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Christmas
13 years ago
Pardon to my watchers, especially for such a personal take on a first journal entry, but I just wrote this as an exercise in self-therapy and I feel some of you who know me more closely are owed an explanation, and I can't think of anyplace better to put this.
--
I've had a very rough time of it the last week, and I couldn't for the life of me tell you why.
It's been a poor Christmas, but why? Has anything happened? No. None of my relatives have died, which is a luxury that others were not afforded. No unexpected tragedies, car crashes, or anything beyond an 800$ car repair bill. I got presents - more than I was expecting. I was surrounded by stories of cheer and other people, and I was not alone. People cooked for me and showed joy at my mere presence.
I felt upset and betrayed by the actions of another, but only a few hours before Christmas itself began, they apologized for what they had done to hurt me and I forgave them and we talked, as we always did, about how we could make things better for each other. We were living examples of defying game theory, of defying selfishness, of insisting upon trying again no matter what has been said or done, of bouncing back.
I had to deal with a self-centered person who abused me in my past and still, to this day, does not understand what they have done to me or how they profoundly altered my development by their actions. I had to sit across the table from them. They were perfectly polite and quite pleasant and even engaged me in conversation and I felt bad for thinking as them as an abuser and being unable to trust them. I said nothing and nodded my head. Everything was fine.
For days after the Christmas party, I felt upset, but why? Nothing had happened. My abuser did nothing. They were far more stable than they had ever been. I had gotten a great deal of privileges that many in the world do not have, including the ability to eat what kind of food I want and freedom to move about as I pleased.
I think I know why now.
There is a wound on my heart that has not healed, that I have been denying and trying to ignore as best I can. I have insisted to others, to myself, to everyone that will listen, that I am fine and perfectly competent and that there is nothing wrong with me, and I have even believed my own delusion.
Perhaps this is because my abuser does not understand how they affected me. I was not beaten, but instead yelled at. My personal space was invaded and my sense of self worth - still developing at the time - was destroyed, all because I had dared to voice a word of dissent. Yet such things were not deliberate, they were simply an angry outlash at a world that refused to bend to their will, of which I was simply a small part.
My sister, I believe to this day, is a mild paranoid schizophreniac. It is the only thing that I can think of that would explain her actions and why she believes so many things that are impossible and untrue about her past. She believes that she too was abused, that I was assaulted, and that many of the things that she sees in movies at various times occurred to our family, often caused by our parents, particularly when she was growing up. My mother, a beleaguered woman who was far too old to be dealing with such, was having such massive disagreements with her continually that she was unaware of what my sister was doing or how we interacted, and both parties were shocked that at times I had felt so threatened by my sister's screaming, animalistic fits that I had called the police.
Even the police did not understand the wounds that had been dealt upon my heart. They tried their best, but even I told them that I was fine and that I had just wanted them to break up the fight, and so what could they do? Even then, I had practiced the art of self denial. It is no wonder I have gotten so good at it. I got started early.
I just had a long discussion with my mother about what has happened. I let the emotion that I had been bottling up for the years and years I had held this in flow forth, and in doing so I finally understood them. I understood that I had been damaged severely and that the reasons I have been unable to trust others are not due to any deficiency within me but because of the scar upon my heart that I have been ignoring. I understand now that despite the fact that I must occasionally coexist with my sister, much more stable though she is, I cannot trust her. I understand how deeply she has hurt me even if she never will.
I understand now why I make a poor friend.
I need time away to heal. More than anything, I need time away to learn how to trust again.
I'll get it very soon. For now, I must try to summon the courage to chase it and to give myself permission to heal. As strange as it sounds, that will not be easy. Convincing myself that it is not my fault will be challenging.
Yet I feel cleansed. It... feels freeing to admit that I am damaged. Not because it grants some sort of excuse to my actions or gives me the ability to ignore things I have done wrong, but because it finally opens the possibility of further growth and, perhaps, finally, an understanding of myself.
It will take time, but I think it will be worth it.
--
I've had a very rough time of it the last week, and I couldn't for the life of me tell you why.
It's been a poor Christmas, but why? Has anything happened? No. None of my relatives have died, which is a luxury that others were not afforded. No unexpected tragedies, car crashes, or anything beyond an 800$ car repair bill. I got presents - more than I was expecting. I was surrounded by stories of cheer and other people, and I was not alone. People cooked for me and showed joy at my mere presence.
I felt upset and betrayed by the actions of another, but only a few hours before Christmas itself began, they apologized for what they had done to hurt me and I forgave them and we talked, as we always did, about how we could make things better for each other. We were living examples of defying game theory, of defying selfishness, of insisting upon trying again no matter what has been said or done, of bouncing back.
I had to deal with a self-centered person who abused me in my past and still, to this day, does not understand what they have done to me or how they profoundly altered my development by their actions. I had to sit across the table from them. They were perfectly polite and quite pleasant and even engaged me in conversation and I felt bad for thinking as them as an abuser and being unable to trust them. I said nothing and nodded my head. Everything was fine.
For days after the Christmas party, I felt upset, but why? Nothing had happened. My abuser did nothing. They were far more stable than they had ever been. I had gotten a great deal of privileges that many in the world do not have, including the ability to eat what kind of food I want and freedom to move about as I pleased.
I think I know why now.
There is a wound on my heart that has not healed, that I have been denying and trying to ignore as best I can. I have insisted to others, to myself, to everyone that will listen, that I am fine and perfectly competent and that there is nothing wrong with me, and I have even believed my own delusion.
Perhaps this is because my abuser does not understand how they affected me. I was not beaten, but instead yelled at. My personal space was invaded and my sense of self worth - still developing at the time - was destroyed, all because I had dared to voice a word of dissent. Yet such things were not deliberate, they were simply an angry outlash at a world that refused to bend to their will, of which I was simply a small part.
My sister, I believe to this day, is a mild paranoid schizophreniac. It is the only thing that I can think of that would explain her actions and why she believes so many things that are impossible and untrue about her past. She believes that she too was abused, that I was assaulted, and that many of the things that she sees in movies at various times occurred to our family, often caused by our parents, particularly when she was growing up. My mother, a beleaguered woman who was far too old to be dealing with such, was having such massive disagreements with her continually that she was unaware of what my sister was doing or how we interacted, and both parties were shocked that at times I had felt so threatened by my sister's screaming, animalistic fits that I had called the police.
Even the police did not understand the wounds that had been dealt upon my heart. They tried their best, but even I told them that I was fine and that I had just wanted them to break up the fight, and so what could they do? Even then, I had practiced the art of self denial. It is no wonder I have gotten so good at it. I got started early.
I just had a long discussion with my mother about what has happened. I let the emotion that I had been bottling up for the years and years I had held this in flow forth, and in doing so I finally understood them. I understood that I had been damaged severely and that the reasons I have been unable to trust others are not due to any deficiency within me but because of the scar upon my heart that I have been ignoring. I understand now that despite the fact that I must occasionally coexist with my sister, much more stable though she is, I cannot trust her. I understand how deeply she has hurt me even if she never will.
I understand now why I make a poor friend.
I need time away to heal. More than anything, I need time away to learn how to trust again.
I'll get it very soon. For now, I must try to summon the courage to chase it and to give myself permission to heal. As strange as it sounds, that will not be easy. Convincing myself that it is not my fault will be challenging.
Yet I feel cleansed. It... feels freeing to admit that I am damaged. Not because it grants some sort of excuse to my actions or gives me the ability to ignore things I have done wrong, but because it finally opens the possibility of further growth and, perhaps, finally, an understanding of myself.
It will take time, but I think it will be worth it.
