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11/07/15

forestmistheather

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My T said that I was quite good at writing today, which felt really lovely. I'm not good at anything - well nothing that people recognise. And she's not the only person to have said that to me. An ex English teacher told me the same thing. So it feels a little believable which is scary. I don't like to think of myself as good at something. I guess I almost like, or maybe have just gotten used to thinking of myself as worthless and not good at anything. My dad, he thought I was worthless. He made me think that I was worthless. And yet the irony is, he expected me to achieve greatness. Oxford, Cambridge, Scientist, Doctor, Lawyer.... nothing short of perfection, upper class and riches was ever going to satisfy and impress him. As an adult, I know that nothing at all in the hold wide world would ever have been good enough for him. But I didn't back then - and I wanted my daddy. I still want my daddy, and I still have this little voice that wants to try and please him. And yet I hate him SO much. I think that's the adult part of me. I hate the fact that he even breathes. When my mum died, truth be known, I wished it was him - and my mum's no angel. She's nearly as culpabal for the way things are as he is. But there was love there with my mum. I'm not sure that she loved me, but there was love. There was nothing with my dad expect complete detest and child like behaviours - expecting me to take responsibly, towards me.

I think I want to stop there for now however random that seems.



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