Hi!!!
so uh emperor: my relationship with my father. lets Overshare On The Internet, shall we?
I love my dad a lot, and i know he loves me (contrary to the psychopath that is my mother). He accepted relatively well the fact im a lesbian and now learned about nonbinary experiences, uses my correct name and pronouns, (since i stopped having contact with them he freaked out and did a lot of effort).
But. I don’t trust him, because he almost killed me on several occasions (physical abuse), accused me of being the plague of the household whenever i tried to fight back my mother’s torture, manipulated me a lot, made me believe my issues were nothing, participated in the god-like worshipping of my mother, and basically did everything he could to redirect her violence towards me (and not him). I’ll never forgive him for staying with the monster that is his wife, and making me believe I WAS the monster who tortured her.
He tricked himself into thinking we were a loving functional family and ignored on purpose every red flag; and he took it on me everytime his fantasy and our reality were too widely different for him to acknowledge them both.
He also wanted me to be his dream and (fun fact) literally tried to kill me once (i was 11) when i told him i wanted to stop playing the piano.
He profited off the hatred my mother felt towards me to be a little more protected. He literally was complicit in my own dehumanising.
He also refused to allow visibility to any symptom of my mental illnesses, because he feared for his social status. (Im talking severe things, like rape, torture, and pedophilia as well as neurodivergence and trauma).
Basically, he’s weak, and he loves me, yes, but ultimately he’s just a tool in my mother’s hands. So im careful not to tell him anything personal.
Fuidhditdbqhstdh thanks anon but u can also call me a fool cause im one
Fool: the biggest risk ive ever taken. My highschool was really close to the highway, and when coming home, i would (horrifying often now that i think about it) just go… on the highway… by myself… and like. sit in the middle of the road? sometimes even lie down. while dissociating. i still don’t understand how im still alive lmao
also once (still dissociating) i almost got into a truck that had stopped at a red light cause i wanted 1). to die 2). to leave my abusive home and 3). to be retraumatized so i could dissociate better
“tumblr made me feel bad for being a man :’(” listen, no one’s holding you here, you’re free to log off at any time and enter the rest of the world where mediocre men are praised for anything and everything they do
like honestly it reeks of “tumblr is making me aware of the crap men do and demanding that i take responsibility and work on my misogyny & that makes me uncomfortable :/”
and instead of, ykno, working on yourself so you can look at those posts and go “that’s true, men do that and i do my best to unlearn this behaviour, call it out in others and otherwise support women” you hit up random women to console you because owning up to anything is outside of your male comfort zone
“In the antigarden represented by the desert, the question accompanying the poet like her shadow under the sun is: Who am I to be so alone? Who am I if I am not with another? The demand for another is always mute but piercing. All these texts ask for another and all the poets ask for another language, even for a foreign language perhaps, because the essence of poetry is to find strangeness in language.”
— Hélène Cixous, Readings: The Poetics of Blanchot, Joyce, Kafka, Kleist, Lispector, and Tsvetayeva
“We sleep in language,” writes Robert Kelly, “if language does not come to wake us with its strangeness.”
