Do Your Parents Tell You That You Hate Your Siblings?
May 3, 2015 – Some parents hate their children because they are the embodiment of everything the parent is unhappy about with his or her own life. Some parents hate their children for who they are not – the fulfillment of all the dreams that child represented when he or she was just a baby. If a child evolves in consciousness beyond that of the parent then that child may be hated for bettering himself. Some parents hate their children because they themselves were hated by their own parents. Hatred is a vicious self-perpetuating energy system.
SELF HATRED PROJECTED: If your parents or anyone else tries to tell you that you are a hateful person then they are projecting their own hatred on to you. Projection means that your parents cannot honestly deal with their own hatred and so they tell you that you are the hateful one. This allows your accuser to feel the emotional rush of hatred by judging you as guilty of hate.
My father used to tell my siblings and I that we hated each other because my father hated his own life. When I was drunk my mother told me: “I think you hate women.” My mother hated her alcoholic father and her mother. The only people my parents liked were their old high school friends. My father at least “liked” us but ultimately resented the time demands of four children and an emotionally crippled wife who did not drive an automobile. Hate is its own cancerous energy system that needs to be cut out with the knife of love and forgiveness.
Parents Have Children for Their Own Ego Gratification, Not Out of Love of Children
When I was thirty years old a co-worker at the Gas Company named Frances once confided in me that she loved her children but that if she could do it all over again she would not have them. Frances you are a saint, your words opened my eyes.
The next time I was drunk around my parents I started laughing at them for having so many “Goddamned fucked-up kids!” ha Ha HA! If they were still alive I would call them up of the phone right now at six o’clock in the morning and tease them just like they teased me when I was a teenager. My parents were relentless teasers and name callers. If you are a teenager you have the legal right to say to your parents: “Please don’t call me names because I am an emotional teenager.”
When I was twelve years old my parents dressed me up as a Hawaiian girl for Halloween. I paid them back by becoming an official David Bowie bisexual teenager two years later. When I was fourteen years old I read in Creem magazine that Bowie’s real life model for “Rebel Rebel” was a fourteen year old girl. I remember it like it was yesterday. David Bowie was such a major influence on my life that he is in my subconscious. Only now six months after Bowie’s passing am I remembering all of this cosmic Bowie consciousness from my drunken youth.