shitpost hell of an eldest daughter

tumblr, the one place i can be manic without consequence // she/her

[eldestdaughterburner]

my throat is being scalded by all the grief anger i have for the dad man you used to be.

i want to shake you, scream at you, embrace you, until you remember that the enemy is the rich one trying to rip your freedom from your hands—not the people who look and vote the same way as your daughter.

i choke the memory of you words back down because even love reason has not swayed you.

[eldestdaughterburner]

she used to be quite strong for her size.

all five feet and two inches of her

wrangling four kids like we’d vanish if she didn’t.

strength born from necessity,

or maybe repetition—

how else was she to protect and guide and teach,

other than to lift chubby children

the way others lift for sport?

necessity faded, though,

taking with it her iron grip and corded shoulders.

we grew with all her gifted strength,

and now, i hold my mother’s hand

as i listen to her cry like a little girl.

[eldestdaughterburner]

i visit home

dishes are stacking, windows are smudged, the fridge exhales a pungent aroma upon opening.

it’s not my house, but it costs me something to pretend not to see The Mess.

so my fingers grow pruny from the dampness of the rag and my nostrils burn from the bleach fumes—

it’s all i can offer in place of my aching love.

[eldestdaughterburner]

ik this is like a cringe angst acc….

but i was on the phone with my dad today, and i laughingly held up the speaker to my cat when he was purring asking “can you hear that? he’s so loud” and my dad just chuckled and said “yeah, he is really loud,” and in the moment it didn’t seem like a big deal or anything. but an hour later i’m standing over the sink brushing my teeth and it just hits me with such brutal and breathtaking clarity that such a silly little moment almost never came to be.

i realized, with all the emotion of my raw, hurting seventeen-year-old self—together with my twenty-five year old steadiness—that i almost cost my dad years of laughter, decades of warm hugs, and a lifetime of silly little phone calls because, in the depths of my despair, i didn’t think that my life would make a difference to him.

i’ve only seen my dad cry once, when he was telling me and my siblings how proud he was of us. and that one time was more than enough to prove to me that my death would have devastated him to a degree he probably never would have recovered from.

i almost did that to him.

please don’t mistake me. this isn’t to agree with any of the bullshit arguments that say “oh it’s selfish to consider or commit s*icide.” and in no way do i think we should ever uphold such a callous mentality.

but i just….fuck. like it just hit me how blinding and vicious depression can really be. in the midst of it, i never thought anyone would want me around—i thought i’d be doing them a favor. now? i know how much of a lie that is.

your depression lies to you. please, please don’t listen to it. because sometime later, years or maybe just weeks down the road, you’ll realize it was stealing your future right out from under you. please fight for your future, even if it’s a fight against yourself.

[eldestdaughterburner]

since i’ve gotten older and learned better coping skills, my depression is less “i can’t take this life anymore, please let me disappear” and more “oh look at those cute cows in that pretty field! what i wouldn’t give to be a cute cow in a pretty field”

[eldestdaughterburner]

y’all ever just want to like…..go fucking nuts? just go absolutely, bloody stupid for five or ten minutes?? just to see if it puts everything back into perspective?

[eldestdaughterburner]

passing the time filling my notes app with bad poetry and taking inventory of the blue of my veins instead of doing any of the things that actually need to get done

it’ll all make sense, one day.

[eldestdaughterburner]

i wish the burden of healing generational trauma didn’t fall on me

but i would much rather be the one to bear the weight than let it fall once more to my own children—the way my ancestors so often did before me

[eldestdaughterburner]

shall i melt myself down so that you may forge a cup to drink from?

shall you take a sip, declare it not to your tastes, then leave the imprint of my soul half-empty on the kitchen counter?

shall i grow rusted and cold, waiting for a chance to prove myself just as worthy as the cup you bought from the store?

and is it stupid of me to want your approval even when i was made by your very own hands—even when i had no choice in how i was designed?

[eldestdaughterburner]

as the oldest daughter of an immigrant family, i grew up in a caregiver sort of role to my siblings—and now, as an adult—even to my own mother.

but it’s bizarre.

because my parents, while imperfect, never truly pushed me to be that. i don’t even think they particularly expected me to be that. and yet, i grew into that position all the same.

how much of it is just me and how much of it is some other outside force that coaxed a little girl into shoes too big for her?

i’m a big girl now, but the shoes still don’t really fit right.

[lettersofanoldpoet]

I actually think eldest daughters should be allowed at least one instance in their entire lives to just completely lose their shit

[pain-is-my-game]

It's terrible knowing that if I ever show sadness or show anything emotion that's not positive towards anything whether it's my fault or not I'll either get blamed for it or told that my emotions are irrational.

[eldestdaughterburner]

when did “needed” become “wanted” become “loved”