Well, it isn't actually "Day 1", but I have been rather busy with the crying and the drinking and I haven't really had a chance to blog about my stupid feelings.
First Love
It is as though I were a doll:
A shiny new Christmas toy.
Or a bright, red toy firetruck:
Cheap and badly made.
It's as if you gazed at me
With big, expectant Christmas-morning eyes;
Like I was the best thing you had ever owned.
It's as if I made you really happy,
Like I was a light in your life.
It's as if my toy sirens then stopped flashing.
Or my badly-made arm dropped off.
It's as if your excitement wore off
And Christmas day passed.
It's as if you looked down on my damaged form
And decided, mildly disappointed,
To throw me away
It is a helluva thing to be told that it's too difficult to love you(especially when you've had the nagging suspicion your whole life). To have actual confirmation from an outside, objective party that you cannot be loved. It isn't that my dad chose booze over me, it's just that it's too difficult to love me. And I'm sure it was close to impossible for my mother to find the strength within herself to constantly try to tear me down; but not as close to impossible as loving me is. Surprisingly, there is nothing on the internet on how to deal with this sort of news, no "Stages of finding out you truly are unworthy of love". Or maybe there is and I just haven't found it yet(I'm pretty lazy). Let's see if I can document it.
Hysterical laughter(Stage 1):
Granted, it may have been partly brought on by the bottle of wine I downed on a Monday afternoon, I still think it counts as a legitimate stage; partly because downing a bottle of wine of a Monday afternoon is perfectly natural response to this sort of thing and should count as some sort of "Stage 0", but also because the laughter remained long after the wine was gone. It may be caused by the relief of finally being proven right or it may be a reaction to the irony of that time in your life when you had hope(I'm a big fan of irony and for me, spending years trying to have hope when you are a fundamentally hopeless falls squarely into the "comic irony" basket). Do not be alarmed by the hysterical laughter, it is merely your brains way of protecting you from the severe emotional pain that will surely follow. Your brain protects you because while other people walk away from the emotional black hole that is you, you can't and so you need to find a way to live with it. Or whatever. Also, there may be some trembling
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