Eldest Daughter Rage

I am a redhead. Naturally I am a brunette. But I dyed my hair red to match the wrath inside my head. I have always said my hair matches my state of mind hence why it's often messy. Sometimes I dream about shaving it off. But then I am afraid I will be no different than my father.

What exactly about becoming him is so terrifying? It's always “daughters and fathers” aye. The bond we share is so strong we smoke the same cigarettes. I yell as much as him. I drink as much as him. I see my reflection in his whisky glass, half empty just like him. He laughs the same way I do. I hate to admit it but I talk as much as him. A resemblance, so uncanny yet a weapon so sharp and cutting.

I am the spitting image of my father I have been told. I have also inherited his rage and lack of patience but also I am my mother's daughter. I have been gifted her self hatred and her poor choice in men. I often wonder how my parents see me. Do they even see me? I have always been told to act like an adult from a young age and when I finally did I was lectured to act my age. 

I remembered when I was 8 years old I cleaned the house and cooked lunch but when my father came back from work he scolded me for ruining the food and my mother scoffed looking at the house that wasn't cleaned properly. So I understood you can never make people happy, best to never try.

I believe in punishing people with silence. Something my mother has taught me. But I am not my mother. I am a strong woman immune to flattery but still naive enough to fall in love with an unstable man. Like every fucked up female with a main character syndrome I look for my father in every man I love. But independent enough to know that I don't care much for his validation. I can't even get my own mother's approval, bold of you to assume I'd seek yours. I am smart enough to know better and tell him his mother not loving him enough is not my problem. Wise enough to leave before I get attached, and still inconsiderate to remind him he wouldn't be the way he is if his parents loved him enough. I am trying to push his buttons so he ends up murdering me.

And like any reasonable woman I ask myself what do I seek from self destruction? Do I get off on self sabotage? Or is it a deep twisted sense of control? I will find out later. In the meantime as long as he is obsessed with me the way my father used to obsess over my mother, I will convince myself it was love. 

I am always angry. I lean towards violence. I find peace in the chaos. So you raising your voice or glaring at me is not going to intimidate me. Oh you threw the plates on the floor and punched the wall. I wish I could find it in me to care. This is what I exactly want, my love. I am the eldest daughter with a red head. A heart full of indifference and hate. I am the eldest daughter with the burden of the world on her shoulders. The warrior born into battle. A storm in a world that told me to be still. The eldest daughter, the child who grew fast, the second mother, the shrink, the mistress, the fighter, the lover but never just a daughter.