Self love
I don't know why but I always thought it to be the job of my parents to protect me, but they never did. At least not the way I wanted them to.When I was really young, I remember my Uncle (my mother's youngest brother) molesting me frequently. I remember him covering my mouth, rubbing his body hard against mine, sometimes while my sister was next to me too and when he was done he would go back to whatever he was doing like nothing happened. He went through great lengths to make sure my sister and I were afraid of not only him, but afraid to tell on him. When he would discipline us he would cover our faces with pillows and stifle us. Lock us in the closet without lights. He left no stone unturned when it came to reprimanding us for anything he thought was misbehavior. After a while though I guess he gave up on being an asshole because he knew that my sister and I were getting too old and that the truth wouldn't be misconstrued should we choose to tell my parents. By then it was too late though, I had already been so deeply scarred that I chose not to tell my mother and because of that, I always blamed her for not protecting me. When I lost my virginity at 15 my parents found out by reading a letter my best friend at the time had written to me. I didn't expect them to find out, I don't even know why I left the letter laying out there like that but like most parents would be upon finding out that information they were disappointed. But their disappointment soon turned into a rampage of verbal abuse. They called me all kinds of names. Probably every name in the book. And this continued for months. They never let up, and I never let go. What it all comes down to is that I never received the affection that I wanted from my parents. I could never cry in my mother's lap about my broken heart and my dad would never open his arms to me. I spent the remainder of my teenage years looking for ways to compensate what I was deprived of. And now I'm 27 years old, still feeling detached and still searching for their love in the form of approval.
The stress of having to sort out my next steps have caused a sizable knot in my stomach. It's hard to pick apart how I feel once the feelings manifest, but on a daily basis the knot moves between my chest and throat. It's like having cinder blocks sitting on your chest and being unable to move it because your hands are tied behind your back.
I am struggling with wanting the approval of my family yet wanting to be on my own. Can't have it all M, right? Which one is more important now at this point in my life? My whole life feels like a blur because I can't remember enjoying the things I did because I was continuously chastised for it. All I want is to feel alive. Although things could be better I know that I didn't do bad. I graduated high school, I went to college, and I'm at a job (which at times gives me headaches) doing exceptionally well and going on to my 9th year here. Perhaps I could have managed my money better, taken care of my body/health better, whatever. But isn't there something that we all could have done better looking back? The agony though is that I am frequently reminded of everything I've done "wrong". I have regrets like the next person but why do I have to get beaten up over them? If nothing is perfect, why must I relive my faux pas over and over again?
I have learned to accept the criticism, even when I shouldn't have to, because my family forces their opinions even when I don't ask. A lot of the times when I would express myself I'd hear, "You don't care about anyone but yourself." And I'd think to myself, who are you to tell me how I feel? who are you to tell me that I don't care? And yet I'd spend the remainder of the conversation trying to convince them that I care even though it's done to a deaf ear. No one wants to hear me and the lesson in that is that I have to accept it. No matter who you are, no matter what you do, it is not up to anyone else to validate you but yourself. I am seeking something that I will never get. I have been struggling with self-acceptance for years. So far in my adult life I have not yet seen the better days that people tend to brag about. In my story, it seems the better days are hidden somewhere in which I must unlock 5,000,000 doors before I find oblivion. And I don't know how much longer I can take the mediocrity that I've been settling for. My body aches with pain waiting on the miracle. The miracle that things will change. The miracle that my family will change. For so long I have been searching for the light at the end of the tunnel. I want out and I don't know how to open that door without closing the other.
written on 02/03/2014 at 12:34 P.M.
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