Trying to put people into boxes

    Lot of things been building up lately, and today I ranted to a friend and just couldn’t be bothered to be nice to anyone. I guess you could even say I couldn’t be bothered to not be mean. I’m not the type who can naturally be demure, or sly and manipulative, or take crap for too long. I get mad easily and I enjoy letting it out. 

     I definitely... sigh let it out on the wrong person though. When I label somebody as an “enemy”, I react completely differently to someone I label as a “friend”. Like an rpg, except life isn’t an rpg. Mislabeling happened. At first I was very against apologizing, I considered it but shot the idea down. Of course I knew I was “supposed” to, but I had a very strong disregard for that fact. Who am I to always be following these stifling morals? I very much pushed them way too hard on myself and now I’m damn well tired of them. Then he apologized. How many times in your lives has someone apologized to you first? It’s crazy, isn’t it? Of course I accepted and apologized back. I realized he wasn’t an “enemy” and I’d been rude to the wrong person. 

     It’s been AP test week. Kind of like finals week but on steroids. Very high strung atmosphere at school everyday. Very tiring tests. I gave up on studying lots and lots the days before. Too much pressure. I almost said that I gave up on being a good student, but have I? I know all the content fine. Some last minute studying won’t change my score. 

      Been thinking about my parent’s role in my life again. I was very bitter again today all of a sudden. I realize that I’m not a good person. I’m nothing amazing or great. I’ll never be the pinnacle of humanity. I’m just average. I suppose my self-esteem hinged and still hinges too much on the notion that I’m special, high achieving, or mature. But really, I end up pushing myself to standards I can’t reach without becoming discouraged. It hurts to let go of the “special” thing, but I’ve done it more and more over the years. Yes, but my parent’s role in my life. The stories and TV shows and comics never capture the true conflict that you can have in a real household, especially a toxic one. Things are black and white, there is usually a right answer, it’s usually obvious, and usually someone can give it to you. The biggest difference between our stories (and therefore our ideals) and real life is that there is no certainty. And way less confidence. Ever since I opened my eyes to my parent’s wrongdoings, I’ve had a hard time understanding who they are. I mentioned my labelling of people as enemy and friend. I look at them and I see both. In fact, sometimes I see them as two different people, one enemy and one friend. 

     Someone can be the enemy and the friend of a story at the same time. My mother wakes up early every day to drop me off to school and cook breakfast. She defends me ferociously and is very involved in my life and helps me endlessly to achieve career and college related goals. In that way, she pushes me to try new things and sometimes scary things that are good for me. She’s ferociously confident and emphasizes women’s need to be confident and self sufficient. She gives me hugs and encouragement, or tries. At the same time, she half of what makes household life a toxic hell what with the constant animosity and fighting. She turns violent and scary quickly when her needs and wants are not met. She’s ignorant of my wants when they don’t fit her agenda for me. She’s a demon to my dad but kind to me, for example manipulating, verbal abuse, and threats, causing my dad to turn against me. And the one I always bring up, she’s threatened to kill me and pulled a knife on me a few times, which is when my anxiety attacks started. She operates through sweet words, lies, guilt, and fear.  

      I’m lucky to have a mother who cooks for me and takes care of my physical needs. I’m lucky to have a mother who cares enough about my personal hobbies to go out of her way to nurture and develope them. I’m lucky to have a mother who’s worked so hard career wise to provide for me and ensure I’ll never want in any way or suffer student debt. I’m lucky to have a mother who nurtured my confidence and assured me there’s nothing wrong with standing up for myself. But then? 

      It’s for this reason I have very little faith in positivity. There’s always a crocodile under the surface of that beautiful river. And I’m always looking for it, for better or for worse. 

      It’s difficult to differentiate sometimes. Am I “lucky” to have her or not? Is she a good person or not? but I get the sense more and more that it doesn’t really matter. Some stuff is nice and some stuff isn’t. there is no blanket term. there is no one character archetype. Life doesn’t fit into these structures and roles the way we want it to. It’s a complicated, tangled mess. 

      I feel a little self conscious rambling like this, but I want to get comfortable writing journals like this again.