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|mudpiegrl (profile) wrote, |
on 4-7-2004 at 9:32pm
|Current mood: aggravated
Music: perfect circle- "disappear"
|they say hate is a powerful word. the same can be said of love. love is used to describe family, those who care for you and surround you in the same noun. it is used to explain relationships between those friends whom stand by your side in times of hardship, and for significant others throughout your lifetime whom squeeze all the pain away with their acceptance and tolerance.
if you asked a child to tell you what hate is, they would simply tell you that they hate the little boy who took his or her fruit snacks at lunch that day. if you ask a corporate manager, he would tell you he hates traffic and late employees. Ask a teenager, and you cannot begin to guess what one would say. some would tell of those who have permanatly damaged them, whether mentally, physically, or psychologically. Another may describe an incident in which trust was established and betrayed. But a definition one can never forget is that of childhood sculpting.
there are stories and movies frequently about a child who's been tossed between foster homes after being abandoned carelessly by birth parents (white oleander). Some grow up in the midst of drug addicted and/or dealing parents (blow; riding in cars with boys). those children and a few other cases, are those who grow up independent, worrying if other people are okay, because they know what it is like to be forgotten. they could survive in almost any situation. But so could other children.
Abuse shelters are common nowadays as a result of the abuse throughout american, and many other nations', homes. Not only verbal and bruising, but sexual as well. Women who stay in these homes have the option to leave, whether they allow themselves to believe it or not. Children, on the other hand, grow up esteemless, not knowing if the boundries are the same everywhere as they were at home. This is the most typical abuse and can often result in self destruction. Several of the psychological weaknesses stem from such abuses, although they do also begin with neglect.
walking into most houses for the first time, you couldnt point out the spot where the man knocked his wife to the floor, or discover evidence of a daughters struggle to restrain him from futher abuse. You couldn't discover the tiny shards of glass from angry fists. it'd be difficult to detect the signs of an uncles fingers unappropiatly on his neice when you lay down to sleep in that very same bed. the murder that occured in his sleep ten years ago is invisible to all who suggest such. the smell of alcohol and cocaine has been covered by deoderizing ingredients, and one would never know.
i cannot tell you that i have been raped, or sexually abused, because i havent. i couldnt really say i have been hit, although i have, but it's rare and only by arms weakened by drunken dizziness. and anyway, i have grown stronger. everyone has at one time or another been told they could not achieve what they would like, or been let down by a friend, and so i could tell you that it has happened to me.
but of the expiriences that i have, most things hurt, but strengthen. that "sticks and stones may break your bones", and so it is true, but they couldnt possibly break your heart. they would not destroy your sanity, only possibly your brains functions. "but words will never hurt you". The most untrue cliche i have ever heard. words not only begin and end wars, but they echo through houses where they begin a deterioration of ones developing brain.
i remember being about twelve years old and being so excited to tell my parents i wanted to be an actress, just like all the ones i saw on TV. my mother smiled and told me it was a good aspiration...but i knew she didnt really notice what i had suggested with enthusiasm, because her eyes had not left the screen of the tv, and her hand remained on her cigarette. i chattered on for a minute, just as any talkative child would, and her hand would raise, with puffs of smoke escaping her young, but wrinkled lips. Her hand would change frequently to the fat yellow plastic cup in which sat two ice cubes and cheap wine from a box.
Upon telling my dad the same yearning, he replied, "oh, wonderful, my daughters going to end up on a street corner". He brought down all my dreams though, which was a lot for someone who was rarely home. i told him of my dog bisquit business, which actually did succeed for a month, and he told me i was being ridiculous.
my mother had always been a mother, which is more than some can say. whether she was a good mother or not is up to one's own discretion. She was not the type to sled with me and the only memory i have of her playing with me is when she taught me to ride a bike, which ended in her talking to the neighbour and me teaching myself. Independence.
My father's participation in my life was more so than my brother's i suppose, but less joyful. He was a race car driver in both of our younger lives and although he rarely saw him, was kind to my brother. i was too young to remember most of the life, but appeared at the track frequently as well. he began his own business, which allowed him to come home at seven or so. life was never good with my dad. He played the good guy. he'd make the same complaints about my mum as i would have, and i didnt see much of the bad side of him...until one particular day, in which i realised my dad wasnt a sweet guy. my brother hugged me in his room, trying to protect me from the screaming and harm that came to either parent. it became something to me and to my mother once my brother moved out. his distructive words always told us we would amount to nothing, although he knew only the biggest happenings in our lives. our success is all that he would care about achieving, and our failures or lack of success would make him ballistic. he told me recently "i'm not listening to you until you get your grades up" he deemed my speech unintellegent unless homework proved me so. i replied that i, too, would not listen to him until he made more money, because as my effort was not enough for him, his sighs and complaints of troubles at the shop did not qualify for success. honestly, i didnt really care, but the perspective is what i was going for.
one thing i have learned from a negative society is that no matter how many compliments are issued, the horrible failures stay in your mind. your own failures are not as destructive as those who you love's ability to point them out in the most hurtful ways.
All pain is significant in our lives. it determines how the straight line is bent to get to our destinations. it molds our personalities into something that others can relate to, no matter the reason. sadly, the thing that manages companionship also derives from it.
neils supposed to come over.
i miss him.
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I try not to use those two powerful words with my dad, hate and love. It's more of a toleration.