Do i want to live like this? An emphatic NO
Do i want to live? Thoughtful pause…… Yes.
So it seems i have my answer, those moments, which have come sparingly over the years, are true to myself. There is some value to my life, some enjoyment, and things that I want to do. Whether or not there is a purpose to existing. Despite my resentment for having been born, at having had to endure, to survive, to suffer. And for why…? Because 2 emotionally and mentally damaged and ill equipped people chose to have children, for all the wrong reasons. Nobody chooses to be born (to the best of my belief) nor do we choose our genetic parents, or those responsible for our care and education during the earliest of years. Later on we get a choice, if we’re even aware there is one. I made that choice aged just 8 years old, and several times after that in what was to become an ever increasing level of abuse and manipulation.
At this point the lifetime of emotional abuse, humiliation, coercion and guilt by association had begun it steep climb to the obscene. A year earlier the physical abuse, rule by fear and neglect had begun. It had been an awful year, which by later standards would be a walk in the park. And a year when aged 7 feels like eternity. I was crying loads and not understanding why. I’d become terrified of my mother and her rapid and utterly unpredictable mood swings. Resulting often in terror and violence. And hypocrisy. It was, i think, the year that childline was created. Certainly the first time i became aware of it, but I do have strong memories of the adverts, for some reason they really got my attention (yes that was sarcasm) and I remember the first time I thought about calling them. It wouldn’t be the last either. But she’s a clever person and has reinforced the, appropriately, negative view of the care system. Making sure that i was more scared of being taken inti care, of being split from my siblings, of being abused…. yeah, the irony of that last one is not lost on me. But i made my choice, I didn’t ever make that call. I never took the chance of a better, safer life. Of course we could all have ended up in terrible care homes or families. But maybe not, maybe because of my decision our lives were way more terrible than they needed to be. Maybe I doomed us all to years and years of pain, fear, confusion, and violations. All inflicted by herself and co-conspiritors until they were no longer required as we’d learned to do it all to ourselves without her help. But still with her encouragement, how else could she maintain any control over us?
Well, for a start she could have been a decent person. She could have done the thing she’ll probably never do and take the harder path. Instead of hiding behind the facade of a caring hardworking person (LOL) instead of conning people into believing that she was the best mother, doing her best in difficult circumstances. I am not and never will deny that circumstances were difficult. They really were. She could and should have reached out for help, she could and should have taken responsibility for the care of her apparently ungrateful children. Expecting young children to be grateful for all the imagined care, safety and teaching you provide them is a whole other rant. People who genuinely care for and love their children dont generally demand repayment for all the wonderful things they chose to provide. Frustration and annoyance yes, even large conflict can arise within loving families. But im not aware of this behaviour beyond the expectation that offspring will look after their aging parents. I mean thats what family and community is for, to provide support and a safety net for hard times, amongst other things.
But being told to be grateful for the “love and care” given by the person who had just beaten you viciously, often for resons unknown and/or completely removed from your experience or capability to perpitrate. That is just sick and twisted, and such a massively narcissistic load of bullshit.
Jumping forward to now, this moment right here. I can Not continue like this. Its gone way past sustainable, even as a cluster fuck of a disaster zone. Putting to one side the failures, the lessons learned the hard way, the damage done both to and by me. I am surrounded literally by stuff. Stuff that I dont need or want, stuff that is suffocating the life out of me. And stopping me from doing the things that I used to enjoy, preventing me from resting, or creating anything other than an ever tightening noose for myself. We were taught, by both parents, that love = stuff, possessions, social climbing. That things = love. That to have was the best way to be perceived by others to improve and maintain social standing. That extravagant and showy gifts were how you proved you loved someone. If we, mainly I, didn’t receive the biggest bested presents then we, I, had clearly fucked up and let her down. The constant refusal to learn what I really liked or wanted not only drove a wedge between myself and my brother, it fuelled a rage that still burns and drove me to forever keep trying hard to be the perfect child. That could never happen as its impossible to satisfy the delusion that creeps from a sick and wounded psyche. And somebody who wilfully maintains an existence of deception, manipulation and the destruction of self and their dependants, can not be reasoned with. Even an experienced trained professional will struggle to some degree with retraining that sort of compulsive behaviour. A child under their thumb has no chance.
Any child in their care has a very high chance of internalising and replicating the unhealthy and damaging behaviours and beliefs. And I am no exception to that. One of the things I learned was that stuff and aquasition of stuff was how I gained love and care and comfort. That is was how I showed the world and myself that I am cared for.
Of course its not, but I had to learn the hard way. I had to become the friend who gradually stopped inviting people round. Who slipped away into the shadows, mostly forgotten about and hiding the truth with the well practised skill of an addict, of a person abused and terrorised, of someone taught that the perception and opinions of others were way more important than actual dignity and respect. I have laboured for years to improve my lot, to improve myself and my quality of life. The flat is now at a place where I will allow someone to enter, and see the chaos below the facade. However it is still unlivable, its oppressive, depressing and stress inducing. And its way more than I can handle on my own.
I have asked, so many times, for help. Ive received some great help, and some not so great. Ive been given offers by well meaning or unthinking people that never come to fruition. I have received an overwhelming apathy or wilful blindness demonstrated by a defening silence in response to my replies to the question “how can I help?”. I’ve dug in or doubled down when I could have opened my eyes to what I was doing to myself. I could have gotten help sooner. I could and should have done so many things differently.
And now here I am in my self made prison and torture chamber. Stuck in so deep that I can’t get myself out, no matter how hard I try. This needs to change NOW. I am slowly dying in this coffin full of “love” trapped in a catch 22 of needing the space and clarity required to be able to live a satisfying, safe and constructive life. Not being able to achieve that because the space and clarity are cut off from my reach. IF I had that i think I could pursue dreams and feel like ive achieved something. If I had that I think I could finally begin to enjoy life and stop feeling resentful for having been forced into this hell.
But I don’t, and I cannot force myself to carry on. It, this, NEEDS to change right now, and that requires help. I need a miracle to happen to make my dreams come true. The nice ones that I fantasise about rather than the terrifying ones that have plagued me since I was 7 years old. Without help there is no hope, I will disappoint and upset people by making the choice to end my suffering at last. A choice I could have made, all those years ago might have prevented this now. It seems that I am still tasked with making that difficult and unreasonable choice that can and will affect my siblings, and now even more people.
As mentioned at the start, I have my answer. But, what the fuck do I do about it. Or, more accurately HOW do I ask the question required to get the desired result.
The Bouncing Spoon 