The Wallet and the Angel

"Give me something to believe, because I am living just to breathe" - The Bravery

My father and mother.
Rather I should say guardians, since a father and mother are someone you love and can care for.

I just can't anymore.

I realized something today.

My parents are not dear to me.

I perceive my parents as just what it says in the title. A wallet. An Angel.

Now before you write me off as being ungrateful, I want to tell you that I have a reason before this.


I perceive my father this way since this is the way he perceives himself.
My father is a quiet, sadistic introvert.
Everything this family says to him is a destructive, hurtful phrase.

One word is all it takes.

So in this my father shrinks further and further into himself taking every single bit of his personality, love, and joy with him. When I speak to him I'm not speaking to a person, but a wall of agony that worries about himself.

He doesn't love me.

When this happened around the time I was 8, he was no longer my father, but the wallet.
He gives us money to feed and clothe ourselves but nothing more.

Not one genuine smile, not one genuine word.

Then there is my mother.
The Angel.

I've always loved my mom, but I suppose it hasn't really been more than a love for something that protects you.

We haven't always gotten along and we never will, I've come to accept that.
She loves me I know but I don't think I could ever love her as much as she does me.
My mother can be an extraordinary thing.
She is like my guardian angel and when our family hurts she can spread out her wings and wrap us in them, thus comforting us and shielding the world from the truth.

The problem is, since I was 13 I haven't taken anymore comfort from her. She cared and she knew I hurt but she couldn't fix it.

So after my thirteenth birthday I grew numb, and my mom became the Angel. Nothing more, nothing less.

She is overbearing, and can be so annoying, and sometimes even the Angel cracks. Then once it does I receive the excess. I get yelled at for studying an hour and a half for a test instead of two, I become the target when my clothes don't look right, when I answer no to a yes question.
It all lands on me since I am the only one she can unload on, the only one she still has control over.

It's hard to explain how I feel about them.
The Wallet can be mean and the Angel overbearing.

The sad thing is that people perceive us as the wonderful family.
The hard working father, the caring mother, the adorable children who make good grades and don't cause trouble.

If only some knew half of the shit that is incredibly wrong with this family.
My family should just become actors.
We're already so good at it.

Thank you.

I just wanted to say thank you for everyone reading my blog and commenting.

I really do appreciate your feedback.

I wanted to make this post taking into consideration all your comments on the previous post.

I see where all of you are coming from. Different parents have different ways of saying things.
Some strive to be the best and that is a very good motive. However I was more referring to those who were forced to do this. I have to say that I didn't intend the post to offend anyone and I was just saying some parents I know do that.

I use this blog to attempt to make people see things in a different light.

Once again thank you for all the feedback.
I hope to become inspired again soon.

Can this still be called living?

Something disturbing has been racing through my mind these last few days.

I'm disgusted with the "lives" of all the Southside IB-ers.

I realize this is a strong statement, but I do feel this way.

We came to the IB for one of two reasons:

1. Our Parents wanted us to.
2. It's the "best" school system.

Our Parents.

The driving force behind all our studying.

The people that want the "best" for us.

The prideful souls that want us to "shine".

The source of the bruises on our body.

Sometimes I wonder if they have hearts. Sometimes I wonder if we can even call them parents, if not dictators. We live in "respect" of them, which basically translates to fear.
We are on a chopping block constantly.
We are bred to please them, to give them happiness.
We are abused when we don't achieve perfection.

Are we children or are we animals?

I can't tell anymore.
Even if we deliver "perfection", most get a grunt of approval, no, acknowledgment.
We cast away all other necessities to "better" ourselves, and to receive their approval.
We give up our weekends, our friends, hell, we even give up our souls sometimes to study our lives away.

All for what?
So they don't hit us?
So they don't yell at us?
So they finally acknowledge us for the human beings we are?

Is this healthy?

Can this be considered a life?

We give up so much.
We give up sleep.
We give up looks.
We give up comfort.
We give up friends.
We give up freedom.
We give up so much, just to appease our parents.







Do we even exist outside of these "lives"?





I have come to realize these things the past few days after sitting back and watching us.

I suppose we are ants.

We work, work, work.

I feel bad for ourselves.

All of this just to be able to check the box on our college applications that reads

[ ] IB Diploma Candidate

I'm disgusted.

Just one of those days.

Have you ever had one of those days were you get out of bed at an ungodly hour in the morning, crawl to the nearest bathroom, look at the mirror, and do a double take because you don't believe that hideous sight you are staring at is you?

Well today was one of those days. I got up, took a shower, and then threw on some clothes.

Then the whole morning I was so mellow that people started to ask me what's wrong. In all honesty I thought that I was acting normal. Apparently I was so spaced out that I didn't even notice when people were talking to me.

It's not that there is anything wrong with me, I just didn't give a crap about what people thought of me. So I might of been snappy or spaced out, but I was just in a very apathetic/lazy mood.

Lethargy can kill, you know.

Are we just curious?

Have you ever overheard a snippet of a conversation, and wanted to know the rest?
Have you ever talked to someone, said a sentence, only to have the person ask you to repeat it?
Have you ever gotten the reply of "Just never mind" when you asked them to repeat it?

Why?

Why are we so curious?

Is it really that important what that person had to say?

If that person says never mind, why do we ask again?





Are we really that scared of missing a piece of information from our lives?



Is it vital to us?
Why is it that we are so curious?
Are we really that hungry for information, even if the end it could hurt us?

The human mind is a strange thing. Some minds have an insatiable need for information, others could care less about knowledge. We all have a curiosity. We are terrified of not knowing the same things that our friends know, in fear of becoming left out. It isn't even that we have to know what that information is, it is just that we want to fit in. It is like we are programmed to do things that will make us "popular" or conformed. We are so dependent on our friends, and so scared of not being liked by them anymore that we would do almost anything just to hear that information again, to know the same things as others.

Why are we so desperate to be liked?

The Me behind the mask

So I've decided to take up blogging.

A few might wonder things like:

"Really? Jakob blogging?"

or

"Jakob has thoughts in that brain of his?"

or

"What is up with the URL and the name?"

Well good people I will tell you.
This may sound strange or strike you as different, but the name literally translates to "Dance of Masks".
I am not who you think I am. Those few unlucky souls who have seen the real me were surprised and taken back at first. I am not a generally happy person. I worry, I cry, I feel sorry for myself, just like any other person. I am perceived as a lovable ray of happiness most times, with generally nothing on my mind. This is not the case.

This is a mask.

This may strike many of you as weird, but I believe that we all have them. We can all put on a smile, fake a tear, force a look of pleasantry across our face.

I've decided to put my thoughts out on the table, bear with me, they will be bizarre and odd.

You will be surprised if you don't know the "true" me.

Watch me change your perception of me.

Watch me change you.