When I was growing up, I lived in a male dominant family and in a hostile environment. I was often confused about how people actually showed their emotions. How can someone physically, mentally, and verbally abuse someone, but still manage to say, ‘I care’ when they put a roof over your head, feed you, and take you out places every Sunday?
As a then child, I didn’t know what to believe, but I knew that deep down inside, there was hatred brewing, building up to a dangerous being. I was brought up to believe family was it. They were going to be your best friends, your life, your pretty much everything, and that everyone else was not important. I was told that when someone told me that I was a ‘stupid bitch’ or should I say, “Una estupida y una pendeja,” That this person actually loved me anyways. Even when they would physically abuse me, it was all love. Being diminished to complete scum meant I was being loved, and that was how it was always going to be.
Negativity was, and still is, part of my everyday life. There’s not a day that goes by that the people in my household call each other so perversely. Not a single day when they are happy with what they have. Not a day in the world when they tell me how proud they are of their kid for hanging in there and not ever committing suicide, or becoming a drug addict or running away for the life she was given.
I’m not asking for an award, I know there’s people out there that have it worse. I know that yet, where’s the love? I feel like if I never really found it in the heart of my family, then maybe I wont find it with anyone else. This perverse way of encouraging hate and distrust in others, this way of bringing a child into this world, making a child hate men so plainly, so awfully, so horribly. It wasn’t until I was a little older when I realized that I don’t have to make enemies out of people I don’t entirely know, that being treated so awfully by the opposite sex does not mean that it’s being ‘affectionate.’ I spent my first years as an adult to re-learn everything I thought I knew.
I learned that as much as people told me that hate was bad, I knew there was always going to be a certain hate I could never get rid of and that I shouldn’t make myself feel bad about it. I learned this by being on my own. Whenever I’d go on trips on my own, whenever I went anywhere, I was mostly on my own. Observing others, and basing my feelings on those situations that often presented themselves to me, I thought, why wasn’t I allowed to feel this way? This is how I also learned if I was straight or not. Growing up, I never had it any other way, I never thought about it, but when people started questioning me, I started doubting myself. That doubt got to me so much that I started to wonder, “maybe I am gay?”
Deep down though, I knew I wasn’t, but the pressure from the people around me made me try to figure things out just in case I was incorrect. I questioned it, positioned myself to see myself with another woman, but I didn’t like it. In the end I laughed at myself. My family and a few other douchebags made me feel guilty for having a ton of gay friends, that I actually started to feel like I had turned gay. In the end, I still love my gay friends because they were probably the best ones I’ve ever had.
Looking back, I never knew that I was capable of feeling anxiety, or depression. I was always told that I was a kid with no responsibilities, so I didn’t deserve to see myself in these situations. I didn’t know what to call it when I would ever hear a random loud crash, or a woman or child screaming and I’d immediately run for the door, or hide. What was that? I’d wonder to myself. When a door would slam, my fight or flight instincts would be set off, I’d be alert and ready for pain to come my way. It wasn’t actually until I found tumblr, that I learned what this was. It was being “triggered”
Things that used to be dangerous to me were just always going to be dangerous to me because of my child hood. Even now, in the middle of the night, If I hear someone sobbing or someone suddenly yell, I would literally jump out of bed half asleep and follow that noise. Most of the times (like now) It’s just the t.v, or someone just had a bad dream. I still can’t get rid of this, because I’m living back at home, but it’s something that I can’t believe I’ve been and am still dealing with. People can tell me to go see a shrink, but uh, yeah I’m not a privileged being. So I hate when people in a better disposition tell me to do that.
I have realized though, that I have a good friend (which I’d hate to burden most times than not) But I also have tumblr. And although I don’t get asks at all, I don’t get nice and happy comments, I know they’re reading. Maybe they don’t understand at all what this blog means. Maybe they never had these problems before. But they’re reading it. Some might wave this away as some emotional kid on the brink of imploding from madness, while some might actually understand what it feels like.
At 23 years old, I’ve found a way to be optimistic, to cheer myself up when no one else will, to find my own ‘happy place,’ and steer clear of negativity. I found this out by just living. Doing things on my own, asking myself questions that no one else would bother doing for me. I’m not perfect though, but I’m working on it. One very important thing I think we all tend to forget though is that it’s okay to be sad. Sometimes you don’t want someone to tell you ‘it’s going to be okay.’ Sometimes you just want to face your reality, your now. You don’t care about what will happen tomorrow, or next month, you only care that right now, you’re full of pain and you want to cry it out, scream it out, write it out, or even run it out.
Sometimes dealing with pain straight on, will help you get rid of this feeling of loss or disappointment. Take as long as you can to rid of pain, but just always remember that once you’re finished, you can move on to being happy.