Monday, 20 February 2012

Hurt and shame.

I don't do things like this usually, because I think it's incredibly unclassy. Class isn't about how much money you have or how well you speak, class is about being dignified. And what I'm about to do is very undignified. But I'm hurt. I'm really, really hurt and I've been trying to ignore the hurt for a long time and tonight I can't. I'm sitting here alone, crying and drinking vodka from the bottle, when instead I should be working on the essay that I've meticulously planned and researched, and was ready to kick arse on. I'm looking at the papers now, my plans and notes, and the words that I laboured, happily and with total immersion, but laboured nonetheless over, mean nothing. I don't care.

I'll maybe regret this lack of class that I'm about to show, since I don't know who reads this blog. But right now, I don't care. I don't care who knows.

I talk about my mum's family a lot. My brother, grandma, aunties, uncles, cousins and, of course, my best friend- my mum. I've never really spoken about my dad's side though because it's all very complicated and there's a lot of hurt that I have to control, in order to live. Something tiny happened today; I saw I was no longer listed as my dad's daughter on facebook. It's tiny and had it been a stand alone event, I'd have possibly laughed and then called my mum to tell her. But it's come at the end of a long line of events and suddenly the hurt from the past has broken through what I thought was the impenetrable dam I had built, and I feel like I'm drowning. I'm spluttering in an acid and a shame that's not even mine.

I'm working hard to be ashamed of who I am. I'm not a bad person, I know I'm not. I'm not a waste and I try to do the right thing, even if it doesn't always go how I meant it to. I'm at university and I work hard, I want to get a first class degree and there's no reason why I shouldn't. I've made mistakes, but I've done more than my time for them, and carried the punishment that people who have hurt me never had to, that I can promise you. I feel disgust sometimes when I look at myself, when I look at myself and I can see the past, when I remember every physical and mental scar, see every beating and mark. When I see my expanse, my human form, my deformed face and fat thighs. But I'm working hard, so that any shame or disgust that I feel about myself, I can put down to the illness and I can almost reconcile myself to the fact that I am NOT a bad person, just sometimes it's too hard to fight.

But what do you do when your dad is ashamed of you? What do you do when you're 16 and Anorexic, and told you're an embarrassment because you didn't eat much on holiday, that you showed him up in front of other holidaymakers by you lack of appetite? What do you do when he never visits you in hospital, or even sends a text? What do you do when you get mugged, drugged and end up in hospital as a result... and he still doesn't text you, to find out if you're ok? What do you do when the only communication he sends you is to tell you not to talk to your 14 year old step-sister, because she's asking questions about eating disorders? When he'll protect her from knowledge of its existence in your life, when nobody was protecting you from the disease itself, when you were little more than half her age? When he tells you not to be open about your fight, because of what people might think? Seriously, what do you do when your dad is ashamed of you?

I know this sounds melodramatic, but it's not just the facebook thing. It's so much. And I'm so hurt.

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