I’ve never had a ‘normal’ life, I’ve dealt with so much for so long I fear I am past the point of ‘normal’ at times. It’s sad really to not feel as if you have lived for 12 years of your life, to feel as if you have lived two separate lives yet you remain in the same body. This is the story of a girl who has experienced far too much pain, suffering and trauma to truly put it into words. The story of a girl in a family with an abusive parent, with an alcohol addiction, with a narcisstic asshole dad.
When you have lived in a state of survival for so long it can be hard to find yourself again, it can be hard to feel again, it can be hard to live. Sometimes I am thankful to not remember some of it either because I was too young or my brain blocked it out. Other times it annoys me as if I am but half a person.
Many people find holidays relaxing a time to take a well earned break, I did not share that sentiment till my father left my life. Holidays were always worse, things were harder, more stressful. One time I feared for my life as our car drove down a highway and my dad attempted to throw himself out of the open car door. Another my embarrassment nearly consumed me as my dad got pissed in front of strangers and made inappropriate comments. Another my dad didn’t return till late at which time he insisted he had to cook a chicken, to which he sat in front of the oven and watched it cook.
I suppose holidays stand out because they were different from an average day in my household. They tend to blend more, they were my normal for many years. He drank almost every night without fail and then drove to work the next morning as if nothing was wrong. He drank an outrageous amount before passing out at that table and a few hours later becoming the greatest annoyance he could. The sound of drunken songs often filled my dreams as my young 9 year old self tried to get some sleep. As did the sound of shouting and arguing.
Living in a constant state of fear is never healthy, but you know its bad when you stop feeling altogether. When the well of sadness inside you threatens to swallow you whole and a pit of rage threatens to bite the head off of the next person you see. It is a feeling I never wish for anyone else to understand. But the worst part is pretending you are fine and nothing is wrong, I’ve done it so much I can’t stop pretending now.
One of the worst feelings is waking up after all that and then everyone around you pretending like absolutely nothing happened. It was normal for us. But it still makes you feel crazy, it makes you want to scream at your past self to do something and to make it not normal. My dad still doesn’t understand what he put us through maybe because he was never sober, maybe he doesn’t care or maybe he just doesn’t want to remember. But I remember and it will stay with me forever not matter how fuzzy those memories are, no matter that I do not remember every single tiny detail it is all replaying in the back of my head.
Some say emotional pain is worse than physical pain and I agree there may not be visible scars but they are always there and they never leave you. Yet physical pain often comes with emotional as well and at least you can see where it hurts. At least others can see where the pain is coming from, at least they can see you are hurting and that you need help. At least it is obvious what has been done to you, at least justice can be dealt out easily and everyone sees what you are seeing. But no one gives out sentences for mental trauma caused, do they?
One. She’s on the floor screaming in agony. Two. She’s a ghost staring at a wall. Three. She’s curled up in a ball in the corner.
But one night everything changed. One Friday was all it took to change my entire existence. I was trying to get ready for bed, I was crying. Something had upset me. My father wouldn’t leave me alone.
“Why are you crying, you’re being so dramatic!”, he said.
He stood behind me, invading my space. I was panicking more than usual, it was all too much. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I ran to my safe space, my room. My space. I curled I n my blankets, but he was still there.
“I really don’t understand why you’re crying, you just want attention”, he called from the doorway.
Suddenly my brother was there.
“Leave her alone”, he said.
And he pushed him. I peeked from my hiding spot. Then my brother was against the wall my father’s hands around his neck. I just stared in panic as my mother started shouting.
“Put him down, what are you doing?”, she said in a panicked tone.
“I will call the police!”, she said.
She dialled 999. He had still not reacted. It rang and my mother started explaining the situation. This got my father’s attention. He dropped my brother, my mother was there immediately checking if he was okay. My father was angry, he went downstairs.
“What have you done?”, he said.
He was crying. My mother was speaking to me. The police arrived, there was shouting. A police man entered my room, my safe space. He was asking questions. I didn’t say much. I was in shock. They took him overnight, we were leaving tomorrow.
For months we had no permanent home, moving from place to place. My father refused to give us the house. Until we found a short term solution, a safe place. A place that felt like mine. But then he was giving us the house and we had to leave again. I had to leave this place of safety, this new start and go back. I was sad.
That was the night my endless cycle of a life changed, for the better. Yet my past still haunts me and that was certainly not the end of my father’s interference. My mother had the most difficult divorce someone could ask for, he fought every step of the way. He kept coming back, he never listened, he wanted to act like everything was normal. He wanted to act like he didn’t have two sides: the one that invited you in was sincere and sorry and the one that invaded your space, never listened and made your mother’s life a living hell. Finally he moved countries, because he couldn’t ‘find work’. But it was not far enough.
There will always be your presence in the back of my head, reminding and taunting me of what I have gone through. Not to mention your incessant calling, you never respect my boundaries. So I blocked you, cause I need to heal.
I feel more healed now, but life is still hard. Some days the world seems to fade out around me and I fall into a pit of never ending sadness. I’m trying to get help but I don’t know if it will work. Sometimes the world feels so hopeless and I cant help but feel like I am on edge all the time. I get stressed out so easily, it wears me out and makes me feel numb. The past feels more distant, yet I cant help but feel like I am outrunning a train or tidal wave. Almost like the world is still going to crash down around me, no matter how hard I try to hold it up.
The sadness comes so suddenly and out of the blue. Life becomes more overwhelming, social interaction becomes near impossible and all the things I love become mundane and lifeless. It comes in waves almost like its trying to fool me into thinking I’m okay. For weeks I’ll be fine with an off moment here and there. Then suddenly a switch flips and my bad days become more regular, more soul crushing. That’s how I felt today, so drained, lifeless and unmotivated. To move was difficult, to even think was hard. My headaches become more frequent too, sapping the life out of my already drained mind. For so long I’ve wished they would just stop but they don’t. It’s like someone is pounding on my head repeatedly with their fists, trying to squeeze me out of my own body.
I always think I’m done with therapy that I’ve had enough and worked my mind out. But that’s the thing with life it is forever changing, one moment you think you have it figured out and then the next moment you don’t. I’ll take a break but always find myself needing more or having a new issue that I hadn’t realised I had before. That’s the issue with having a hard childhood once your out the problems are never ending. The ramifications send shockwaves and fractures through the rest of your life.