为什么我不会表达，为什么我词不达意，为什么我总是想要靠近、却下意识把别人推开，为什么想要亲密关系、又害怕产生依赖，想要稳定关系、又总喜欢没事找事，想要予取予求、又嫌随叫随到没意思。一切的一切似乎都是在找各种的借口避免真正的confront我自己的各种毛病和不想被了解的面相。

这样ok吗？如果他们看到我这样，会怎么想？他们会觉得我可怜吗？会同情我吗？我爸来我家第二周末的时候，由于我在想到一些不愉快的事情的时候、他连着三次通过关紧的门大叫我吃饭、每次间隔五分钟，还数次不敲门直接冲进来、对我大喊，直接trigger我崩溃。我立刻被带回小时候，在房间里只能靠听音乐稳定一下情绪的自己、然而这个空间也是不安全的，因为我爸已经在一次争吵中把锁捶坏了。一直到读大学，潜意识里我大概还是为小时候无法控制父亲的脾气感到不安、直接导致我在Daiga某次派对时耍酒疯时冲上去给了他两耳光。

我爸trigger多次的十分钟里，我崩溃了。我大声告诉他：You are the villain in my story you’ve always been. 我告诉他，我没病、我只是深刻地认为我的人生没有意义。过去没有、现在没有、未来也不会有。因为我行尸走肉、没有自主性、不被允许自己做决定。我不是人，我畜生不如。我是您家的畜生。我不记得我还说了什么，我只记得他那之后阴郁了快一个星期。虽然我知道当时很崩溃，但我知道，我说的每个字、都是认真的…

我很自责让他见到我那样。那之后，他天天提醒我吃药、直到我重新“稳定”下来。

ChatGPT translation:

Why can’t I express myself properly? Why are my words always off? Why do I always want to get closer, yet subconsciously push people away? Why do I want intimacy, but fear dependency? Why do I crave stability, yet always end up stirring up unnecessary drama? Why do I want to have everything on my terms, yet find it boring when people actually respond to me at any time?

It feels like everything—all of it—is just me finding excuse after excuse to avoid actually confronting my own flaws and the parts of me I don’t want anyone to see.

Is this okay? If they saw me like this, what would they think? Would they pity me? Would they feel sorry for me?

The second weekend after my dad came to stay with me, I had a breakdown. I had been thinking about something upsetting, and he shouted at me to eat three times through the closed door, each time five minutes apart. He also barged in multiple times without knocking, yelling at me. That directly triggered me. I was instantly taken back to my childhood—me, trying to calm myself down with music in my room. But even that space wasn’t safe, because my dad had already smashed the door lock during a previous argument.

Even when I went off to college, I think part of me was still deeply uneasy about never being able to control his temper when I was a child. That probably explains why, during one of Daiga’s parties, when he got drunk and acted out, I slapped him—twice.

In those ten minutes of repeated triggering, I broke down. I shouted at my dad: “You are the villain in my story. You’ve always been.” I told him I wasn’t mentally ill—I just truly believed my life had no meaning. Not in the past, not now, and not in the future. Because I’ve been like a walking corpse, with no autonomy, never allowed to make my own decisions. I’m not a person. I’m worse than an animal. I’m the family’s animal. I don’t remember everything I said, but I remember he stayed gloomy for nearly a week afterward.

Even though I know I was having a breakdown, I also know that every single word I said—I meant it.

I still feel guilty for letting him see me like that. After that, he started reminding me to take my meds every day—until I was “stable” again.