One word. One word is all it takes to start World War III in my house. Red fills the vision of every person in the house and before we know it, logic and reason flies out the window and justification of the fight is lost beneath all the screaming, curses, and unrepeatable words.
Everything would be fine one second. Everyone would be smiling and laughing when even I, for a second, can forget that we’re a broken family but one second is all it takes. One second later reality hits me in the face like a stone, cold rock and happy days begin to be remembered as false memories I created to comfort my soul that maybe, just maybe my life isn’t as screwed up as I believed.
A few minutes ago pain filled my abdominal. As expected I seek help from my father in the middle of the night, in hopes to allow my mother to to get some sleep. This was normal for us. My father chose to stay awake during the night and I had no choice in it, sleep just chooses to escape me when night falls. However, a tornado rages through the house at 4 am about why I’m in pain. Why was I allowed to feel pain? My mother awakens and the war ensues to whose fault it is that I’m in pain.
I can’t speak, You can’t speak. No one can. It’s like walking on a tripwire on your tip toes with no clue when you’ll fall but there aren’t any second chances if you do. There’s no net waiting for you at the bottom that’ll tell you that you can get up and try again to reach the end. If you fail here, no one can save you. I’m in the enemies territory…the very home I’ve lived for the majority of my life is a place where no one can put their guard down. I’m just a fool that puts it down while knowing better.
It’s normal for parents to fight. I mean its given that any couple will fight. However, I don’t even think my parents realize how much their constant fighting actually affects my sister and I. For years, college was my sisters escape from our family and now that she is in college, I’m alone with only my lovely parents screaming to comfort me. Unfortunately, college was too far away for me. I broke down before I was able to run away into the sunset and things began to escalate because I was in a situation my family never planned on confronting. Not when I told them I was being bullied, neither when I told them I had to fight for their attention, and also when I told them years ago I needed a therapist. I told them the truth that I wanted to speak. I needed to speak to someone and if they can’t deal with it, so be it.
Like many they thought my idea of seeing a “shrink” was horrible. Society had taught them that people that meet therapists had issues, that they were crazy. For months my family thought I was some disease, the source of all their problems but I didn’t care. I was going crazy. My sanity was slowly ebbing away each day I prolonged my painful silence. The reason why I also started this blog was to be as open and free as I possibly could get to get me through each day slowly, to make it possible for me step out the door on the day of the next therapist appointment rather than shrinking away into the dark recesses of my room. It was to help me learn how to cope for my panic disorder and depression.
My families exceptionally bad temper, traditional mentality, and years of suppression made me unable to speak. Soon, I would replace the silence with constant, random chatter that had no importance to me or the other person I was speaking to. Even though now the change is slow and I still can’t speak to my family, I hope someday I can because unspoken words can eat you away for years and it’s a torture that’s painful beyond anyone’s imagination.