Montesquieu15
May 28th, 2012, 09:09 PM
"I can’t fucking do this. I told you I’m gonna be a writer. I told you, I don’t want to be a fucking doctor. And yet you insist I “file a patent,” “get an internship at the lab,” this, and that, like I didn’t tell you shit. I know right now you’ll just be “yes…yes,” but I know when the time comes, you”ll resist me as much as possible. I don’t want to be a FUCKING doctor. Why do you insist on suggesting things that relate to medicine? Why can’t you just let me write and support that?
I hate how fake you sound. I hate how you put up an artificial façade of support. Remember how we talked at Target? You kept asking me what I wanted as a career. When I told you “writer,” you said, you fucking said, “I might as well just send you to any college.” You think you’re so smart. You think you know everything.
And you, Mom. Stop comparing me to white kids who talk shit to their parents and all. I haven’t talked crap to you one bit. I’m a straight A student. I haven’t gotten into any trouble at all. To even compare me? What kind of likes do you tell yourself? And remember how you used to call me “the devil?” Yes, I fucking- ass remember. And Dad. Quit telling me, no, quit telling yourself it’s all my fault, cuz I know damn well not every fucking thing is my fault.
I hate how you can act like I had a say in any of this. Because that‘s how I fucking feel. As long as it’s a doctor, biotechnician, engineer, architect, right? Because by comparison, everything else is worthless, right?
I hate how you asked me to tell you all my problems. I hate how you want me to tell you at times and how you use it against me later. Everything in the situation with my mom and me always reverts back to being my fault. And guess what else, Dad? I’m gay. That’s right. I’ve known since 4th-5th grade. And I don’t know what to do about it.
You never taught me how to shave. You never taught me how to play ball. You never played basketball with me. You never brought me to the lake for a simple swim. Everything always has to follow a schedule, an agenda.
And now you want me to be a fucking doctor? I’m sorry. I genuinely am. I’m sorry things can’t be the way you wanted them to be when you thought of raising a family. Just hang in there cuz I sure hell know that I’ve grown bitter.
Any of this sound exaggerated? Well this is how I feel. Then there must be something wrong. Wait. Have you even fucking examined your part in any of this? Or have you just seen me the whole time. Well, shit.
I’m tired. I’m sure as hell I’m moving out once I turn 18."
I hate how fake you sound. I hate how you put up an artificial façade of support. Remember how we talked at Target? You kept asking me what I wanted as a career. When I told you “writer,” you said, you fucking said, “I might as well just send you to any college.” You think you’re so smart. You think you know everything.
And you, Mom. Stop comparing me to white kids who talk shit to their parents and all. I haven’t talked crap to you one bit. I’m a straight A student. I haven’t gotten into any trouble at all. To even compare me? What kind of likes do you tell yourself? And remember how you used to call me “the devil?” Yes, I fucking- ass remember. And Dad. Quit telling me, no, quit telling yourself it’s all my fault, cuz I know damn well not every fucking thing is my fault.
I hate how you can act like I had a say in any of this. Because that‘s how I fucking feel. As long as it’s a doctor, biotechnician, engineer, architect, right? Because by comparison, everything else is worthless, right?
I hate how you asked me to tell you all my problems. I hate how you want me to tell you at times and how you use it against me later. Everything in the situation with my mom and me always reverts back to being my fault. And guess what else, Dad? I’m gay. That’s right. I’ve known since 4th-5th grade. And I don’t know what to do about it.
You never taught me how to shave. You never taught me how to play ball. You never played basketball with me. You never brought me to the lake for a simple swim. Everything always has to follow a schedule, an agenda.
And now you want me to be a fucking doctor? I’m sorry. I genuinely am. I’m sorry things can’t be the way you wanted them to be when you thought of raising a family. Just hang in there cuz I sure hell know that I’ve grown bitter.
Any of this sound exaggerated? Well this is how I feel. Then there must be something wrong. Wait. Have you even fucking examined your part in any of this? Or have you just seen me the whole time. Well, shit.
I’m tired. I’m sure as hell I’m moving out once I turn 18."