I hope you guys don' mind but I've been needing to get it out for a bit and this is the only place that really seems to have an interest in what I say. I apologize to those who have heard this little bit of intro before... I think my question needs it though to get an honest answer...
Anyway, I just need to... explain it, a bit, I guess, and maybe get your opinion on if I'm right or wrong to do what I think I want to do. Please bear with me... I will probably go all over the place but it'll come to a point.
My parents first kid, my brother, was their life. I only heard some stories of what they were like before, but I don't know. I've never seen them happy so it's hard for me to picture them like the "All American family" but that's the picture I was painted. Surely by the photographs it's true. Matthew was everything they wanted - He was the big, blonde, blue eyed athlete that every father wanted and every mother adores. You know, perfection. Until the day he killed himself drinking and driving. Then they went from their wonderful life to despair and worlds of drugs.
Until, years later, they decide that they want to try again. Now I come into the picture. I don't know exactly when, but I know they started to realise soon that I wasn't the big, athletic all american perfect son they wanted. I was small and shrimpy and quiet and rather read a book then throw a football. I tried, fresia knows I tried to be what they wanted but I never could. Because they never did want another son. They just wanted Matthew back and I was the biggest disappointment of their life. Not only was I their failure, but I reminded them everyday of what they would never have again.
The older I got the more they took it out on me. l can't tell you how many stairs I fell down or bookshelves I walked into or ran with scissors or... I was always being compared. "Matthew would have been able..." "Matthew could have done it." "If you were Matthew..." There was nothing I did that Matthew wasn't involved in and he was dead five years before I was born. They would get so ******* mad because I didn't grieve with them, that I didn't worship him. They celebrated his birthday every year, but I've never gotten a gift or a card or even a happy birthday from either one of them. Truth was, I began to hate him. I hated this ******* brother I had, even though I never met him because he ruined my life. I guess I still feel some resentment towards him but I know he had nothing to do with it. I don't really feel anything at all. He was just a person who died before I was born.
Things just kept getting worse. And worse. Worse yet when I started to fight back. I don't know which was worse - getting beat by him or knowing she was watching or watching her watch as I struggled or tried to stop bleeding. I guess they both did. I guess they both did, just in different ways.
It never mattered what I did or tried to do, I was never good enough. I would make her presents for mothers day or spend so long trying to throw a ball right my arm would be burning but all I ever got was that she wished she was never my mother and I might as well throw myself off a bridge if that's as good as I was ever going to get.
So it wasn't nice, my childhood. If you could call it that. I left when I was 15... Well, I got kicked out at 14, came and went a bit, ended up working away from home with a gentleman. Went back a few months later and they had rented the house out while it was for sale. They didn't leave a note, an address, nothing. Just up and left. I have no idea where. I haven't spoke with them since I was 15 - that's six years ago. Six and a half, I guess.
And I don't know what's wrong with me but for some ******* reason I just can't seem to get them out of my head. I don't know what I did wrong so I don't know how to change it but I just want to so ******* bad for them to be able to forgive me for whatever it was that I couldn't do. I just want to know what it's like to be hugged by a Mom and to know what it feels like to hear a parent say 'I love you' and to know what the feeling is like when you know that you're the reason they are smiling.
I know it's all stupid because it's too late for me. I guess I would just settle for acceptance. Maybe a chance.
I know someone who can find them and I've been tossing the idea around in my head of just going and knocking and seeing what happens. Maybe the break away was good for us. Maybe it was what they needed.
But a part of me feels like it could be such a devastating idea. Because I don't know that I could handle it all thrown at me again if it turns out the way that I'm pretty sure it will. And I have no ******* clue where I even started to get these stupid fantasies in my head.
So I just need someone to tell me that I'm stupid. Tell me to it's a horrible idea and let sleeping dogs lie. Because I'm sure it would be, wouldn't it?
Anyway, I just need to... explain it, a bit, I guess, and maybe get your opinion on if I'm right or wrong to do what I think I want to do. Please bear with me... I will probably go all over the place but it'll come to a point.
My parents first kid, my brother, was their life. I only heard some stories of what they were like before, but I don't know. I've never seen them happy so it's hard for me to picture them like the "All American family" but that's the picture I was painted. Surely by the photographs it's true. Matthew was everything they wanted - He was the big, blonde, blue eyed athlete that every father wanted and every mother adores. You know, perfection. Until the day he killed himself drinking and driving. Then they went from their wonderful life to despair and worlds of drugs.
Until, years later, they decide that they want to try again. Now I come into the picture. I don't know exactly when, but I know they started to realise soon that I wasn't the big, athletic all american perfect son they wanted. I was small and shrimpy and quiet and rather read a book then throw a football. I tried, fresia knows I tried to be what they wanted but I never could. Because they never did want another son. They just wanted Matthew back and I was the biggest disappointment of their life. Not only was I their failure, but I reminded them everyday of what they would never have again.
The older I got the more they took it out on me. l can't tell you how many stairs I fell down or bookshelves I walked into or ran with scissors or... I was always being compared. "Matthew would have been able..." "Matthew could have done it." "If you were Matthew..." There was nothing I did that Matthew wasn't involved in and he was dead five years before I was born. They would get so ******* mad because I didn't grieve with them, that I didn't worship him. They celebrated his birthday every year, but I've never gotten a gift or a card or even a happy birthday from either one of them. Truth was, I began to hate him. I hated this ******* brother I had, even though I never met him because he ruined my life. I guess I still feel some resentment towards him but I know he had nothing to do with it. I don't really feel anything at all. He was just a person who died before I was born.
Things just kept getting worse. And worse. Worse yet when I started to fight back. I don't know which was worse - getting beat by him or knowing she was watching or watching her watch as I struggled or tried to stop bleeding. I guess they both did. I guess they both did, just in different ways.
It never mattered what I did or tried to do, I was never good enough. I would make her presents for mothers day or spend so long trying to throw a ball right my arm would be burning but all I ever got was that she wished she was never my mother and I might as well throw myself off a bridge if that's as good as I was ever going to get.
So it wasn't nice, my childhood. If you could call it that. I left when I was 15... Well, I got kicked out at 14, came and went a bit, ended up working away from home with a gentleman. Went back a few months later and they had rented the house out while it was for sale. They didn't leave a note, an address, nothing. Just up and left. I have no idea where. I haven't spoke with them since I was 15 - that's six years ago. Six and a half, I guess.
And I don't know what's wrong with me but for some ******* reason I just can't seem to get them out of my head. I don't know what I did wrong so I don't know how to change it but I just want to so ******* bad for them to be able to forgive me for whatever it was that I couldn't do. I just want to know what it's like to be hugged by a Mom and to know what it feels like to hear a parent say 'I love you' and to know what the feeling is like when you know that you're the reason they are smiling.
I know it's all stupid because it's too late for me. I guess I would just settle for acceptance. Maybe a chance.
I know someone who can find them and I've been tossing the idea around in my head of just going and knocking and seeing what happens. Maybe the break away was good for us. Maybe it was what they needed.
But a part of me feels like it could be such a devastating idea. Because I don't know that I could handle it all thrown at me again if it turns out the way that I'm pretty sure it will. And I have no ******* clue where I even started to get these stupid fantasies in my head.
So I just need someone to tell me that I'm stupid. Tell me to it's a horrible idea and let sleeping dogs lie. Because I'm sure it would be, wouldn't it?