Day terrors

There I am at thirty four; sitting on the couch, alone, unemployed. Waiting for the punchline. Waiting to see the point in all this.
What a waste of time.

Today I realised I am not the crazy one in the family, my family is crazy, or rather, messed up, shortsighted and prejudiced. Even my sister once said I was really difficult when we were young, with an expression on her face that told me something else: she understood why my mother and father had been worse with me than with her.
She was the baby, I took the hardest blows so to speak, so sis, how do you think I became like that? She doesn't have a clue, she's still in denial.
It's a weird thought, it's something actual crazy people would think; I'm not crazy, everybody else is! But today I suddenly saw that none of it was my fault and I had not deserved any of the abuse, rejection and guilt trips. Not then, not now. I did what I had to do to survive.
I'm okay. I'm actually pretty sane.
Today I'm also grateful again for not having any children to pass all that crap on to. I won't have kids till I'm good and ready and able to be a balanced, capable parent.Today I also wished my mother had had a miscarriage when she was pregnant with me, but there's no point in regretting things of the past.
A psychic once told me I didn't want to be born (Can you blame me? Really?). I cried a lot after I was born. Again me, in two pieces. One part of me badly wanted to be born, to do something very important with my life, and in order to do that I had to suffer immensely.
I even survived my very pregnant mother's belly-first fall into a concrete pole; stubborn before birth.
The other part of me saw what was coming and was scared shitless.
I can't blame me.
So what's next? How to go on? Is there something else I can do or is this going to go on as always; a never-ending wait? Can't believe how patient I've been. Not that I had much of a choice of course.

I've been dreaming loads the past few days, lots and lots of dreams and colourful images. The anger sure kicked up some dust, now the dreams are a way of working through it I guess.
Sometimes it's hard to believe there's people who are actually having nice lives. Sometimes it's really hard to believe they don't see the hurt, the pain and the violence until it's right in front of them.
The nightmares might be nightmares but the pain is very real. Yes, I can understand it when the enlightened say it's all fine, everything is okay, exactly the way it's supposed to be, and they can laugh at the pain because we're all dreaming, it's not real. Well it feels real and that's all that matters.
So if anyone is holding back, please don't, I would very much like to wake up from this horrific thirty four year long nightmare and if you need to smack me in the head to help me wake up; go right ahead. Be my guest. Kick me in the shins if you have to. I'm so done with this part.
Wish I knew if there's ever going to be a good part. If not... I don't know. Might give booze a try. Sick of all this shit. Sick and tired.
In a way, giving up would be a relief. Not caring anymore, just drinking and watching tv, occasionally eating, or not.
The best part would be not caring. Not caring about people's opinions, cos then they'd be right about me; I'd be a lazy good-for-nothing. It's very possible I'd be happier that way. Mh.
Feel awful. Don't know what else to say.