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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: therapeutic.dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: EshyFishy
    ASL Info:    21yo mess having crises
    Elite Ratio:    6.92 - 126/123/57
    Words: 695
    Class/Type: Random Thoughts/Serious
    Total Views: 1038
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 4151



    Description:
       This is a personal post.

    This isn't meant to be sugar coated or anything fancy.

    Take it as you will.

    Hate it, read it, pull it apart, whatever.

    First post in a while. I've been inspired lately, but this must be vented.

    May delete after a while.

    Hm.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotstherapeutic.dots
    -------------------------------------------


    I had once been told (in psychology class) that there was one thing every child loves and deserves. It wasn't anything material or anything. It wasn't even 'love'. It was praise. A pat on the back and a hearty, "Good job!"
    Damn right that was true.

    Through the years, I sought your praise. Heck, I earnt it. Even as a child, I worked for it. Not saying that you weren't full of 'love' - that could never be denied. But just to hear a sign of recognition (even appreciation!) was enough for me. Maybe I'm understating or even underappreciating everything you've done for me. Possibly. I probably have a slight bias in this.

    But when you praised my brother just then - oh golly. That smile. That slow smile that crept from his eyes and broke into a sheepish flash of teeth. Boy, he was happy, even for a moment. I can imagine that the elated feeling that begins in your chest and spreads to your abdomenal area and then dissipates was experienced by him. He was happy.
    Then you tried to... even it out? You half-heartedly praised me.
    Nowadays, your praise does nothing. I want so bad for a small flicker of emotion to stir within me when you say something nice and then kiss my forehead.
    Nothing.
    I forgot how to feel.

    With us, it's like:
    Instead of "How are you?"
    It's, "How was school?"
    Rather than saying, "Are you feeeling well?"
    You'll say: "Well, as long as you don't fail."

    I cannot open up to you. When I need somewhere to pour my heart, I don't have you. I have my words. I have my pen. I have my paper. Foolishly, I leave my feelings lying around. When I leave the house, I worry that you may wander in and pick up my thoughts and then destroy me.
    Destroy me? How? By finding them silly.
    I always knew that my feelings were disposable, but to have them burnt out by you would be the end of me.

    There was a point when words didn't work - and a different mark was made.
    You were quite mad at me. I didn't understand what was happening, I was so young.

    People say, "HURR MY PARENTS DON'T UNDERSTAND ME~~"
    But in reality... I mean it. You say you were once my age and you know how it feels? Interesting. I didn't know that you had to force a smile onto your face each day and bawl at night like a coward.
    All I recall from your childhood stories was perpetual study. I guess I'm lucky.
    I mean, you don't even tell me how you felt during "this age". How does that even work?
    Why won't you tell me?

    I wish, sometimes, that we were close. That I could talk about anything with you. But no, that will never happen. Whose fault is it that such a shabby relationship was created between us? I'll blame myself for it. My personality traits, perhaps, don't abide by your traditions. My constant need for solitary liberation vs... something I'm not yet sure of.
    Heck, I ask you how YOU are. If YOU'RE feeling well.
    But whenever you do ask me... I can't open up. I'm quite honestly afraid of what you'll say. Laugh at my response and remind me that my problems are nothing. There are people that go without food, love, shelter, family. And here I am, stuck in my first world problems. Trust me, I never forget that.
    But is it so wrong to feel human every now and then?

    We have good times, I won't deny that. But being super close to you is something that (unfortunately,) I don't see happening any time soon. Maybe in the future. After uni. After everything.

    I appreciate everything. I always have, I always will. I'm not trying to paint myself as some sort of victim. If anything, I'm the antagonist. Hrmm.

    Mum. Dad. I love you guys, I really do.
    I just need to know that you love me too.




    Submitted on 2011-06-02 03:43:41     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      It's so raw and emotional; uncoated with sugar and spice - it's the truth from a depth, we as humans don't go very far the older we grow older.

    It's interesting because when I was 15, I wrote something similar to my parents. The only difference is that my mom praised me whereas my dad didn't and I felt that I had to prove myself even more for him than for anyone else. Because I longed for it.

    My sister is 16 and I see it again, only this time, it's from my mom. The fights they have is solely based on because she wants my sister to be the best and she's trying but it's not good enough; it's a half hearted praise. My sister is looking for the whole thing.

    Even today, at age 23, I still look for that praise from my parents. But it's no longer necessary for me to have as much as I longed for before.

    I hope you feel better now. Pen and paper is always my best friend for expressing myself correctly:)

    Enjoy the rest of your day,
    | Posted on 2011-06-02 00:00:00 | by charmedidentity | [ Reply to This ]
      i feel this...felt this...at 15...at 25, 35, 45, and on up....

    no matter how much my friends told me i was good, successful whatever...needing that approval from parents..for some reason, that is always there..that need.

    and yet...i got the same thing you did...how was school? oh, that is really good that you won such and such, but don't ruin it by....

    there were always the Buts...sitll are..

    never enough, never enough...

    for me i guess it is just That generation my parents are from...

    always expecting more, but giving less praise...

    when my dad compliments me..it almost has to be in a joking manner or he can't do it at all...

    oh this write, it is like looking in a mirror.


    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-06-02 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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