Dopis na rozloučenou
My mind is heavy, my heart is broken, and my motivation is stolen. I find myself full of anger, manic, in the middle of the night, writing for my dear life. I wish it were running, as you wanted to run from your children, as my father ran away, as my mother ran away.
Oh, I wish, I wish I could run and start over. I wish I could forget, I wish my identity could change, and I would not have to carry the burden of my bloodline. I wish my mind would not split, and there were no cultural confusions.
The thing is no one would know anything about me, I would be fucking Jonathan Moore without the dissosiating and killing part.
Running may seem easy, such a simple decision to just leave everything behind, but every decent person knows it doesn't really work like that. There's much more to it than running - you do not break the cycle by running, you do not heal by running, you do not get closure by running (not that closure is needed in every scenario, but just saying).
Do not get me wrong, my mother's running away was not entirely bad. She took me with her, and she protected me from all the hypocrites surrounding us. Including her mother. I am grateful that I could witness the fakeness early enough and how strong the escapism and understanding generational trauma made me. I could never go back and I would never accept it.
And that is why I will never be fully accepted, anywhere.
I will always be weird to most people, to your parents, to all your Czech boomer generation families. I will always be too loud, too bold, too demanding, too strict, too protective, too angry, too smart, too much. And that is completely fine with me since they are a bunch of easy minded people who keep themselves busy by interfiering in others business. I truly apologise as I have no intention in hurting anyones feelings, but honestly every single one of you had much more nasty things to say about me, I think we could move past this. Fortunately protecting your feelings is not my responsibility.
You had and have responsibilities though; you were responsible for raising your son to become a decent human being. You were responsible for him learning how to take care of himself, how to love himself and potentially his surroundings. Just like every parent should after birthing their child.
Now tell me, how are you going to bash me with letting your son out of the nest with repressed anger that he has to deal with, ? That affects his relationships and his own happiness? That his woman, friends, family have to deal with. The thing is, we do not have to deal with this, and now we get closer to the murder mystery part. Who is going to die here? Is it going to be your son's ego, or yours? Or is it going to be me? My heart, or my open loving arms?
Do I have loving arms, or does the anger and pain of a different person vented on me feel like home? Is your manipulation, yelling, gaslighting, and aggression more comforting than lying lovingly in someone's arms? Am I just supposed to accept me being sent on this planet earth to heal and not to be healed?
Because I tried, I tried to heal. I created a different space, surrounded myself with different people, switched my mindset completely. I have always been so sure about my decisions and visions. I thought my marriage was forever, I thought my divorce was the right decision, I thought moving in and starting over was freeing. I thought teaching myself to open my mind and love again was safe. I believed in all of it, truly, I trusted, I forgave, I moved forward, I did not play victim, I did not look back.
But now I feel as non of it was right. I neither feel safe, loved nor free. I yearn for those feelings, I yearn for certainty. Now it gets so hard to breathe, I'm missing days, I'm missing sleep. I know you know I'd run, I feel too much. If I was not the special one then why was I one at all? Why do I feel responsible for everyone's wrong decisions, including my mothers, that being me. I can not bear to be alone. It's not what I invisioned but it's what I have to accept that is better for me. I accept people for who they are, why can't I be accpeted. Why did I let myself birth two beautiful souls with my mind still having voices of me not existing being better than fighting for life.
I love my children so much, I would kill for them and I am trying to live for them. I take the responsibility of a parent very seriously. I will let my daughter know that she does not have to answer to anyone, I will teach her that no one in her life has the right to silence her. I will let my son know that he's never going to be less of a man for being vulnerable and I will teach him that fear is not respect.
I will apologise to my children for all the wrong choices I've made and all the wrong choices I could potentially make. I will stand infront of them as their mother, not their god. I will never demand loyalty, I will never demand love. I take full responsibility for all of the mistakes that have been made. May this be a reminder for me in 10 years while I'm frustrated with my little teenagers running around, bossing me around. May this be my reminder that I have to be the one who breaks the cycle and does not open a new one.
This is why this is not a suicide note because there's much to live for. So much. The murder I'm confessing to is murder of hope. God knows hope will find me again, god lends me days of hope, where complete euphoria flushes my system. I will stand through the pain. I will stand in the middle of blank space with shattered glass pouring through my body, without a tear shed. Without a scream for help. I will be the shield for my children, because mine was destroyed. That does not mean I'll ever be able to heal.
Hope of me being healed and cured is dead to me for now. I killed the vision of me being pain free. I've been fighting since I was in my early teens, unfortunately I will always be the way that I am, better or worse. It's a spectrum, it's a disorder caused by trauma, it's endless suffering in my own mind. It's a promise I made to the devil. "You won't be kicked out of paradise for eating the forbidden fruit, you'll just be forced to carry it all." and so I carried it all, and killed hope.
P.S.
There is one thing unkillable - as long as I am alive, LOVE lives.
If you are struggling with mental health, reach out to your family, friends, near by facilities or emergency lines. You are not alone.
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