mrsronweasley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mrsronweasley) wrote2002-08-19 05:33 pm
mrsronweasley) wrote2002-08-19 05:33 pm
In the mind of a submissive madwoman...
So, a few nights ago, We had another fight. I bet you can guess what it was about. That's right. About how I don't care of myself. About how I don't stand up for myself. How I, supposedly, let other people walk over me. And how I let others make the decisions for me without even realizing it.
After a long screaming match, the subsided tears and quiet sniffling, he lands a whamee on me, something I had never realized and now don't know how I could have been so blind to it.
He finally coerced me into really opening up about my family - and about admitting the fact that they have fucked me up. That I have no confidence in myself mostly because nothing I ever did was quite good enough for them, while their opinion meant so much to me - my sister always told me my writing was good, but could be better. She said the same thing about my drawing and singing. My mom and dad were never quite satisfied with my grades and couldn't understand how it was that they were not my top priority. And while they told me all of this, they never really told me why the expected all of that. Which has led me to believe that...well, I'm just not good enough. In anything.
So, we're talking about all of this, and then he says:
"And that is why you're studying psychology - something that you're not really interested in."
Now, excuse me, but I like psychology, thank you very much. I started being defensive and then he said it:
"You started out as a journalism major, and don't give me any of that bullshit about one class making you change your mind -*that's what I always thought, journalism isn't for me, but I never really let myself say outloud why, more on that later*- that's stupid, one class can't do that. When I like something, I read anything I can on it, and if I were a psychology major and really interested in it, I would read every book that I could get my hands on. But you don't. You know what you do? You write. And that's what you really want to do, isn't it? And if it weren't for your family, for your sister who is a social worker, your father who is a scientist, you would be writing in college."
And he's right.
There was a point when I didn't want to write - a short point, but long enough for me to change from a journalism major. The real reason I didn't want to continue with journalism? Not enough writing. That's right. I have always, always wanted to write. I took a creative writing class freshman year, was ripped apart, and didn't write until the middle of my sophomore year, when little plot puppies started to gnaw at my brain. And then it was like a dam exploding - and still is.
I like psychology. But somewhere in the middle of my second semester, I began to realize that I don't love it. That I don't feel passionate about it. But I do about writing.
And now I feel totally lost and confused, and DAMN HIM for being so goddamn honest and poking his nose into the private parts of my mind. How is a person allowed to do this?
His friends call him the button-pusher. Now I know why.
Bah.
After a long screaming match, the subsided tears and quiet sniffling, he lands a whamee on me, something I had never realized and now don't know how I could have been so blind to it.
He finally coerced me into really opening up about my family - and about admitting the fact that they have fucked me up. That I have no confidence in myself mostly because nothing I ever did was quite good enough for them, while their opinion meant so much to me - my sister always told me my writing was good, but could be better. She said the same thing about my drawing and singing. My mom and dad were never quite satisfied with my grades and couldn't understand how it was that they were not my top priority. And while they told me all of this, they never really told me why the expected all of that. Which has led me to believe that...well, I'm just not good enough. In anything.
So, we're talking about all of this, and then he says:
"And that is why you're studying psychology - something that you're not really interested in."
Now, excuse me, but I like psychology, thank you very much. I started being defensive and then he said it:
"You started out as a journalism major, and don't give me any of that bullshit about one class making you change your mind -*that's what I always thought, journalism isn't for me, but I never really let myself say outloud why, more on that later*- that's stupid, one class can't do that. When I like something, I read anything I can on it, and if I were a psychology major and really interested in it, I would read every book that I could get my hands on. But you don't. You know what you do? You write. And that's what you really want to do, isn't it? And if it weren't for your family, for your sister who is a social worker, your father who is a scientist, you would be writing in college."
And he's right.
There was a point when I didn't want to write - a short point, but long enough for me to change from a journalism major. The real reason I didn't want to continue with journalism? Not enough writing. That's right. I have always, always wanted to write. I took a creative writing class freshman year, was ripped apart, and didn't write until the middle of my sophomore year, when little plot puppies started to gnaw at my brain. And then it was like a dam exploding - and still is.
I like psychology. But somewhere in the middle of my second semester, I began to realize that I don't love it. That I don't feel passionate about it. But I do about writing.
And now I feel totally lost and confused, and DAMN HIM for being so goddamn honest and poking his nose into the private parts of my mind. How is a person allowed to do this?
His friends call him the button-pusher. Now I know why.
Bah.
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I wish I could do something about your feeling lost and confused (and damn, do I know what that's like), but will have to settle for saying 'email me, if you ever, ever want to' again.
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I don't know entirely what to say, but the situation sounds so familiar. I wanted to say that I hear you, I wanted to say that I sympathise, I wanted to say so many things, but it's still not enough.
So I'll just leave it here. :-/
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Realizations like that can hit you pretty hard. And honesty hurts, I know, but try (no, really, try) to look at it as something good. Admitting things to yourself is- no matter how hard- a step in the right direction. I know how cliche it sounds, I do, and I'm so sorry you're feeling lost dear. Try to take some time and... really figure out what *you* want. Clear your head.
And of course, my e-mail is always open :)
And I'm sending many many good wishes your way :)
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no subject
:)
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I am trying to clear my mind - and I think I know what I will do, eventually. We'll see. It's too early to tell. I hope...or not...I don't know.
*sigh*
I'm going now...
Re:
All too well.
I had a friend like that. A very close friend. I adored him, I was in love with him, but sometimes I had to hate him for crawling in, and exposing all my sore spots without me even realise what he was doing until it was done. =P
But I know that he is right, blah blah blah... *sigh*
Sometimes, I think that makes it worse. :-/