My truth is inevitable. I’ve tried to mute it, make it so that I’m not accused of being a disrespectful daughter. Caasi. But now I see, after a lifetime of heavy sacrifices and trying my best to keep you happy to no avail, I see that whatever you’re battling it aint my fight. If I’m such an atrocity, a disappointment, then sign me off as a misfortune to just accept in dejection. Like a hurricane that destroys everything. What will you do? Fight the hurricane? You know you can’t so you just take a deep breath of the debris and gather your belongings. Consider me the same and be well with your life.
I’m sorry that I wasn’t what y’all were expecting. I came in with a fiery spirit and I’ve been snuffing it out all my life. It’s no coincidence that I’ve been depressed since I was 8. Even before the breakdown I had when I was 16. That was just the eruption of a volcano that had been active for quite a while. All I remember after the age of 6 is grey skies. Grey clouds, fog, chilly October weather, wet socks, cold hands, brutal wind, muddy puddles.I did that for you, to not inconvenience you and not only did my well-being or rather the lack thereof go by unnoticed, uncared for, but I was punished and shamed for not amounting to the insane standards cooked up totally detached from empathy or love. As if raising kids was like running a sweatshop. Churning out results and keeping things aligned with your vision trumped the emotional and mental needs I had. Somehow, becoming what you wanted me to become would fulfill me?
I can’t understand it, and I’ve spent too long trying to. I realize it was all lies. Self-deception you tried to force on me. And I ran with it, eager to amount to anything worthy of love in your eyes, but instead it ran me into the ground. Like concrete. But hey, I bloomed through that hard surface, gentle and vulnerable. Like the poem Tupac wrote, the rose that grew from concrete.