Frustration. I think that’s the best word to describe the feeling inside of me right.

Some days, I get so frustrated that all I want to do is scream until my throat bleeds. That’s exactly how I feel today.

Sometimes, it feels like the Universe is working against me. No matter how I plan, or what I do, everything just seems to ultimately fail. I do believe firmly in the Law of Attraction, but I swear, it doesn’t work for me. No matter how positive I stay, or how hard I work towards my goals, it’s like I’m met failure. Even the whole fake it until you make thing doesn’t work out for me.

It’s depressing. It’s really, really depressing. I spend countless days on my couch trying to trace back where everything went wrong. And I’ve figured it out.

It started with my parents.

I wasn’t raised in a traditional, two parent home where dad went to work and took care of the family while mom got involved in school activities. Nope, my dad was constantly in and out my life. I remember waking up one morning, and running around the house looking my for my dad. And so I asked my mama, “Where’s Raymond?” (Cause I never call my dad ‘dad’) And she tells me he’s gone and not coming back.

I can’t even begin to explain how much that hurt.

But he did eventually come back after a few years. And then he left again. And then he came back. And then left. He didn’t actually settle down at home until he diagnosed with cancer, and by that time, I was fully grown with a toddler and a place of my own. It was much too late for me to give a damn about him by then. My mom tried to make it better by telling me that he was my father, and he was always giving me money.

But, I didn’t care about the money. I kinda felt that was due to me for him giving me such a crappy childhood. It was full of broken promises. He promised me a trip to Disney World, and then moved away to Detroit for several years. I’d get an occasional phone call and a card in the mail. He told me he’d be home, and then disappear. Or days where my mom had to load us up in the van and beat my dad to his job because he was so addicted to drugs that if my mother didn’t get his paycheck first, we wouldn’t have any money. Let’s also not forget the days when he did get his paycheck first and my mother’s anger came blaring to life. And the sleepless nights where he and my mom fought – where she pulled out guns on him and tons of police cars would show up and surround our house – yeah, the money he gave me was definitely owed to me for the shitty childhood he gave me.

I try to be more tolerant of him now because his days are truly numbered, but truth be told, my dad’s very existence just pisses me off to no end.

My mother never explained stuff like how bank accounts work, or how credit worked, or why it was important. I didn’t learn about things like accreditation for colleges. Nor did I ever learn to finish what I start. My mom seldom let me even try different activities because she’d always, “What for? It’s not like you’re going to stick to it.”

There were a lot of things my mom didn’t explain, and a lot things my dad just didn’t know. He never did finish high school, you know, and my mom dropped out of high school and got a GED.

It felt like a bad start to life. But even worse, I feel like that this frustration is going to kill me.

I’d be lying, though, if I said I was unhappy most my childhood. My mom did the best she could, and I don’t blame her for anything. But there were so many things I wish she had taught me instead of always being in survival mode.

I like to think I overcame many of the obstacles in my life, but now, I’m at a point where I feel discontent. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch, a building frustration from somewhere deep inside of me. I hate my job. I hate my career field. I hate my financial situation. I hate my non-existent love life. I hate my body.

But it’s like, how do I change these things? I’ve tried again and again and again. I just keep failing miserably at it. And now, I’m reaching a point where I’m starting to feel apathetic to almost everything around me, a point where I’m like – “Fuck it! I don’t care anymore!”

I really hate this feeling of frustration.

Author: Raymonda

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