biased truth

It's impossible to tell everything and so therefore there is a biased filter regardless of how truthful I try to be. I often write in my head and it never gets written. Then there is so much to tell, what is relevant and useful can be obscured. That of course presumes there is a purpose and a value which I would like to be real but likely isn't.

I desperately want some meaning to this misery and horrific existence I choose to live and yet seem unable to alter.

I am so sorry I am how I am ... because of my children. I want them to know I am very sorry for how I am. I want to believe that I really don't know how to change, and that I am unable, and even though it seems stupidly simple to them, it truly isn't.

I wrote a poem, Skin Deep, about truth.

I want what I write to be true. I can never be sure. I believe it is but I am never sure. I just don't want to harm my children. I believe that by isolating myself from everyone that I can avoid harming them. I believe this because I have reached out for help and little is offered and not enough and the duration is short lived and them I am avoided. I could argue that my family (parents, children) can't help me anymore than I can change. It is just too painful. It could be indifference or disgust but I believe there is love, so that therefore it is about inability and not just a choice to walk away from me, because I am not worth it, or because I don't matter in their lives.

It's painful to think about the possibilities and it is hard to be alone when I dwell on it

I hate hope. I think hope drives living and I can't shirk it. Occasionally, I believe I have lost hope but then I hope my children forgive me.

I don't hope that for my parents. I know they want to stay blind to my life and because I know this I want that for them too. My father is proud to never have visited my home which I have lived in for 16 years. I find that pride disgusting and I don't  mind be public about that disgust. But is is just mean to emphasize this point which I have had made clearly to me in the past. And they don't agree with me. I love my parents. They provided well for me as child and they have and still do always mean well, regardless of how they act or what they say. And then there were things they never knew, so they couldn't have done anything about them. I want the rest of their lives, be it up to 15 to 20+ more years, to be enjoyed by them and to be unhampered by me. Not knowing me is what they want so I want it for them. I want them to enjoy their life.

They would want me in their lives if I were different, but that is not going to happen, so not being in their lives is my best choice, I don't think they think about me much, or even miss me much, if at all. I think it would surprise them to know how I often think about them and wish them well. We used to talk maybe 2 to 4 times yearly — "we" meaning my mother and me. I don't think I have spoken to her since last Christmas when I saw her in person as well as my son.

I will make a point of letting my mother know that I think about them often and wish them well. I have told them before, probably more than once, but it is always a good thing to say because it is always a good thing to hear, and it is true.
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