|
happy fucking holidays
|
I've gone through life with a complex as big as Mount-Fucking-Everest.
As a child, if anything bad happened to me and i went to my parents about it, their first question was always to ask me whad did i do to provoke it.
*Class bully used me for a punching bag?
"Well, what did you do to make him mad?" (because we all know that being the youngest, the smallest and very shy isn't really sufficient provocation for playground predators, is it?"
*Fall down and hurt myself?
"Well, why weren't you more careful?"
(that one's 50/50, but honestly, now...how careful are most kids, really?)
*Teacher/family member cracking rude, cruel jokes at my expense?
"Well, don't you know they're not laughing at you, but laughing with you?
(Mom, Dad...really... Are you serious?Yeah, thanks, my sides are positively fucking splitting with laughter over here, fuck you very much.)
*Bad breakup with a girlfriend? [I stopped confiding anything to them after the first time this happened]
"(insert buckshot-method lecture about how whatever it was, it must have been my fault here)" (Yeah, with that one it must have been my fault that she was stringing me along while it turns out she was fucking at least two other guys...my fault for trusting her)
After all this, they wonder why i don't really tell them much about what's going on in my life anymore...duh.
I shouldn't have come home.
|
041228
|
