With this very personal post I begin my challenge of the week.
Christmas has come and gone and I wonder why I didn’t feel anything.I kept waiting for that feeling, either the night before, a feeling of excitement or of festivity, or, in the morning, a feeling of happiness while opening my presents. A feeling of happiness, of joy that has always accompanied such celebrations. But nothing came to me. Not even now, in the aftermath, I do not feel. Inert, empty. These words should not describe a person on Christmas, especially since no tragedy has come upon me, nothing bad happened.
Fights with my family at least do not count as troublesome events anymore, since they are constant. But perhaps I do feel something, I feel I am tired, tired of everything that these relationships ask of me. Now, while writing I also start feeling a bit of annoyance, of frustration that my holidays should again be ruined by some people who consider themselves closer to me just based on our blood. I feel it’s unfair and I feel I don’t deserve this. I feel ungrateful for what I have, I admit, but I cannot see how I could be grateful to people who destroy me every single day and leave me to pick up the pieces at night, only to do the same in the morning.
Perhaps my family issues are not greater than those of another family. Perhaps they are even smaller. But that doesn’t make them any easier to accept or get passed by. And the stronger I get, the more I believe these troubles do not trouble me anymore, the bigger they get as if trying to test me. For years I cried myself to sleep, until I realised nobody cared. I would only make myself suffer, my head ache, not sleep, be tired the next day, when I wouldn’t be able to explain tot he outer world my problems and be punished for a low performance.
That one day, probably when I was in the 6th grade, meaning 12-13 years old, I decided I wouldn’t cry anymore, ever, since it was pointless and I was only hurting myself more. I would not be weak, I would not show weakness and nothing or nobody would hurt me. And I kept my promise, exception being the one time I thought I wouldn’t play tennis anymore and the one time my grandmother was in hospital and probably two lost matches. I told myself that if I endured stoically, I would somehow prove my worth. And the following quote guided my file:
I reminded myself every single day of those great personalities, great people who all had had misfortunes in their lives, who had all been scarred, and told myself it was a sign that greatness was in for me. I knew that working to overcome personal issues made me the person I am. I know I have been working harder than others to avoid home and to assure myself a path away from it. And I somehow became grateful. I’m far from being happy that all this is happening to me. As as I said in the beginning of this post this sometimes leaves me empty, void of all feelings and ruined moments. But having a dysfunctional family as it it called offered me a goal, a purpose and the determination needed. I look at my happy friends and do not envy them anymore. I see families laughing together and I do not envision a loving family anymore. I see myself, alone, with three huge shadows behind me: my parents and my sisters, holding me back, and I am ready to fight through every such moment they put me through, knowing there must be something in for me.
I know I’m now rambling, but it feels good to give voice to such feelings. And this partly explains my love for writing. I am not letting my tears flow anymore, but my words. And I have full diaries of my blue inked tears. And this post resembles a page of my diaries and it will be the first time someone comes close to it. And this is not someone, it’s the entire world that I now accept to see me, and judge me, because I know I have become strong enough to withstand anything.
I am strong.