Flashback, journal, moments

Flashback: A letter to my brother

Dear Brother,

You had made all these cross-wired connections that were illogical in nature but made sense out of context. Like, I could understand what you were feeling but the why was so over the top that I couldn’t fully grasp.

However, in a position where I was so vulnerable, self-esteem so low it was drooling past the depths of hell, where the flashbacks were hitting me full force with their penetrative glares and living from day-to-day was becoming harder. Where I looked up to you so much and treasured and held true every word you said, I, for a minute, broke.

I broke down.

I cried. Wanting to kill myself. Believing the words you spoke – saying that I was selfish, that how dare I serve myself for a second instead of you, how dare I not sacrifice my wellbeing for your own, how dare I?
But, how dare you.

How dare you ask that of your little sister? No, of another human being, of any other person, to give up themselves so completely to serve your every whim and wish.

Especially when you treat them like the shit on your shoe, only to condescendingly pat them on the head for doing exactly what you feel you needed.

I, for months, despite everything you said, dismissed all those evils you committed onto me. I continued to believe that angels shone out of your arse, them being the ones blessed to touch you, that God worshiped you and Satan cowered in fear every time he heard your name. And, most importantly, that I was the one completely in the wrong. That everything that happened was my fault and only my fault when let’s be real here.

Let’s be real.

The more that I took the responsibility for the faults that happened on that day, the more I serve to negate from the fact that you are a flawed human being like the rest of us.

Because guess what? The sun does not shine to greet you every morning, nor does thunder and lightning boom and bend to your will. You are human. You deserve to take some fault of your own onto shoulders too proud to slump, onto the flattened circumference of your mind crushed away by your demons that you indulge yourself in. I’m just sick of it.

I’m sick of how you’re all too ready to announce to the world how you’ve had it harder than any mere mortal who has experienced pain or anguish. That you believe yourself bigger than what you are. More superior because you choose not to understand what others go through but instead enjoy swimming deep in a sea of your own self-pity.

It’s silly.

Can the idea that someone else may feel pain without you having to make it a competition exist? Because God knows that when I feel good and happy I don’t go comparing it and stopping myself because someone else may be happier than I.

I don’t make it a competition. I just feel happy. And have enough sense to respect other’s happiness, the same way you should respect other’s pain.

I wish you could just see the truth and grow up for once. Because it’s not grown up to give people the silent treatment, it’s not grown up to expect family to serve you unconditionally – love you unconditionally, yes, but not serve. And finally, it’s not grown up to push everyone in your life away just because they communicate with you they do not agree with the way you treat them.

Grow up.

Grow up before everyone that you still love grows up and away from you.

Yours truthfully,

Your excommunicated sister

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Flashback, journal, moments, Poetry

Flashback: My First Swear

pexels-photo-192560

Time stalls on the window sill

My tiny feet grips past the gloss, straight onto the flaking wood, face pressed onto the window, hands by my side

Laughter from the living room reminds me of their harsh words

Their intent to scare me, to remind me that I was no more than a common fool a success

Tears work its way down my cheeks

My warm breath dents the cold glass as a silhouette shaped like my chin and nose forms as the rain on the other side collect into droplets

 

Finally, I let the pain go and give room for anger to emerge

It wrestles my body into havoc as I begin to kick out against the window, punch away the fabric within the curtains and let my tongue boil out a single word

“Fuck”

I scream it

Then stop cold in my tracks

Did they hear?

Did they hear their 8 year old sister collapse into a word forbidden in this household

I wait

I listen

And nothing.

So I say it again

Nervous giggles jolting the words out in a quiet whisper

The word feeling oversized but good, easing away my anger

 

Better.

 

I feel better again.

Continue reading “Flashback: My First Swear”

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Anger and Me

Anger is a funny tool used by people to get things done. It’s something that I, for the longest time, refused to use because I’ve always thought it was something that can only ever produce negative results.

But I think I was wrong.

I’ve been watching Philip Defranco more and more on the youtubes, especially as my gap year continues to progress without much of a blip. Or just a lot of blips but not of fun, rather distressing and incredibly trying times. It’s been very insightful to watch this man that I’ve always seen as someone I’ve always seen as an inspirational figure talk about anger as something that can be positive.

Because for me, anger has always been this terrible evil that infects and destroys people’s lives. And that reasoning has come from a place of experience, where either my father or my sister has used anger to become violent towards me, belittle and ruin me.

So, I’ve always shied away from feeling anger because I was afraid of the devastating effects it may cause. But in doing that, I’ve just turned that anger inwards towards myself in ways that I don’t feel entirely comfortable in articulating. Just know that these ways have been harmful to myself and has affected my life in ways that I cannot begin to explain or describe.

But the way Philip Defranco puts it, to use all that energy from anger and channel it towards something positive and useful, is beginning to resonate with me.
I should probably explain that, during this past year I have been having a difficult time in terms of suicidal ideation, depression, trichotillomania, dermatillomania, anxiety and – on a lesser note from all that – revision. And that has made me so angry. And because of my almost instintual tribulations with anger, that anger has been turned inwards and towards myself. Hence the depression and occasional anxiety.

But what I’m beginning to understand – more and more – is all that energy that I put into hating myself and everything I do, if I just direct even a little bit of it towards the things I want to achieve, I can achieve them. I can. Because that energy and all that adrenaline is such so instrumental and should not be wasted on simple self-loathing. It can actually be used for good, something that benefits oneself.

So, I guess I was right from the get-go, that anger is a powerful tool. I just had everything a little twisted about anger being a purely bad thing. Anger can in fact be a good thing, it’s just the way you direct it that matters.

Nakedstreetkid out ๐Ÿ˜‰

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Suffocating Anger

I don’t think I can go to sleep yet.

I’m so tired, but I can’t go to sleep. My thoughts are spinning a spider web of self-loathing and self-criticism. My therapist says that my self-critical thoughts are the worst for me. And I must agree, especially if they’re keeping me up.

You see, I feel completely terrible for being inpatient with my niece today. Given that she was ill and moody and I was in a completely foul mood, it could’ve gone worse. But I’m still unhappy with the way I treated her. But children, they’re intuitive, aren’t they? She kept trying to make me laugh by doing silly things like playing peek-a-boo with me, or giving me a bit of her food. It was quite sweet, actually. She’s only 12 months old, so it was incredibly kind of her.

But I’m in a foul mood because I’ve been thinking – on and off – about the abuse I suffered as a child today. It’s making me increasingly upset. But I’m trying not to be. I’m really thinking about what my therapist said about 2 weeks ago (by the way, it takes me a while to process through things only because I’m often in a dissociative state in therapy). She said to me what I have suffered in the past was incredibly traumatic and I have every right to feel angry.

But that’s hard for me to accept.

First off, I’ve never actually acknowledged the abuse I suffered as something that could be considered traumatic. Any response I’ve had to it, I have personally marked as weak. Crying, getting depressed, getting angry or anxious, I’ve always dismissed as a weak response.

Which brings me to the whole idea that I have the “right” to feel anger. It’s a frightening concept. Because “anger” in my household meant people got beaten up. Anger meant words that pierced your skin and dug at where it hurt. Anger was a dangerous tool used by the aggressor to fuel another violent undoing. Anger was not your friend. Anger was the enemy.

I don’t understand how to process through anger. I don’t know how to acknowledge it and let myself feel it without fearing myself hurting someone I love.

So I keep it all in, but that’s bad within itself. Because the problem with not letting yourself feel anger is that it means you let it smother you inside out. You allow yourself to be suffocated. Hence the foul mood.

And why I can’t sleep now.

Thoughts are racing and I wish I was better company for my beautiful little niece.

Anyway, there’s nothing I can do about that now. Maybe, I’ll count sheep, read something or watch something boring and mundane until I fall asleep.

I hope your day has been far better than mine.

Nakedstreetkid out x

NaBloPoMo

A Parents Cry

I think people generally remember the first time their parents cry, together and individually.

But you see, I was never so lucky to understand emotion is supposed to be shared and not hidden in fear or exposed in anger. I was never so lucky.

Instead, tears were cried against an oppressive hand, a hand which whipped itself in anger and intolerance. I guess that’s fathers for you, unpredictable anger. And that’s a mother for you, tears that cling onto a heavy heart and only spill out when they think no one’s looking.

I guess those are my parents for you. In a nutshell. But they no longer are, either, but rather were.

Everyone’s right about that much, you know? Things do get better.

Happy birthday mum.

Nakedstreetkid out

Recovery Wednesdays

Angry impulses and overwhelming shame

How do people allow themselves to feel anger? It’s a scary concept to me. Anger can be so overwhelming, so controlling over your actions and your words. It’s so easy to carelessly hurt someone you love when you’re angry. I never understood why people let it control them. Even now, I cannot understand it. I would much rather hold onto it, keep it inside me rather than expel it in sudden bouts of frustration.

That’s maybe why I’m so silent when I’m angry. I try to hold it in, rather than lash out at my family or friends. That, or I start blaming myself. Until my anger turns into self-loathing. I try not to do that so much, now. I try to allow myself to be angry with them. Even if I can’t necessarily be openly angry with them, it’s a start.

That’s how we started therapy this week. Talking about anger, and how it seems to be the energy behind some of my more self-destructive behaviours. So, we tried to pinpoint my thoughts, behaviours, triggers and expressions during this certain emotions. As well as others. One of them being – of course, sadness.

Something that I hadn’t expected was shame. When I had asked her “why shame?”, she had told me that maybe I felt shameful about my own thoughts and perhaps that is why I censored what I say. It makes sense. But honestly, I would rather not agree with it. Not because it isn’t true, just because I don’t like the idea of being ashamed to say what you think. I hadn’t even thought of it as shame, but rather, a weakness deep within. To be afraid of saying what you thought just because people would judge you… I don’t like that one bit. That sense of weakness resonated with the others that we named: sadness, anger and anxiety. I hadn’t even known that I felt anxious about half the things I do. I thought that was just what stress felt like. But what I was feeling was anxiety. Strange.

In general, I find it difficult to pinpoint the emotions that I feel. I’ve never had to name them before. When I felt them, though, I felt them with every fibre of my being. And quite often, I used one of the umbrella terms – anger, fear, joy, sad and disgust. Kind of like the movie ‘Inside Out’, that’s how my mind worked. Complex emotions like shame and anxiety, never quite entered my vocabulary to describe my own emotions.

Thinking about anger this week and discovering why I’m so inclined to keep it inside has been quite triggering. I’ve been thinking more and more about my father. And in doing so, I have triggered an onset of quite heavy flashbacks and tears. Terrible.

Anyway, I have homework to do for therapy. Which is a first. I feel like I’m actually going to do it as well. We’ll see how that goes.

Anywho,

Nakedstreetkid out x ๐Ÿ˜›