Kaye's Days

This is something I’ve been feeling that I really just need to get out. I’ve held it in because it makes me seem arrogant, but it’s building up, so I figure I’ll just put it here.

I don’t respect my family.

It’s not something I’m proud of and I try to have respect for them, but I simply can’t muster much. Some, I have a little respect for, but others, I don’t have any. My family has done little that I find worth respecting.

I feel like this is something that goes back to how I feel towards my friends because I have much more respect for them. It’s more than that they generally treat me better. The way my friends are going, they will have done more with their lives by the age of 22 than anyone in my family has up to the current points in their lives. That’s sad.

My family has ultimately failed at everything except staying alive. Even parenting was a failure for them. I’ll admit my own mother did better than hers did, but not by much. Out of my whole family, there’s only one person I can think of who I can respect: my paternal grandmother. She worked in elder care for over forty years. Unfortunately, she’s now deceased.

I’m not someone who automatically respects people because they’re bigger than me. My respect has to be earned. Of course, I’ll respect someone who treats me and others well, no matter what. Kind-heartedness and sensitivity are the best traits I think a person can have. At the same time, if someone would rather complain or make excuses and generally not help themselves, I can’t say I’ll think highly of them.

I understand everybody complains. I sure do! I also understand that life is hard and it really does suck. The economy is bad, the country is getting worse. It seems like anyone who doesn’t take their own life is admirable and even those who do are admirable in their own way because I can’t blame them. Then, there’s depression and everything that brings. If you ever want to know how much depression sucks, email me. Trust me. I can tell you.

However, if someone does nothing about it, I start to blame them. Even depressed people don’t like when others use depression as an excuse. In fact, people who are truly depressed generally look for ways out of their situations (hence why suicide can come into play). My family does a lot of complaining, but doesn’t even try to do anything. They’ve never tried to better themselves or they give up too easily or they even make the same mistake again and again.

Besides the above, I also lack respect for my family for the prejudices some of them hold. I already mentioned my grandfather’s once. My maternal grandmother dislikes anyone who isn’t black. My mother has something against Haitians, although she may not anymore. I’m not sure. And, of course, there’s the vanity, which really irks my nerves. Last week, my grandfather screamed at me because my mother didn’t come to do my hair and complained to my uncle that I don’t care about how I look. This was ignorant of the fact that I had washed and styled my hair that day. Why he thinks I can’t tend to my own hair is beyond me, but I don’t care much for what he has to say because of that.

Between refusal to do or try anything, irrational prejudice and vanity, I don’t think it’s hard to see why I don’t respect my family. I’ve already decided that I’m going to have minimal contact with them when I’m eventually on my own. Nobody needs or deserves toxicity in their life and if they can’t treat me like a person, then I want nothing to do with them.