Samstag, 28. September 2019
The pain it causes to ask for help, because it feels like admitting I am deeply hurt. It hurts my pride in my family and the pride I feel for each and everyone of us.

My father never disappointed me besides the fact, that he never lived a life for himself, away of my mothers consuming naiv dreams.

I am the first time in my life deeply and openly dissapointed in him. Just admitting this truth cuts like a sharp knife through my bloody flesh. Because it is just true. How I hate this kind of truths, that hurt undeniably as hell.

The dissapointment in my mother is not new. My body remembers her words not adding up to her actions.
Just like my body remembers how to swim, the moment I get pushed in the water. Or how my body remembers to buckle up and look larger than life, if I feel unsave or attacked like my whole damn youth.

But to be dissapointed by my father is like breaking a holy unspoken rule we silently established between a father and his littel girl.

The -only- other time my father dissapointed me befor was as he didn't notice, he left me living with a predator in my supposedly safe space. For that I made my father pay on so many levels. I practically tortured him through my puberty. As if I wanted him to proof his love for me. I directed all my anger to the one person, I expected to protect me and find out and save me.

I never told him. He never saved me.
He never told me. I never saved him.
Now tell me, that isn't tragic.

16.8.19 6:02

Bild: TanteTati /

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