So embracing what I cannot change is not exactly going well. Depression, obsession, insecurity, weariness are speaking much louder. My enamel has worn down and every comment pierces me like ice cream on an exposed nerve. Today was “I can’t follow you around cleaning up after you all the time” I guess my perception is skewed as I had thought the opposite. It makes me think of Superman. There was this small imp-like villain named Mr. Mxyzptlk. Superman would have to trick him into saying his name backwards to send him back to the fifth dimension, maybe I belong in the fifth dimension.
The words of a lifetime keep rolling in my head bouncing into each other, joining together in a brutal reality. The protective shell eroded no fluoride, no mother to cover the cracks, no knitted hats of explanation.
It is what it is, stark, ugly, and old. A useless irritating cog that has to be dealt with a burden, responsibility with no positive returns. Trying to appease, to bring something of value, a contribution, a unique gift of validation has become exhausting. This only multiplies the irritation my efforts bring.
When I was stronger I could battle against the verbiage of moron, worthless, unnecessary, clumsy, deaf, retarded, wasteful, ridiculous, dramatic, and always crazy, crazy, crazy…
I think of a daily greeting of my father’s, “Shit, I woke up”
To circumvent a depressive monologue I would cheerfully recount all his accomplishments and what his life means to me.
He would look at me with his rheumy eyes, and say “I see Peckerhead is still on the news. I hate Peckerhead!” ignoring everything I had said.
Pointless to continue expounding on his merits , I hum and clap, out of tune, against the beat, as he sings his Ode to Peckerhead.
Feeling better now, reminiscing about my father's bleakness makes me want to jump out of the slop bucket.
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