Since I started journaling regularly again, I find the lines of personal and public writing a bit blurred. Instead of fighting it, I thought this morning, maybe I should embrace the colliding of these worlds.
A friend from high school asked if I would attend our 20-year reunion. I have a lot of anxiety around reunions because I was such a train wreck back then. The whirlwind of sexual exploits and alcohol abuse that filled those years is something distant, as though it was a story I read instead of my actual life. I was so young, angry and full of pain. I hated the life and experiences that made me. I wanted to drink it away, fuck it away, whatever. I wanted my life to disappear and just leave me empty; I was certain that would be better than the reality of what I felt. I had so many overwhelming emotions and so little support. I couldn’t trust. I was like a small, frightened wild animal – I attacked anyone who tried to help me. It was a mess. This is why I have no children. I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing another life into this world to relive that whole cycle all over again, and I had no idea how to stop it except to make myself the end of the line. It ends with me… or so I assumed. It didn’t occur to me that there are hordes of others just like me all over the world, struggling to feel like a whole person and to accept themselves as a human beings deserving of love and happiness. Although we feel alone, there are so many of us.
Through the really hard work, going to therapy to try and remember some of the experiences I blocked out and confronting my abusers, I trusted my therapist. It was the first time I felt like I wasn’t being judged for what happened to me. Revealing everything I could remember was a hugely liberating experience. I still had hang-ups with my family and falling back into those same old roles when we were together, but I was making progress. I had a safe space to really figure out how I felt. I didn’t have to be concerned with how my voice would affect other people. It isn’t my responsibility to protect the reputation of the person who wronged me, no matter who they are. Once I realized that, everything else began to change for the better.
I was estranged from my family for a while, as would be expected. There was some disbelief at first, of course, but I wasn’t swayed from my path. I didn’t need them to acknowledge what happened to me, I just needed to tell them. I knew they wouldn’t be very supportive.
The final peg clicked into its hole when I took my mom and brother to therapy with me individually. They had completely opposite reactions. My mother became stoic and uncooperative, my brother opened up in a way that I’d never seen before. Upon observing and hearing them, I realized that they were as screwed up as I was – maybe even worse since I was open and ready to change. My selfishness and complete disregard for them waned. They were people too, with pain they weren’t ready to deal with yet. I had to respect that. At least they came. They loved me that much.
I’m not sure where we are as a family unit these days. I suppose we’re in transition. Our roles are no longer clear. I’m okay with it. I talk to my brother a lot – a complete 180 from how we were as kids. Our mom, well, I think she’s running. I don’t know what happened to her, but whatever it was she doesn’t want to revisit it again, ever. She’s an old woman now. She has earned the right to spend her remaining years doing whatever she chooses… except for telling me what to do. We’re still working on that part.
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