Monster
When I was a little girl I had my future planned. Two daughters, two sons, I knew their names, I'd even planned the menu for each week. A roast on sunday, fish and chips on Friday night. Food I'd heard of, but never even seen. My parents, militant vegetarians, packed my lunch box with organic home made sandwiches and lovingly made healthy snacks, grown in our garden. Sometimes I wouldn't even open my lunch box. I longed to have white bread, for my dad to not have beard, to be normal.
My birthday parties were the height of embarrasment. I was allowed to choose one 'junk food' item. It was usually animal cookies, the ones with coloured icing. Now I feel ashamed, looking at the home videos through my parent's eyes, long close ups of my little expressions, everything I said, the way I laughed. I was the first child, they thought I'd be the only one. I was all that tied my parents together. I was horrible.
Their lives revolved around educating and entertaining me. Trips to the beach, or hiking, or horse riding. Yes, I had my own pony. We'd pull up, excitement in my parent's voices. I'd flatly refuse to get out of the car. 6 years old, and a master at manipulating their emotions. I don't know why I was like that. It comes to me in flashes. Every present they gave me, nothing was good enough, and I made sure they knew it. It makes me sick, just thinking about it. Why do they still love me, after all of that?
My birthday parties were the height of embarrasment. I was allowed to choose one 'junk food' item. It was usually animal cookies, the ones with coloured icing. Now I feel ashamed, looking at the home videos through my parent's eyes, long close ups of my little expressions, everything I said, the way I laughed. I was the first child, they thought I'd be the only one. I was all that tied my parents together. I was horrible.
Their lives revolved around educating and entertaining me. Trips to the beach, or hiking, or horse riding. Yes, I had my own pony. We'd pull up, excitement in my parent's voices. I'd flatly refuse to get out of the car. 6 years old, and a master at manipulating their emotions. I don't know why I was like that. It comes to me in flashes. Every present they gave me, nothing was good enough, and I made sure they knew it. It makes me sick, just thinking about it. Why do they still love me, after all of that?
posted by tui at 11:26 AM
4 Comments:
too complex of a question to be answered in the "comments" section of Blogger.
i have two daughters and i cannot imagine stopping loving them. and i cannot explain that. not that i don't want to; i just cannot.
This is the reason I will never have children. My parents loved me more than life. I would tell them that I hated them if I did not get exactly what I wanted. I was such an ungrateful bastard. Ashamed of the way I discarded the love from my parents like a soiled sweat sock. I am a horrible person.
all kids feel like that.
chill.
we all feel stifled by too much love, childhhod memories are painful.
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