Today is tiring already. Being a realist, I generally try to see things at they are. Sometimes with depression and anxiety, this is not a possibility. The voice of negativity and what things might be screams. Some days are super easy. I am confident. This is my life, and I am living it. Some days, like today, just don’t. They don’t make sense. They don’t want to work properly. They don’t remember how we operate around here. The “voices” tend to change depending on what the negativity is about. If it is about my performance as a human being, I can almost always hear my Dad and the criticism he has offered. If it is about my ability to socialize or be normal, the voice will almost always be mine. Sometimes it is just a general laughter, as if in the back of my mind there are people with buckets and popcorn and small, over-priced boxes of candy, waiting for me to fail so they can laugh it up.
My Dad has always had a lot to say about me and how he thinks I should be. Most of it has not been positive. He knows exactly how I should be. He knows how to make me the perfect person. I don’t have a problem with him thinking this way. The problem is that he seems to think his word is gospel. Just because he believes it doesn’t mean it is true or correct. I know that. You know that. The cognitive parts of me know that, but I can’t believe it.
I don’t do a lot that I am proud of, nor do I see myself as talented. But I do cook. Dad and I have cooked together forever. He taught me quite a bit about the kitchen. When it comes to my cooking though, he thinks he knows better than anyone how it should be. Telling me “You need to learn how to salt your food. No one but you thinks it has enough salt in it.”, may not seem like a big deal to some people. To me, it is a huge insult. How dare you insult my cooking. If I cook something, and you don’t like it, no big deal. If I cook something and you proceed to attack my entire approach to seasoning, that is a bit uncalled for. It hurts my feelings. And he loves to say these things like I am a complete moron.
Then he decides he needs to explain to me how to accept criticism, except his way of teaching is through insulting. “It must be nice to be so perfect that no one can ever give you any constructive criticism.” Yeah Dad, it rocks.
Some people wouldn’t be bothered by his words. I am. Call it what you will. Say I sound like a spoiled brat or dramatic. You are entitled to your opinion. Sometimes though, I just don’t need his.