#farzpost vent

[boyfeel]

real tired of the "i need to keep my online friends alive" game especially when it's been going on for more than a decade now and nobody has returned the favor. <- partly because i know better than to put someone through that. but we don't say that last part out loud.

[boyfeel]

i dont think this house ever felt like home. i look around and everything is completely unfamiliar. my mother doesnt even look at me like i'm the same kid anymore. it's entirely fair on her part, i don't feel like the same person anymore either. my bedroom used to feel so huge, and now i feel like i barely fit inside. everything is foreign. i scrape against the sides of the box they put me in and it numbs me. i look at all of the things strewn about. all of the items i've lovingly collected over the years. all of the little pieces of history i've catalogued. and i feel nothing. nothing at all.

[boyfeel]

people so often describe their mothers or motherly figures as "soft" or "warm" but it's still so difficult for me to believe that a person in that position in your life is supposed to be that way. my mother isn't a kind person. she's not soft. she's coldhearted. she's cut and dry. she'll tell you that she's "brutally honest", and that's true- she's honest in the way that'll cut through you like cold wind when you're wearing a poorly knit sweater. my mother doesn't think before she says things. and after she does say things, she often forgets (or "forgets" them) within minutes. she's smart enough to not hit me, but she expresses frequently that she wants to, even if she doesn't, and even if she says she's only joking. i can see in her eyes that she isn't because i've known her for twenty years. you get to know a person in two decades. you get to know how their brain works. she's high out of her mind half the time she's around me these days. when she's not, it's when she's just gotten home from work, and so she's word-vomiting and venting and ranting to me about how she just fucking hates all of the teenagers she works with- those same teenagers that she later tells me i "remind her so much of". i don't even know what to say. i don't know when, or if, i'll ever escape her. it feels like she just has a death grip on me. even if i don't die in this house, if i make it out alive, if i one day move out and go no-contact, i worry that her grip on me will continue until i die anywhere else. i'm afraid of becoming my mother. i can't become my mother. either one of us can die. i don't care. death just feels like it's the only conclusion. it's either me or her. i just hope something ends soon.

[boyfeel]

it feels like my chest and stomach were hollowed out. i'm gonna die in this house. i don't wanna die in this house.