“Fuck off; go fucking die; crazy kid.”
I’ve been told these things by a family member yesterday, undeservedly so.
She knows nothing about me, but it hurt, a lot.
Take me or leave me. I’ll never be perfect; believe me, I’m worth it.
Call it a curse or just call me blessed. If you can’t handle my worst, you ain’t getting my best.
Saturday evening I politely declined job suggestions and clearly stated that I didn’t ask for advice. The other person takes it as a slap to the face and gets hysterical. This happened over email, so I imagined him as a spoiled brat kicking and screaming for not getting his way.
I don’t want to hear it from someone with a privileged background.
The only people to gain anything from unsolicited advice are the very same patronizing individuals who badger me to get my shit together. They would pat themselves on the back for being so “helpful” — acting like know-it-alls, thinking they have the solutions that will change my life; when in actuality, none of their preaching is beneficial. Most of their suggestions had already been futile endeavors or I can’t afford the options or I don’t have access to opportunities that would at least make my goals attainable.
Residential schools operated for 150+ years. Over 150,000 Indigenous children were taken against their will and thrown into schools, where christianity was forced upon them, and they suffered sexual, physical and emotional abuse. At least 6000 or more of those children died while in the system, buried in unmarked graves on school grounds. 67 percent of schools were run by the Roman Catholic Church, 20 percent by the Anglicans, 10 percent by the United Church, 3 percent by the Presbyterian Church. The last school closed in the year 1996.
I got over him last January [2018]. I was young and foolish when I first met him. He should be 37 now, almost a decade older than I am. It would not have taken me more than a year to move on if he had given me closure, provided an answer as to why things ended the way they did.