Someone recently [said] to me that it sounds like my childhood was “less-than-picturesque.” I’m not going to attribute that quote to its author unless that person asks me to. It’s not about that speaker. Those words are, however, stuck in my craw.
I honestly get a little mean and bitchy when people say their childhoods were great and their parents were great and wasn’t life great, but I fucked up anyway gosh darn it. <LOUD BUZZER>. I sometimes wish I could trade with you, take your supportive, competent, not-psychotic upbringing and give you mine, so that I could have the chance for a “normal” life and not still be struggling with motherfucking mommy-daddy issues at 35 years old, and you could (still) be a fuck-up, so that I didn’t have to fight off the demons from my past to try and give my kids a nice childhood.
I just feel like punching people in the junk when I think about it. I have serious, “how fucking dare you?” thoughts. I’d be okay with your douchebaggery if you’re just a sick liar who can’t call a spade a spade, or a shitty parent a shitty parent, but if you’re honest, and your childhood was awesome, I kinda wanna give you a “fuck you” pimp slap. We’re not talking about did mom and dad love you, just about how fucked up mom and/or dad were as parents.
This is really just an angry rant. My inner child wants real parents, still. I want her to grow up and get over it. I am just one big dysfunctional family. I’m jealous of your experiences and your memories. I don’t have many, because there was nothing going on, and when there was, chances are it was crappy or involved food. I know my parents loved me and still love me. I’m just saying that love was NOT enough to balance out the shit storm called my childhood.
Less-than-picturesque. Yeah, I guess you could say that. I’ll try not to judge you too harshly for saying it.