Sensitivity
September 20, 2022
My mother is really, really insecure. And sensitive. Just like me.
She doesn't quite realize it, or really even wants to acknowledge the fact. But I told her anyway. I can't really be honest with her at all until it all blows up and I cannot handle it anymore. Because I don't want to hurt her feelings, which are so easily bruised. "She's a girl" rings in my mind, because that's the sort of sage advice she fed into my brain when I was younger.
And girls, are sensitive. They're delicate. And because they're girls, they get the right to act out and have emotional tandrums and outbursts. At least, that's what my father told me.
But my mother paints herself as a victim. She's suffered a lot of abuse growing up, so it makes sense. She sees herself as a martyr for her family in a way. She's crafted and manipulated the situation to come out as it is. Of course, that means someone has to be the abuser.
I think she's crafted this narrative in her mind that her kids are crazy and abusing her. Her kids are just useless bags of meat needing stupid amounts of attention and tending to, so much it's "abusive." And society and everyone she talks to will agree with her. Having kids means becoming a Jesus-esque figure of self-sacrifice and doing a good duty for someone else who is dependent on you. It means you're a mother, and all mothers are good people.
And that rebellious kids like me, kids who grow up to be people, are the absolute spawn of devil when we take our own opinions.
As an eight year old kid, I remember reading The Giving Tree, telling a story of a child (the boy) who keeps "taking" from their parent (the tree) until the tree is dead. Painting the tree as a pseudo-saint character always giving to this spawn of the devil child who only knows how to take.
That's my interpretation of it. I hated being a child.
I wanted to serve my parents so they wouldn't have to serve me. So I wouldn't be such a burden and a bother, or at least I'd be less of a burden my mother kept telling me I was. But everytime I tried to help do chores my parents would criticize me and push me away. Telling me to go play video games. Telling me to go do homework instead. I didn't understand why they'd still complain how useless and unhelpful I was.
They spoiled me rotten. And I became rotten alright.
It's a boomers' narrative. My mother and father want to be a martyrs and saints raising these demons of spawn out of good heart. How useless and annoying these little runts are. How ungrateful they are. How unfair and full of suffering the world they live their very lives in is oh so horrible! Oh woe is you! Look at how much the kids steal time from you! (They told me the reason they had us kids was to not be so lonely anymore. Basically they needed the company.)
I tried my best to be a good person in their eyes. But I realized recently it's futile. They have their narrative painted from day one. I'm the evil spawn of sin, some sort of devilish imp that pisses them off. That always is too sensitive. Too useless. Too disappointing. Dumb kids not spending time with their parents who sacrificed so much for them. The very least these ungrateful bastards could do is give them the time of day.
I finally give up. I accept. I'm a bad person, and I don't really care anymore. That's just who I am. What I am. I am what I am.
I tried, and it's futile really. I think it's time to let go of all the moral ambiguity my parents tried to teach me and pull me from and against.
My mother looks so sad. But if I were to make that same expression, she'd tell me to wipe that nasty expression off my face before she beats it out of me. Oh, how I wish to reflect the same words she gave me back on her, but I won't.
And when I confront her, she says it never happened. At this point in my life, I do not know if I'm going schizophrenic or whatever it might be. I don't know anymore. God, I hope she's gaslighting the fuck out of me.
We're all good people, right? In our own minds? What happens if you know you're not a good person anymore? What happens then?
Me Personally
I'm too sensitive. I can't stand yelling and screaming. When that happens I have to react, or else it'll just be bottled up and explode.
And, this is a bit controversial, but for the sake of having a new opinion on something, I want to say it. I'm not saying I approve of these sorts of people or even sympathize with them. But the mass shooters of the world: they are the overly sensitive people. People who more interact with their environment on a deeply emotional level are likely to exact vengeance in such disturbing ways. The killers, the abusers, and the absurd criminals of the world. I think they are overly sensitive to the world, and have probably experienced some horrible abuse down the path.
It's a sign of weakness being so sensitive. Especially since everything just gets to you so easily. It's not like I'm trying. I hate that part of myself. I hate it, so, so much, to the point I'll dissociate and not engage with the real. And I'm sure, those sorts of people do the same thing. Except they take their dissociation so far that they disconnect from their feelings entirely. They don't know how their feelings are developing, so they can't stop them. And soon enough, they feel enough anger to shoot up a school or some disgusting crime.
They hate their sensitivity and selves so much they can't even feel the feelings they really feel to unfeel them or feel them thoroughly and let it pass. If that makes any sense.
For me, to prevent that dissociation I have to have an outlet to express my frustrations with the world. The world mistreats and puts everyone in a state of suffering. And for some reason, other people can cope well. For me, that outlet wasn't provided naturally. Maybe most people just have someone that can confide in and talk to, and the "overly sensitive" are just really people without that opportunity.
Maybe all these school shooters just really needed somebody to talk to. Somebody to trust.
But I don't think it's that simple really. Because it's pretty easy to find someone. Just knock on your neighbors door if you need a human. It's probably that these overly sensitive folks have trust issues and have been horribly betrayed in some way by close people. At least, that's how it is for me.
So how do you rebuild trust? That's fairly difficult. Especially if your talking to a teenager that's been physically, emotionally, and sexually abused by the closest people in their lives. But you just need one person in your life. That's how you can hang on by a thread.
For me, it was my grandma. She actually loved me unconditionally and didn't care how horrible of a person I became. I was her grandson, and that's all she needed to know. Sure, I'd do things she didn't approve of. But she never raised her voice or looked like she wanted to kill me or get rid of me. That was enough for me.