...since I last posted here. Of my almost-gone summer holidays, I spent three weeks in London, and the visit was not as happy as I remembered my last two. Still, it was far more pleasant than remaining home, and just a little bit refreshing. After my first week there I started to feel lonely again, the pain returned, and I had some quite poetic thoughts, which I didn't write down. I bought a notebook just for that use and made just one entry of two and a half pages, which I shall rewrite here some time soon. Most of the time I felt really down, and most of the time I did not have strength to pick up a pen and let all those feelings out. However, I spent only five (of 20 nights there) crying myself to sleep, so I count that one as a progress.
I spent most of my time there literally biding time till it was late enough to go back home, visiting a couple of museums I already saw, strolling through places I strolled a dozen times before, and thinking about what to do next. I went window-shopping for books, since I couldn't buy the lot of them - my suitcase would be way to heavy. However I bought a book called London's strangest tales, London pocket companion, and one trilogy by Trudi Canavan (that one I bought on the airport, on my way home). I did not read much there though.
Since I came back, I spent a week at my father's, which was a waste of time, seeing that I don't think I'll ever forgive him. It took me a lot of time to be able to write about that one - it was supposed to be a happy day, me finally getting my degree, and celebrating in accordingly fashion - but it turned out to be the worst day of my life.
First, I did not get enough sleep, day before the ceremony I had oral exam in defending my final work, and I had to clean my room and parts of our apartment till they were sparkling clean. My mother did not let me wash my hair (I was at the hairdressers two days before, but I felt I should do myself a new hair-do). I had to pay for a cab to drive me to a general rehearsal (my parents don't drive, nor do they own a car). There it was okay, even though we didn't have togas, or that caps. Our degrees were more of a certificates than degrees, and they were placed on our seats, leaving each of us to find it's own paper. After the rehearsal, my family came.
My father brought in a friend of my stepmother to drive them all there - pretty neat move, if you consider I did not invite my own aunt, uncle and cousin to the ceremony because we were told to not invite too many people. So I did not have my own family, but had a total stranger as a guest.
My stepmothers niece was staying with them, so the child came as well. Can't objectively say nothing against, but I hate it.
I did not see my grandmother there, she found it wise to get lost in the crowd.
I did not get any flowers from them, just a ugly little "bouquet" made of some colour paper and some pink marbles.
After the ceremony, noone stuck to take pictures, or congratulate me. Everyone except my mother packed themselves in the car and went home.
She did not congratulate me as well.
She would have went home, if there was enough place in the car.
When two of us got home, taking the cab again - this time I didn't pay, we found out that stepmother's friend was making herself comfortable. She was there when rest of my family came, and I could see them wandering why in the world did I not invite them to the ceremony, but I invited her. Hate it! Hate!
After she left, and everyone had lunch, "fun" started. Everyone started drinking, my father excessively. Even though I strolled between my room, where the stepmother's niece and my cousin were playing and watching photos, and living room, where everyone else was stationed, he made me jump every five minutes filling his cup with more wine.
When he and my mother were sufficiently drunk they found it appropriate to tell the tale how 10 years ago, in sixth grade of primary school I lied to them about me learning history lessons, and receiving F in class. Then they moved on about how I was lazy as hell, and how I would never ever get anywhere if they didn't make me study.
I let it go, heard it too much times before. It hurt just as bad, perhaps even more on that day, but I wasn't going to put a fight with two drunken bastards who just happen to like minimizing my academic success just because they don't have their own.
I turned to talk to my uncles, about how difficult it was, especially this last semester, when my father overheard that and started rambling how I just whine how it's difficult, how I never want to get down to work, and how I should went to a trading school when they were trying to make me do that (which was after I rolled in the best high school in town, only to passed first grade with mostly B grades - which they found as enough evidence that I was too stupid to finish that school).
In no time my mother joined in, and the rambling continued. Tales of me lazy, me stupid, me whining, me incompetent to do anything right, me stupid, stupid stupid. stupid and lazy.
Even my uncle, with whom I have almost no personal contact and no close emotional ties, asked them how did they dare to say that on a day like that one.
Guest left at around 7 pm, I cried in my room till 4 am. Then I got the rest of my wine, took out my favourite skirt and my favourite t-shirt, drank a bit, and danced alone to the happiest music I could find on my computer. It did not help much, even though I stopped sobbing. It took me till 6 am. to find some peace of mind, stop crying and make myself to go to sleep.
I tried to talk to my mother the next day, said I felt that their little speech was really downgrading, and that even my uncle thought so, but she said I was oversensitive and I was imagining things. So I stopped talking to her to avoid some more pain.
I did not want to talk to my father when he called. It took him three days before he asked whether I was angry. I told him that I was furious, that I did not understand how did they have the dignity to tell me such things, and he said I was overreacting, that I was imagining things.
Then he called my mother, and she bought me juice and chips. I like food, I do, but there is nothing in the world to mend what they broke that day, and even the thought she could buy my feelings back with that is humiliating. Now they just ignore it.
Worst of all, they stick to me imagining things. They won't stop saying such ugly things in my face, and they will never admit that those things hurt me. They keep trashing my skull with sentences like: "oh, you are so sensitive", "you're imagining this", "you are overreacting" etc., and I sometimes wonder, do I really? Is it normal for one's parents to smash every bit of self confidence you have, to never support you, to never express their belief in you, to keep telling you, over and over and over again you are no good for things you chose, that you cannot make it, cannot do it, cannot achieve nothing?
And I have to relive each tear they caused me, have to remember I cried all night, have to remember all the nasty things they said to me, have to remind myself every day that it is not normal.
I spent most of my time there literally biding time till it was late enough to go back home, visiting a couple of museums I already saw, strolling through places I strolled a dozen times before, and thinking about what to do next. I went window-shopping for books, since I couldn't buy the lot of them - my suitcase would be way to heavy. However I bought a book called London's strangest tales, London pocket companion, and one trilogy by Trudi Canavan (that one I bought on the airport, on my way home). I did not read much there though.
Since I came back, I spent a week at my father's, which was a waste of time, seeing that I don't think I'll ever forgive him. It took me a lot of time to be able to write about that one - it was supposed to be a happy day, me finally getting my degree, and celebrating in accordingly fashion - but it turned out to be the worst day of my life.
First, I did not get enough sleep, day before the ceremony I had oral exam in defending my final work, and I had to clean my room and parts of our apartment till they were sparkling clean. My mother did not let me wash my hair (I was at the hairdressers two days before, but I felt I should do myself a new hair-do). I had to pay for a cab to drive me to a general rehearsal (my parents don't drive, nor do they own a car). There it was okay, even though we didn't have togas, or that caps. Our degrees were more of a certificates than degrees, and they were placed on our seats, leaving each of us to find it's own paper. After the rehearsal, my family came.
My father brought in a friend of my stepmother to drive them all there - pretty neat move, if you consider I did not invite my own aunt, uncle and cousin to the ceremony because we were told to not invite too many people. So I did not have my own family, but had a total stranger as a guest.
My stepmothers niece was staying with them, so the child came as well. Can't objectively say nothing against, but I hate it.
I did not see my grandmother there, she found it wise to get lost in the crowd.
I did not get any flowers from them, just a ugly little "bouquet" made of some colour paper and some pink marbles.
After the ceremony, noone stuck to take pictures, or congratulate me. Everyone except my mother packed themselves in the car and went home.
She did not congratulate me as well.
She would have went home, if there was enough place in the car.
When two of us got home, taking the cab again - this time I didn't pay, we found out that stepmother's friend was making herself comfortable. She was there when rest of my family came, and I could see them wandering why in the world did I not invite them to the ceremony, but I invited her. Hate it! Hate!
After she left, and everyone had lunch, "fun" started. Everyone started drinking, my father excessively. Even though I strolled between my room, where the stepmother's niece and my cousin were playing and watching photos, and living room, where everyone else was stationed, he made me jump every five minutes filling his cup with more wine.
When he and my mother were sufficiently drunk they found it appropriate to tell the tale how 10 years ago, in sixth grade of primary school I lied to them about me learning history lessons, and receiving F in class. Then they moved on about how I was lazy as hell, and how I would never ever get anywhere if they didn't make me study.
I let it go, heard it too much times before. It hurt just as bad, perhaps even more on that day, but I wasn't going to put a fight with two drunken bastards who just happen to like minimizing my academic success just because they don't have their own.
I turned to talk to my uncles, about how difficult it was, especially this last semester, when my father overheard that and started rambling how I just whine how it's difficult, how I never want to get down to work, and how I should went to a trading school when they were trying to make me do that (which was after I rolled in the best high school in town, only to passed first grade with mostly B grades - which they found as enough evidence that I was too stupid to finish that school).
In no time my mother joined in, and the rambling continued. Tales of me lazy, me stupid, me whining, me incompetent to do anything right, me stupid, stupid stupid. stupid and lazy.
Even my uncle, with whom I have almost no personal contact and no close emotional ties, asked them how did they dare to say that on a day like that one.
Guest left at around 7 pm, I cried in my room till 4 am. Then I got the rest of my wine, took out my favourite skirt and my favourite t-shirt, drank a bit, and danced alone to the happiest music I could find on my computer. It did not help much, even though I stopped sobbing. It took me till 6 am. to find some peace of mind, stop crying and make myself to go to sleep.
I tried to talk to my mother the next day, said I felt that their little speech was really downgrading, and that even my uncle thought so, but she said I was oversensitive and I was imagining things. So I stopped talking to her to avoid some more pain.
I did not want to talk to my father when he called. It took him three days before he asked whether I was angry. I told him that I was furious, that I did not understand how did they have the dignity to tell me such things, and he said I was overreacting, that I was imagining things.
Then he called my mother, and she bought me juice and chips. I like food, I do, but there is nothing in the world to mend what they broke that day, and even the thought she could buy my feelings back with that is humiliating. Now they just ignore it.
Worst of all, they stick to me imagining things. They won't stop saying such ugly things in my face, and they will never admit that those things hurt me. They keep trashing my skull with sentences like: "oh, you are so sensitive", "you're imagining this", "you are overreacting" etc., and I sometimes wonder, do I really? Is it normal for one's parents to smash every bit of self confidence you have, to never support you, to never express their belief in you, to keep telling you, over and over and over again you are no good for things you chose, that you cannot make it, cannot do it, cannot achieve nothing?
And I have to relive each tear they caused me, have to remember I cried all night, have to remember all the nasty things they said to me, have to remind myself every day that it is not normal.
