Amazing by Kanye West

I haven’t tried making sense of everything yet. How we got to this point. I think my aunt is right, I’m disassociating.

I need something to be easy.

Signing into my apple music through my TV today was so easy. That was my easy button.

She thinks this is a punishment. It’s not. She needs help. She doesn’t understand that we’re not fortunate enough to not have daily extra steps to function in life. Reminders and coping skills and safety plans. But we have to be willing to follow and be vulnerable enough to identify our self-help. I’m willing. You don’t just follow the plan, and you’re cured. It’s recognizing that the goal is a straight ahead, but there will be curves and detours. Instead of laying down and crying, how do we get back on track? OR if you’re further in your treatment, how do we learn to contain the big emotions, so we don’t get off track. And if you’re even further in your treatment, how do we not let these big emotions win when we get off track, AND life throws a curveball. That’s where I’m at right now. I’ll forget to take my meds some days and others I’ll refuse to because I still struggle with acceptance. But I do take tiny steps and bigger steps when needed. Following these plans is hard work. But you have to be willing. She hasn’t even accepted that she needs help. Number 1 step. I keep in mind, every day, that I shouldn’t take it personally what she says. But I do have to listen to the secret meaning behind her words. The feelings she won’t say. I don’t want her away. Ever. I’m not ok with her gone. She doesn’t see that. She says these mean things, and it finally hurt my feelings. But I can’t cry. I’m not sure if I won’t let myself even though I recognize the need to OR if my body is forgetting to release. Maybe that’s where she’s at. Her body forgot how to release.

I am her punching bag.

I have to fill her cup with good things but she won’t let me.

I forgot who I am and I never know what day it is.

I hope you’re doing better.

None of this is her fault. And this isn’t fair to her. A horrible thing happened to her and now she has to go through the rest of her life trying to manage it. That’s not fair. That’s a big thing to accept. Even for an adult. She was 8 when it happened. She’s 13 now. And she’s supposed to be figuring out what she likes and who she is. But instead, we are stuck in 3rd 4th and 5th grade, and I can’t get her out and she won’t walk out and I can’t replace anything because she won’t let me. Now I’m in the idk stage too.

I get it now. I am the change between my parents and her generation. That’s how you change. Accept your strength. It’s like being the middleman, holding ropes on each hand. Your parents are tugging on one and your daughter on the other and you just gotta let them get tired, take that opportunity to pull them closer when they do and tell them of this different path. They gain their strength and go at it again. And this repeats until someone gets tired.

“Why do you hate me so much?” That has always been my question to ‘Saint. But I wasn’t really asking him. I was asking my parents. I realized that when my dad asked my daughter. This question has been in our family for generations. I used to tell my parents I don’t understand why you don’t care about me. As I got older, I started asking why do you hate me so much. I was neglected by both. My father probably asked his parents the same questions since he was neglected by both parents too. And his mother probably asked her parents, and her father probably asked his father. And his father probably asked him before he left Spain. My father’s father probably asked his father that since there’s an assumption, he could have been gay. And his father probably asked his father because where else did he learn this behavior. All of these generations being kicked out at a young age, including myself. And here I am begging to keep my daughter safe and by my side. That’s why it ends with me.

My daughter’s father probably asked his parents since they divorced when he was 2, and his mother abandoned him in a different country. She probably asked her father since there must have been shame for her divorce in a Muslim country and left being a lawyer to be a wedding photographer. He probably asked his father that question since he made a whole new family and didn’t care about him. And when he finally thought of him, he was on his deathbed and telling him he had a sister, my daughter’s age, with his new wife. She was a baby. All of his sons were businessmen. And he was nothing.

I’m punishing myself.

She hates me…. I hate me ! Welcome to the club.

I’m not scared of her and I’m not mad. I feel sad for her. She didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t have to do what he did, and he could have left us alone. But if one day she tries to unalive me, I might just let her. Why not? The whole reason why I do things and plan for the future…is her. And she doesn’t even like me either. No one does.

I don’t think I’ll ever get answers from her.

What could I have done differently?

What did you like the most?

Could you see that I loved you?

And… why do you hate me so much?