Bad news abounds.
These last few weeks have been a disaster, to say the least.
My most frequently used phrase during this time seems to be "What happened now?"
Today, in order to just... not think at all, I decided to watch movies.
Good movies (Almodóvar's "Hable con Ella"-- Talk to Her. I didn't think I could feel bad for a rapist, but I was proven wrong), terrible movies ("The Crazies." I thought it'd be better), and then the occasional amazing movie (Good Will Hunting).
The latter, really messed with me. I had only watched it one other time, when it first came out when I was in middle school. It became an instant favorite for me then, but now... ufff! I adore it!
The "It's not your fault" scene... yeah... memories flooded my mind, and just like with the Camus book, I remembered why at such a young age, it resonated with me.
It's not that I ever dealt with such terrible physical abuse as a kid (belt, stick, or a wrench? I never had a choice. It was "la negrita"--the name of the belt-- each and every time). I did get the backhand that cut my lip open, there was that one time Mom hit me so hard with the belt that I had the cacti and burro designs from the belt perfectly bruised on my butt for about a week (honestly the worst beating I received in my life, and I can't even remember the reason for it)... and then there was the time my grandpa hit me, my siblings, and two of my cousins with a whip because we were accidentally stepping on his chile plants one day he was in a really bad mood (his reaction didn't help in getting us off the stupid plants, since it made all of us freeze in fear/shock).
BUT, I do have my own demons... and if anyone were to ever continuously stress that "it wasn't your fault," I'd crack like poor Will.
As a kid (even now as an adult), I yearned for that understanding. In the back of my mind, I always knew it wasn't my fault, but there's always that tiny bit of doubt floating around... thinking "Well... maybe if I wouldn't have gotten in that truck?" "Maybe if I hadn't been so trusting and naive?" "Maybe... if I wouldn't have been so quiet?"
I remember telling Mom about a certain painful past experience of abuse--not at her hands-- and I really was expecting her to hug me and tell me it wasn't my fault, but instead, she flipped and told me I was "an idiot."
So now, instead of telling people what my deal is, I just stay mum and hope they dismiss me as "weird."
Also, like Will, I do that thing where I push people away when I feel they're getting too close. I've always done that. Push before you get too attached and they leave you in a world of pain.
Because everybody leaves.
Result is me living like a nun at the age of 26. Good job, imbecile.
Then we have the whole college thing... the being smart thing and "throwing it away." No, I definitely don't think I'm a genius, far from it, but math and science always came somewhat easily to me (for a girl who rarely read her assignments, I could have been considered slight genius material). Mom always wanted to enter one of these fields as a kid (now SHE was gifted) but Machismo kept her from going further than 6th grade... so she wanted to live her dream vicariously through me. I'm so sorry, Mom... I tried, I really did... but it was killing me.
That ever-present sense of remorse for leaving the science field reared its ugly head and gave me a nice "YA SEE, YA IDIOT?!" beating.
Needless to say, my attempt at "not thinking" failed. In fact, I found myself crying by five in the afternoon.
I HATE THIS.
Can someone just drop by my house and shake me violently, real quick? I need to get back to normal. That infamous wedding is in less than two weeks, the bachelorette is in four days... and if this attitude persists, I'm going to go hanging over Hoover Dam in no time.
These last few weeks have been a disaster, to say the least.
My most frequently used phrase during this time seems to be "What happened now?"
Today, in order to just... not think at all, I decided to watch movies.
Good movies (Almodóvar's "Hable con Ella"-- Talk to Her. I didn't think I could feel bad for a rapist, but I was proven wrong), terrible movies ("The Crazies." I thought it'd be better), and then the occasional amazing movie (Good Will Hunting).
The latter, really messed with me. I had only watched it one other time, when it first came out when I was in middle school. It became an instant favorite for me then, but now... ufff! I adore it!
The "It's not your fault" scene... yeah... memories flooded my mind, and just like with the Camus book, I remembered why at such a young age, it resonated with me.
It's not that I ever dealt with such terrible physical abuse as a kid (belt, stick, or a wrench? I never had a choice. It was "la negrita"--the name of the belt-- each and every time). I did get the backhand that cut my lip open, there was that one time Mom hit me so hard with the belt that I had the cacti and burro designs from the belt perfectly bruised on my butt for about a week (honestly the worst beating I received in my life, and I can't even remember the reason for it)... and then there was the time my grandpa hit me, my siblings, and two of my cousins with a whip because we were accidentally stepping on his chile plants one day he was in a really bad mood (his reaction didn't help in getting us off the stupid plants, since it made all of us freeze in fear/shock).
BUT, I do have my own demons... and if anyone were to ever continuously stress that "it wasn't your fault," I'd crack like poor Will.
As a kid (even now as an adult), I yearned for that understanding. In the back of my mind, I always knew it wasn't my fault, but there's always that tiny bit of doubt floating around... thinking "Well... maybe if I wouldn't have gotten in that truck?" "Maybe if I hadn't been so trusting and naive?" "Maybe... if I wouldn't have been so quiet?"
I remember telling Mom about a certain painful past experience of abuse--not at her hands-- and I really was expecting her to hug me and tell me it wasn't my fault, but instead, she flipped and told me I was "an idiot."
So now, instead of telling people what my deal is, I just stay mum and hope they dismiss me as "weird."
Also, like Will, I do that thing where I push people away when I feel they're getting too close. I've always done that. Push before you get too attached and they leave you in a world of pain.
Because everybody leaves.
Result is me living like a nun at the age of 26. Good job, imbecile.
Then we have the whole college thing... the being smart thing and "throwing it away." No, I definitely don't think I'm a genius, far from it, but math and science always came somewhat easily to me (for a girl who rarely read her assignments, I could have been considered slight genius material). Mom always wanted to enter one of these fields as a kid (now SHE was gifted) but Machismo kept her from going further than 6th grade... so she wanted to live her dream vicariously through me. I'm so sorry, Mom... I tried, I really did... but it was killing me.
That ever-present sense of remorse for leaving the science field reared its ugly head and gave me a nice "YA SEE, YA IDIOT?!" beating.
Needless to say, my attempt at "not thinking" failed. In fact, I found myself crying by five in the afternoon.
I HATE THIS.
Can someone just drop by my house and shake me violently, real quick? I need to get back to normal. That infamous wedding is in less than two weeks, the bachelorette is in four days... and if this attitude persists, I'm going to go hanging over Hoover Dam in no time.
2 comments:
If you need to go somewhere do something, let me know. I'm sorry :(
It's ok, I wouldn't like rubbing off any of my moodiness on you. thank you, though.
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