Growing up in a large, middle-class (if not lower) family had its challenges. More than I can account for actually. I had five older sisters and two older brothers. Throw me into the mix and that's a grand total of eight children living under one ro...
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{ spring 2014 }
Have you ever been told that you were never good enough? That no matter how much you tried or how hard you worked, in the end, all of your efforts would only be in vain because you'll never account for anything in life that is of worth? Because you are of no worth? I have. Growing up, I was always told that I was never good enough.
Always reminded about how I'm stupid, useless, ugly, fat and the list doesn't even seem to come to end there either. I've never felt like I could fit in anywhere. That there was never a place where I could truly be myself, without the fear of being judged lingering in the back of my mind. Not even at home, the one place where I was supposed to feel safe and secure.
Home. What does that word even mean? Because as overly-dramatic as this may sound, home to me seems to be just another word for hell. Home is supposed to be, sort of like, a safe haven to people. A place where one is able to obtain and find warmth. But I rarely felt anything like that. All I was ever welcomed with was coldness. The constant reminder that I was nothing but a mere responsibility. Just like chores or taxes. Or even worse, that I was just a mistake. An accident that was never meant to happen. I'm supposed to be able to receive endless comfort when I enter that barricade separating my private life from the outside world, but I simply don't.
How am I supposed to experience such an enticing sensation of actually feeling wanted when they're the ones tearing me down. How could I feel safe and secure when I'm trapped with those who frighten and terrorize me? They're supposed to love me unconditionally. Support me with whatever decision I choose to make, whether they be good or bad. They're supposed to be my family but I guess that word is nothing but a title to them. It has no real meaning in our household so I suppose I was wrong. It's funny (in a cynical and sardonic kind of way) how fucked up this all is.
Typically, kids get bullied or harassed at school by mere strangers they hardly know and flee towards home, seeking comfort and words of encouragement but not me. For me, it's actually quite the opposite. I get abused verbally, mentally, emotionally and physically at home and find refuge at school. Ironic, isn't it? But I'm sure I'm not the first to do so, nor will I be the last. No, I don't end up with two black eyes, a broken arm or slits decorating my wrists but it still hurts. The results are still the same. Because whether I'm dead or alive, I will always appear too inadequate for them.
Over the years, all the constant reminders about how insufficient and undeserving I am have gotten to me. It has even gotten to the point where I, myself, have started to believe in everything they say. Pathetic, I know. It has reached the point of no return where the truths are transformed into lies and the lies are established as truths. Twisted and sick are the words I think you're looking for and I don't blame you.
Sometimes, I wonder what a miracle it is that I've been able to remain sane after all of this shit. And exactly how did I manage it all? As cliché and gagging as it may sound, all I needed was a headstrong personality, a few supportive friends (whom I know would never abandon me in my times of adversity) and a bright and bold smile. But do you know what really lays behind that smile?
