Sunday, August 30, 2015

I'm About as Scary as a Marshmallow

Fun fact about Kira: When I get into a confrontational situation, no matter how small, I will (without fail) burst into tears. I don’t know why this happens, and it could be something so insignificant as I don’t want to go to a certain activity with someone, and if they confront me about it and act offended, I will start to cry. This is actually really inconvenient and impractical, most of the time, because sometimes this fun fact means that I may burst into dramatic tears in the middle of a debate in history, if I feel the slightest amount of passion about the subject. While this often does make me win the debate because my opponent often spends his time freaking out about how to stop my crying instead of his argument, it’s also incredibly annoying. I feel like people don’t take me seriously, and I can’t take myself seriously, because anytime I have something important to say, something that I have coherent and well-researched and valid thoughts, I end up breaking down into a puddle of tears, and any credibility I have will go through the window as I’m reduced to an emotional wreck. This aspect of myself is probably due in part to the fact that I had to make myself cry on cue last fall for a show, so it became kind of a Pavlovian kind of deal, where any time I felt any emotion about anything, I trained myself to translate it to sobbing dramatically, and also probably partly the fault of He Who Shall Not Be Named (and yes, he should be compared to Voldemort, because, like Voldemort, he is the incarnation of pure evil).

Because of this fact, and because I’m a little upset right now, and because I’m feeling like being passive-aggressive and not actually dealing with the stuff I’m going through face to face, here goes a little exercise.
Dear Dad,

I love you. You know I do. But I’m sorry… right now, I’m not going to trust you with the things that I trust Mom with. You were kind of hurt today when I told her about a decision I was making and didn’t come to you first, you told me that she wouldn’t be able to do anything, since you’re the one here now, and you’re the one that can actually take action. I’m sorry, but I can’t do that right now. Mom has always been the one who’s been here for me, over the last six years. You haven’t been there. I know it partially wasn’t your fault, that you wouldn’t have wanted it that way, but that’s the way it was. I’ve always had Mom here to talk to through middle school and weird body changes and issues and how to put on makeup and what the heck to do when I get my period, and if boys will ever notice me. You weren’t here. Mom was here when we didn’t know where our next meal would come from, and she always made sure it was there. You were across the country. Mom was here when HWSNBN crashed through the house, slamming doors and telling us we were nothing, but she made sure Madison and I knew we were loved and valued and that it wasn’t our fault. You were silenced. And I know that you want to make up for lost time, that you want me to come to you with anything that bothers me or things that I’m wondering about or just plain thinking through. But right now, I’m not going to. Because right now, you’re kind of still a stranger. You’re a very important, special, loved stranger, but a stranger nonetheless, and because you weren’t there, I have trouble trusting anyone that’s not Mom. Because she’s someone who I can rely on, and though I know in my brain that I can trust you, it takes a little while for that information to hit my heart molecules. I just wish you would let me take my time, because I’m not going to be able to open up to you all the way, immediately. I’m not just that way anymore. Believe me, I would give anything to be able to go back to 11 year old me, where I was a lot more likely to tell anyone my story, to blurt my hopes and dreams and fears out to anyone who would listen. I know the person I am today wouldn’t be anything the same without the things I’ve gone through over the past six years, but I wish I wouldn’t have to deal with that wall that I’ve built to protect myself. I’ve tried trusting people, and enough people have let me down that it doesn’t come easy to me. I promise, I’ll get there eventually, and there’s nothing I want more than to feel safe telling you everything, but my wall has kept me safe where you haven’t. And the only person who’s inside the wall is God and Mom. So no, I’m not going to tell you everything right now. I will, eventually. Just give me a little bit. I might just run things by Mom first, because that's how things have always been. Until then, just know that I love you, and I’m so glad I get the chance to get to know you again.


No comments:

Post a Comment