This internship is profoundly changing my life. I keep trying to focus on that every time I get upset about petty things. People being mad at me, stress, things that don’t matter.
You know what does matter? This matters. This story matters. And what kills me is that so many people deny it. It should be illegal in more than just 16 countries. I don’t care how many people would say it defies the First Amendment. Tell me something more racist, more insulting, more anti-semitic than Holocaust denial?
For the first time in my life I truly feel like I’m making a difference. As I said before, this internship is profoundly changing my life.
“I just showed you my butthole.”
“… Everyone has one.”
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning ——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via anyoneinthesun)
I feel like I need to write this down before I lose my train of thought. My thoughts are so highly unorganized it’s impossible to synthesize them into any sort of uniformed entity.
The excessive amount of guilt I feel for being frustrated with my parents is overwhelming. I’m just so tired of being dismissed. They can’t seem to wrap their head around the fact that I may have issues. It’s like… I make good grades and I never get in trouble, therefore my life is normal. Therefore I am normal. Therefore there are no problems. I feel petty for admitting there are. I feel immature for attributing many of my problems to them. I feel selfish and I feel guilt. They can’t see this. They can’t seem to understand. They can’t seem to ween themselves out of their own selfishness. What’s even more frustrating is they can’t even notice how selfish they are. What’s frustrating is the amount of guilt I feel for calling them selfish. What’s frustrating to me is their black and white thought pattern. A+B=C. They don’t see the shades of gray.
When I told them I was going to go talk to someone about my problems their concern was not for me, but for themselves. At least that’s how I felt. My father was upset because he felt responsible for me wanting to talk to someone. My mother was upset because she thought/knew she would be mentioned in these sessions, and this person whom I talk to that she will never know, this person’s opinion of her was more important than the fact that I needed to talk. And we’re back to square one again. There was no questioning and discussion about what I was going through, but simply how me going to talk to someone related back to them. They first thought about themselves. Is is selfish for wanting their thoughts to be on me?
Stop. Stop it. Think about me for one second. I know you both do to an extent, as you are my parents, but for once allow me to be a child. I feel as if I never was. I can’t remember what being a child was like. I was forced to grow up so quickly. My needs of safety and satisfaction became my own responsibility at such a young age. Will I ever have the chance to just be a child? No. I’m 20. It’s too late for that.
It frustrates me when my mother tries to tell me I’m rushing through life and that’s my problem. Did it occur that I’m rushing through life because I was forced to, because I was pushed to? I need you both to listen sometimes because I feel like you don’t. I feel dismissed. I don’t feel noticed. If I start acting out will you notice me?
I need someone to hold me together so I don’t fall apart. And the guilt is overwhelming again. I feel guilty for writing these things. For thinking these things. I feel so overcome by it. I want this feeling to stop. Sometimes I wish I could just breathe. I wish I could just clear my head. But there are so many thoughts. There is never just a moment of silence. Not even when I sleep. I feel so selfish.
Maybe this is why I feel so undeserving of things. I can’t bring myself to ever think about myself because I just feel so selfish and guilty anytime I do. I want to be able to do what’s good for me and I want to not feel bad for that. I want to be understood.
Do I have your attention now?
I’m so distracted. Please don’t judge me. I’m critical enough of myself.