mind but thinking about it know it does fit my self-abusive personality in a bunch of ways - which is scary in one way and peace-giving in another.
It's hard to explain. Amy Winehouse ( to bring in my latest obsession ) said in an interview that there'a song called "He hit me and it felt like a kiss" by the The Crystals. Most people would be like "oh my god, she's supporting domestic violence." ...But i know exactly what she's saying.
I'm not made for real life friendships, really. Not those everyday-school-and-afterwards-girl-shit.
None that require constant occupation. I feel like a bad person for all the things people do for me without getting anything in return - when i really shouldn't.Of course it's sweet to see rock 'n' roll bands in towns. It's nice to have somebody whos house i can go to after work. It's nice to have somebody i can ponder around school if i feel the need to.
But the whole getting to know her?
Not happening. It didn't with the last girl who i wanted to be my "best friend" , i doesn't with the one right now.
The reason? I do not care.
I don't care where she's from, what her childhood friends are called, if her mum is crazy, if her sister is driving her nuts, i don't like hearing stories about her past or what is happening in her life right now. I just do not care at all.
It's a weird thing and i wish i was better than this, i wish i could listen to all these tellings and enjoy it truthfully and honest - truth is, i'm not.
I've realized this by now.
I wish i could be a best friend for everybody who wants me to. I wish i could be Chris' heroin he asked me to be, i wish i had the guts to tell Janine that she's missing out, that her relationship is going somewhere wrong, I wish i had the balls to be a good best friend for the person who considers a best friend at this stage in my life.
But I'm not. I'm not her best friend - that's another girl she's know for years. And that's just fine for me. It's reality. Just like the person who's been her best friend is hers, Franzi is mine. That's the way it is. It's like with my (step-)dad not accepting that i am not his natural child. And that it's just fine like this, that it doesn't make a difference but that it is reality.
Thing is, ever since i've stepped into this girls life again she has started talking some shit about her old best friend to me. I never respond to that. I always tell her that she should talk to that person about it - cause it's not my business. It's their shit.
She just relies on me cause i'm the easier option right now and as much as i can understand that i still think it's wrong. I still think it's not right. I still believe that i'm somehow wrong in the picture.
I can only be what i am.
I'm the kid you call up if you wanna go rent movies with greasy hair or mosh in the club or get wasted and fucked. I'm the person you spend time with if there's stuff to do.
I'm not somebody to talk your life through with.. I've heard childhood stories. I've heard puberty stories. I've spend my teenage time in houses of others. It's cool. I'm through with it.
It's the reason i've turned down Stefan.
I'm tired of everybodies stories.
I'll listen to you if you've got an issue. I'll help you trough. That's what i do for the people around me. I would never not. I'll get you a lovely birthday if nobody else does. I'll send you parcles for Valentines if i know that's what you need. I'll tell your sister off if i know you can't bear it any longer. I'll pick you up in Stuttgart cause you're on coke and without money. I'll do your math homework with you calling the math geeks because you've got a presentation the next day.
- And i wouldn't have it any other way.
But i've realized that i'm not made for phone calls. I'm not made for listening to stories about first drunk times. Not if they're just random convos. If they mean nothing - if they're just to get to know you better.
I never tell stories about my past either.I've never really recognized that i purposely don't do this. But in my life nobody knows my story.
When i've told a girl in my maths class about me living on the street a year she couldn't believe it - even though it was only mentioned as a side note to explain a certain belief i have on a certain topic. Nobody knows about my past friends. The stories happened to me. I never talk about them - i think that is because whatever they have made me become i stand for. Me, that is what those stories are. Everything that happend to me is me right now summed up. I am the deep down meaning of those stories about past loves and happenings.
It's a stupid thing to do. It's worse probably than being a loner and just hating the world. Cause i'm letting everybody in - but i'm keeping them out at the same as far as can be.
I'm not made for bff shit. I'll go shopping with you if you wanna go shopping. Or if you need new clothes. But i won't be at ease. I won't enjoy hearing what you like about this shirt or that jeans. Simply because i do not care.
I care about the people new in my life. But i don't care about their stories. They've got best friends who know the stories. There's no need for me to know them too. If you want to talk about how you felt that night, where it has taken you, when you broke, who made you realize things. Go ahead. Tell me. Tell me the meaning of your stories. That's what i care about - the meaning. Not the bullshit around it.
I'll get a picture of you that is not true - not you.
I'll get a version of you filled with stories, not meanings. To me, that's an empty picture. It means nothing and even more so it tends to annoy me.
Why are people always having to tell their stories? Why aren't they coming down to what they mean?
Back then when you had your first beer or your first breakdown, the first bad mark in school, the first kiss, did you care about the way things happend or do you remember what it meant to you?
I think stories should be told. Tell them to everybody, but tell them because they mean something, not just because they happend.
So, life?
On thursday Janine brought me my grand-grandmas ring back. Why did she have it? Cause I gave it to her two years ago. It's a beautiful piece of gold with purple jewels in it. It's very decent and unspectecular, but so sweet in detail that you can't miss it.
I used to have three of them. One with dark green jewels, the purple one and a light blue one. All surrounded by fine gold. All given to me through my grandmother skipping my mother in the line.
They're precious to me and Janine always mentioned how beautiful she thought it was. One day i decided to give on to her. I said „Janine, i'm going to give this to you. It's my grand-grandmothers ring. It's nearly 50 years old, maybe older even and it means the world to me. That woman meant the world to me. If i'm going to give this to you you have to promise to give it back to me if one day we're not friends anymore.“ , she agreed and with that it was hers.
Now on february 8th 2007 i got it back.
