seventeen: unususal

y’know what? i think i like this word.

i don’t feel like it’s used all that often in daily conversation, but i like it. i like unusual things. i like unusual people. i would be pleased to be thought of, or referred to, as being unusual. not usual, un-usual? yeah. i like that. who wants to be common? not this chick.

okay, so just after i wrote what i did up there, i did something stupid. i didn’t know it was stupid but it was, because it has ruined a lot of the good feelings.

basically, i googled the definition of unusual, and for some reason, reading not habitually or commonly occurring or done made me feel sick. coz i thought about my family, about my childhood. where what was habitually and commonly done was a father putting his hands on/in his daughter, and having her put her small, quavery, inexperienced hands on parts of him. another thing that was commonly done was for my mother to punish me through silence, for hours and sometimes days. when i did something ‘wrong’, i would have to try and figure it out…try to backtrack and review and do all kinds of detective work to discern what it may have been. or conversely, i would know very well what i had done, there would be an explosion, with screaming and spanking and fireworks abounding…followed by deathly silence, blank stares, and withdrawal. no way to make it up. no way to fix it. just knowing that i was so, so bad.

i think this is what i perhaps hate the most about my life lately. that i am constantly toeing the line between okayness and the tippiest edge. that i feel good one minute, adult, resolute, and solid, but by the next minute, the darkness is right up in my face, rattling my bones, curdling my stomach, and i’m a terrified four year old. i can’t seem to protect myself against the trapdoors before i’m dropping into the abyss, clutching and scrambling at the air as i fall…

the pendulum just seems to swing so far both ways, lately. i can hardly keep up. wondering, who am i, right now? and then moments later…who am i now? and rarely answering the same.

trauma is exhausting. i never wanted any of it. none of us did. i hate this fucking club.

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