Another monologue… This time from a suggestion of “Trophy”:
It’s weird, right? Stressing over something so small. I mean, it shouldn’t be that big a deal, but it is. It’s my trophy. I won it. I put in the hours and effort, I sacrificed for it, it’s mine.
I mean, she doesn’t even want it. She said so.
She said to me “Karen, I don’t care if I win”.
That drives me crazy. How could you not want to win? Isn’t that the point? I mean, why take part if you’re not wanting to win? What is the actual point? Dad always said “If you’re not a winner, then you’re a loser, and we’re not a family of losers”. So that’s driven me all through my life. I have to be first. I have to be the one to win. Nothing else matters. The highest grades in school, medals at the sports days, being top of the class. Nothing else matters.
If I don’t win, then I’m out. I’m a winner. I always have been and always will. It’s what’s important. Dad would always take me for a reward when I won. We’d spend time together, he’d ask me about how I won, what the reaction of the other kids was, could I do something else to win better next time? It’s the only time I ever saw him smile was when he talked about how to crush the losers in my life. I live for those moments with him. He told me once that one of his biggest disappointments in life was that his first child was me. He wanted a son… that’s how he’d know he was a winner. His brother didn’t have kids, so he’d be the winner in that competition. Raise a male heir to carry on his line.
He got me though. He blamed Mum for that. I have a memory of them screaming at each other when I was young about how she was trying to ruin him. For as long as I can remember, they’ve slept in separate rooms. They never paid me any attention growing up… Nanny ended up raising me. She’s the one who helped me to my first win. She helped me train to win the egg & spoon race at School. That first one was amazing. I left everyone else in the dust. Everyone cheering for me when I crossed that line. Bliss.
When we got home that day, Dad saw us coming in and saw the trophy. He smiled and said “Well done”. The first thing he’d said to me in months. I knew from that point on what I had to do. I had to win at everything. So I did. Every race, every competition, everything. Every time I came home with a trophy, he’d say something to me. He said to me once that “maybe a daughter wasn’t so bad after all”. I almost cried.
I put all my attention where it needed to be. On winning. Nothing else matters. Did I tell you my school report said once “She needs to realise that there’s more to life than winning”? Dad was particularly pleased with that. He said to me “Karen, this teaches you the most important lesson of all. To identify those who’ll drag you down and to cut them out of your life. Anyone who isn’t pushing you to be your best is worthless to you”. I cut everyone else out of my life. The only thing that matters was winning. If I set my mind to it, it was mine. That’s how I got to be where I am. Liv doesn’t care if she wins. Doesn’t that tell you something? Liv is satisfied with second. How can she be satisfied with second? How is that not eating her up? How does that not feel like a thousand stabs in her chest? How does that not burn her up? I don’t get it. What drives her if it’s not the need to win? Why does she even bother to get up? She’s got kids, and she doesn’t care about winning? What kind of message is that to them? They’ll grow up to be losers.
No. No, she cheated. I can’t be a loser. I don’t lose. My family aren’t a bunch of losers. Dad said so. I can’t let him see me being a loser.