Father's Pride

"You should never encourage anyone with a very limited talent. That is the cruelest thing anyone can do-to encourage someone to believe he has gifts he actually doesn't possess."

I really wish my dad had followed this great man's insight into humanity. Unfortunately for me he did not. His particular vein of parental pride was such that it led to the wreckage of a perfectly mediocre life. Mine. He always believed, I've a suspicion still does, that I was an exceptional child. Born to do great things, scale dizzying heights, that I possessed talent so intense and immense that it was scary even to think of it. But be that as it may, he never once stopped thinking about it or telling me about it. The dumb kid that i was I'd believed every word of it. Absorbed my great destiny, i was drunk on it. I kept expecting wonderful, magical things to happen to me. To the blessed, divine me. I waited. Waited and waited and then waited some more. No avail. In fact quite the opposite of my childhood and my father's adulthood fantasies kept coming to life. Looked like i was stricken with the worst luck in the tale. Looked like it but was never accepted like it. No not us. Patience is the key. Great things had to happen. They had to. I was an unbelievably smart kid. Anon- piggy intellectual. So what if my grades were low. So what if no one liked me. So what if i was never good at any darn thing in or out of school. I'd show them all. I'd emerge the champion. Though when this obvious turn of events was to take place we could not say.

I waited holding my dad's hand. Looking expectantly into his face, he into mine. However, a transformation had begun. My transformation into a freak. We were too busy staring ahead to see the creature that I'd actually been growing into. I was friendless, brainless, goodlooksless. With nothing even a penny's worth to my name. I'd become withdrawn and sullen. getting no sleep for weeks on end. Getting agitated and anxious about commonplace things. Working up into a frenzy about impracticable dreams and impossible sights. Crying, weeping for things that i could never get or that didn’t exist. Worrying and sweating about people who hardly knew of or cared about my existence. Slitting wrists, jumping out of windows, swallowing pills had become a norm with me. An insufferable, nauseate norm. I hated everything - sight, smell, people, world, life, me- everything.

I dropped out of school only to go back eventually out of the old yearning for greatness. The lame confidence in my prowess. In abilities that had never existed. Leading life from day to day, hour to hour even, keeping myself alive and awake. I'd plan my death. Make a list of all the various things I've wanted to experience. cheering myself up with it for days and then realising that i could never experience life. I was too pathetic for it. Lapsing into inactivity and self-abuse.

All the while putting up a brave show, for everyone around me, trying to convince myself even that i was fine, that nothing was wrong.

But something was. And it would only get worse. I started suffering from attacks which woke me up sweating and nauseate with a bad headache. A dream trigger. I could never recall these dreams effectively. i reached a point where i started believing that death was too good for me. That i couldn't possible die. It was too kind, too good for me. This was when the real hell began. So far I'd had death as my safety jacket. Now i had nothing. Absolutely nothing with which to face life. That is where I am right now. With nothing. No one, nothing, no me. I don't know who this person is. This cannot be the me that was. That had always been. No. Not me. Someone else. Someone I don't like. Someone I hate.

When will this end. Please make it end. I can't take anymore. I am burning. Make it stop. Make it end.

Comments

  1. Again, very well expressed. I'd like to take up this some time if you can talk.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Truly well written!!!
    Just hope it wasn't true... :|

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Identity Death in a Burqa AKA STFU Miss Roy

TUESDAY WOES

It Hurts