I personally don’t understand how people end up abusing anybody. I’ve wanted to hit a person before but the thought of acting out on it scares me. So I just can’t comprehend it and I just don’t understand how ‘plans change’ to include abusing the kid
I don’t think people mean that to include abusing kids, I just don’t think they understand what I mean, you know? A lot of people never assume the mother is the abusive parent. It’s sexism and it sucks. Women can be fucking bitches and behaviorally we can be fucking vicious.
Ugh. I don’t know anymore. I feel like I’ve been crying when I haven’t. You know? Like tightness on the skin and everything. I should make my soup before I get more hungry. I hear eating is generally a good thing.
I know they don’t actually plan for the abuse (or if they do- wow that’s a lot worse than I was thinking). But I just mean, I don’t understand how it escalates to that. Not really anyway. I’ve heard the concepts and what not but it just doesn’t really sit right and I can’t wrap my head around it, I guess.
And I hate the deal with mothers (and fathers). Mothers are always ‘good’ and yet if anything is wrong with the kid it’s the mother’s fault. Dad’s are always at risk for being considered pedophiles (males in general have a hard time working with younger kids). They’re the workers, bring in the money. They can’t be the stay at home parent or anything of the sort- that shocks people (which to some degree makes sense as men are paid more and such- but that opens a whole other can of worms). But if they’re a dead beat dad it’s just accepted. In fact Dad’s are rarely mentioned (like in the Olympics- I’ve heard so much about the contenders mothers. Very little about fathers).
And yes, go eat. It’s good for. And it might not help emotionally but it’ll be better than being emotionally tired and facing hunger pains. Taking care of yourself is important darling.
n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life, a mood whose only known cure is the vuvuzela.