my biggest fear

is that no one will ever care.

No one will ever see
or hear
my fears
my tears
my pain
my terror

at being so alone
for so long.

With nobody to EVER catch me when I fall,
to help me put things back together again,
to even fucking NOTICE when I'm hurting
or ashamed
or frightened

They turn away from me
constantly
shun me
as if I am something too horrific to be borne.

A monster,
a freak,
something that belongs in a circus
because of my unwillingness to

(cut and pasted the rest from a Word doc - had to bail from Blogger 'cause it kept locking up on me)

because I am unwilling to conform, to submit,
to their culture of silence.

So they shun me, they shut me out, even though I’m sitting right there with them, in the same room, at the same table, maybe even engaged in a conversation.

They shut me out because – why? I do not know.

Is it too hard?
Too frightening?

What are they scared of?

Are they simply greedy, lazy, selfish, stupid? All of the above?

I just don’t get it. I assume that if I were actually bleeding to death, they might stop to help me. I would hope. But I’m not so sure.

My uncle is dying, and I don’t care.

I feel nothing.

It is as if all those years of feeling too much were a kind of emotional ‘cry wolf,’ and now the machine is broken, it doesn’t work any more, there’s no more sympathy, or empathy, or compassion left for anybody but ME. If they won’t give me any, then I’ll have to fucking do it myself.

And right now? At this moment? It’s taking every fucking ounce of strength I’ve got just to get through each day, one day at a time. I have to carefully construct every hour, every event has to be carefully strategized so that I don’t somehow use up my tiny scraps of energy before the main event. Some days I have to choose between eating and taking a shower, because it’s too much trouble to cook, even to wash a can so that I can have a can of soup. Even washing the spoon is too much trouble – I’ll boil a kettle of water, then pour it over the dishes, and wipe them with some paper towels, and hope for the best.

I have dropped to many of the stones of my life’s meaning into that bottomless well of silence, hearing no echo, no sound in return to show that I was fucking HEARD, at any point whatsoever. They think that silence is a fucking VIRTUE.

Well, FUCK them. They can all go to hell.
****
My only option these days is to shut them all out, cut them off. Just as they have done with me my whole life.

How can you live with people who can’t SEE or HEAR you, who act as if you’re COMPLETELY FUCKING INVISIBLE?

And how the fucking HELL are you supposed to survive two parents who are so utterly, totally, COMPLETELY fucking CLUELESS? I mean, why didn’t they just fucking let me play on the FREEWAY while they were at it? If they hated me that bad, if I was that much of a fucking NUISANCE to them, then why the HELL did they keep me around?
****
Right now I am terrified of getting some kind of cancer – of my reproductive organs. I’m having all these weird sensations in my bladder area, and my periods have started again, but have gotten heavier. And now I’m having spotty bleeding in between, which I haven’t had since I was on the pill 20 years ago.

I’m afraid to talk to a doctor about it (I don’t have health insurance) – it seems like they’ll tell you anything to get you to go away and leave them alone. They don’t want to have to address your fears and concerns as if they’re real and valid, any more than your family did.
****
I want to move on.

I want to find people, NOW, who know how to fucking CARE about each other.

Not in this touchy-feely, woo-woo bullshit way, but in real, solid, tangible ways. Like an actual hug now and then, for fuck’s sake. That isn’t about fucking SEX. Like, concern. Caring, you know? Is that really such an impossibly difficult concept???
****
A culture that pays attention to all the wrong things, and doesn’t give a shit about any of the things that actually matter.
****
I feel as if my father has poisoned me – as if he passed on his cancer to me. As if I took it on – all the pain for the entire family, like this kind of – shunt, or conduit, or some kind of device that is meant to handle the overflow when there’s just too much.

But I can’t do it any more. My system is worn out. No one human is ever meant to process, single-handedly, the kind of pain a family can dish out and accumulate.

They want me to heal them, to take care of them, to make it better, like I always did.

Well, I won’t. They’re on their own now. I am no longer a dumping ground for their
****