Reflection

I recently watched a video about children becoming self-orphaned. Choosing to walk away from parents and sometimes the remaining family.

I am one of them. I walked away.

Oh yes, I get asked many questions, such as…

‘How could you do that?’

‘Don’t you miss them?’

or I am told…..

‘That’s your mom/dad, they won’t be here forever.’

‘You will regret the time lost when they are gone, can you live with that?’

Amazing advice from people who haven’t lived in your skin. They just don’t understand.

Growing up in my house, I always felt like the outsider, the failure, not good enough, not pretty enough. I simply wasn’t enough. Why would I feel that way? Oh darling, there are so many reasons. Many reasons that I hope the majority of you would never be able to comprehend. I don’t remember when it all started, I am told it was when I was quite young. Although my first memories of it aren’t until I was school aged.

Memories are strange creatures. Jumbling up with the stories you heard and was told over your years. Was it actually something I remembered or was I told a version from someone else? Which memories are truly my own?

Time. Flashes. Energy. Dreams.

Small fragments find there way as you piece together your soul.

When I was in grade 1 or 2, can’t quite remember, I was abused at the school I was attending. Some of these moments are so vivid I can hear his footsteps, smell the room, feel my little heart pounding. He told me that my parents knew, they gave permission for me to speak with him. For him to examine and discover what was wrong with me. You see, he wasn’t stupid. He knew of the troubles in the house, knew of how my mother was. As a young child of 7 years, I believed him. I mean, noone protected me in my home so this must be what happens to children that misbehave, right? The emotional, mental, and physical abuse I survived at home trained me to be a perfect victim. Survival was my only thought. Don’t upset him he will tell mom and I will get the beating again. The fear of it all was amplified by my age.

I never told anyone. Not even my friends. Until I was in high-school. English class was one of my least favorite subjects. The teacher was a tool to say the least. However, that’s what got my creative writing started. Poems. They are beautiful, amazing, cryptic things. You can write and disguise all of your own emotions in the words for all to read. It really is quite freeing when you have felt trapped for so many years. I wrote a poem.

The Chamber of Hell

I did get top marks on it, with his criticism being that I didn’t have enough hidden meaning behind the words. I didn’t correct him on that. My friends however, some of them were worried and I wasn’t fooling a few. Blessed to have them for sure.

So how does one heal from this event? That I can’t answer as I am still working on it.

What I can answer is this. Just because you are blood, that doesn’t make you family. The people in my life that should have seen all the signs and helped me, didn’t. Years later, friends saw what the words meant. They were my family. They were my healing.

As it stands today, I have walked away from both my parents and most of my siblings. I am breaking the cycle, it doesn’t need to be a family trait to feel this way.

Yes. It is hard. At times there’s nothing I want more than a mother’s hug, a father’s pride. I know I won’t get those from the blood. So I have created my own world with amazing people in it.

This may be a hard blog to read. But damn it felt good to write it. I am blessed and grateful for the opportunity to do it.