I’m 27. My dad just called me a bitch. I guess I deserve it. I’m 27 and I live at home after all. And this morning I didn’t have work and I was tired and sad and laying down. I was laying down and doing nothing, which makes me lazy.
But you know it’s not really fair anyway. Because there’s no equivalent word I could throw back at my dad. If I call him an ass hole it’s just not the same slap in the face as calling a woman who trusts you a bitch.
I keep saying I’ll move out. But I can’t really afford it. If I could I would have have a long time ago.
It’s all my fault really.
My dad thinks he’s a feminist. Everyone does these days. I don’t know certain words though… they just say a lot about your true feelings.
I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, I’m just looking for some driftwood, just something to hold on to.
Being called a bitch isn’t so bad. It’s far from the worst my dad has said. But I was already so broken. And I feel like I’ve been stomped on now. I hope I am like a mushy caterpillar in its cacoon, being liquified in order to become a butterfly.
I get it though that it’s all my fault for being mentally ill and unable to work. And I am grateful my parents let me live with them for a low rent. But I don’t really believe that gives them the right to say words like that about anyone really.
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