Information

KING PAIMON

The

Bloodred Lain
Owner:

paeoniaceae

Age: 3 years, 2 months, 2 days

Born: March 6th, 2021

Adopted: 3 years, 2 months, 2 days ago

Adopted: March 6th, 2021

Statistics

Level: 16
Strength: 87
Defense: 28
Speed: 81
Health: 53
HP: 53/53
Intelligence: 37
Books Read: 32
Food Eaten: 5
Job: Ridiculous Masked Guard

Hail, Paimon!

I’m screaming with my mouth sewed shut for you to love me the way I want you to. To run your fingers through my hair and tell that you want me here, that I belong, that all the things I think I know are true ARE true. I know that I could never brute force my will into the world. I know that no matter how much I bitch and moan, I’ll always feel like an obligatory invite. Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading for you to peel back the layers of compulsory smiles and public shaming questions in the guise of mothering in front of your friends. If you hate me, just say it. Fucking say it and don’t end it with feigned concern because it’s supposed to mean something that I’m half of you.

I’ve taken enough sociology courses to understand that how you were raised is how you learned to express love, how to receive love. I know grandma and your brothers and sisters have history that I’ll never know. I’ve seen how she looks at you when she thinks no one is looking. The same look I know you give me. It’s like seeing wasps out the corner of my eye, flying toward me, threatening to tangle my hair and swell my flesh… But I look straight at it, and it’s some kind of moth that isn’t even moving. The kind you swat and leaves an imprint of dust on the wall. I cry and tell you how scared I was. Scoffing, you’ll deny wasps even exist. You’ll pry my arms from around your waist and tell me to get a grip.

I built my entire fucking future on trying to understand you. I thought with enough insight, my empathy would break down your defense mechanisms. But at the end of the day, all I can hear is your snarls accusing me of not genuinely caring. Your eyes piercing through me, giving me the undivided attention I begged you for but in all the wrong ways. The way all your distain and hatred of me concentrates on your lips, ensuring all the vitriol you spit is deliberate, poignant, painful. I spent all my birthday wishes on us. On you.

I’m shaking my head now and asking myself why even write all this? It’s not like you’d ever read it and give a shit. Hey, that sounds like something you’d tell me, under your breath, just as I turn a corner back to my room. And so it goes. I’ll do this to my children. They’ll to theirs. And on, like it’s sequenced in our DNA. Like it’s hereditary.
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MY MOM DIED

a week ago. So I’m just here for trying it. I have a lot of resistance to things like this, but I came to these a couple years ago. Well, I was forced to come and I guess it, I guess it helped. So, my mom was old, and she wasn’t altogether there at the end. And we were pretty much estranged before that, so it really wasn’t a huge blow. But I did love her. And she didn’t have an easy life. She had DID, which became extreme at the end. And dementia. And my father died when I was a baby from starvation because he had psychotic depression and he starved himself, which I’m sure was just as pleasant as it sounds. And then there’s my brother. My older brother had schizophrenia, and when he was sixteen, he hanged himself in my mother’s bedroom and of course his suicide note blamed her, accusing her of putting people inside him. So, that was my mom’s life. And then she lived in our house at the end, before hospice. We weren’t even talking before that. I mean, we were, and then we weren’t. And then we were. She’s completely manipulative. Until my husband finally enforced a no-contact rule, which lasted until I got pregnant with my daughter.I didn’t let her anywhere near me when I had my first, my son, which is why I gave her my daughter, who she immediately stabbed her hooks into. And I just, I felt guilty again. I felt guilty again. When she got sick, not that she was really even my mom at the end, and not that she would ever feel guilty about anything. And I just don’t want to put any more stress on my family. I’m not even really sure if they could, could give me that support. And I just, I just feel like, I just sometimes feel like it’s all ruined. And then I realize that I am to blame. Or not that I’m to blame, but I am blamed!

DON'T YOU SWEAR AT ME

you little shit! Don’t you ever raise your voice at me! I am your mother! Peter: Do you understand? All I do is worry and slave and defend you. And all I get back is that fucking face on your face. So full of disdain and resentment and always so annoyed. Well, now your sister is dead. And I know you miss her, and I know it was an accident, and I know you’re in pain. And I wish I could take that away for you. I wish I could shield you from the knowledge that you did what you did, but your sister is dead! She’s gone forever! And what a waste. If it could have maybe brought us together or something. If you could have just said, “I’m sorry,” or faced up to what happened. Maybe then we could do something with this. But you can’t take responsibility for anything! So now I can’t accept, and I can’t forgive, because, because nobody admits anything they’ve done!