Tag Archives: Despair
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When home is not the place to be a child

27 Sep

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “When Childhood Ends.”

With him recovered (recovering?) and me having lived abroad for more than two years now, it is sometimes easy to forget (pretend to forget?) that I grew up with an alcoholic father and a depressive mother. When I see them laughing together when we skype, or hear them ask me what could I possibly not be happy about given everything they offered me, it is easy to wonder whether it had really been that bad, or whether I had simply been imagining it.

But then, holidays come around and I go back to visit home, and get to see the mark on the wall left by a glass he threw in a fit some years ago, and get to look at the cards I gathered from these foreign places we were at for Christmas and New Years Eve, where instead of dancing or being out celebrating, I was in was room, comforting my sister, as we listened to our mother cry. I also see the fridge that I still shudder to open, dreading to hear the clinking of dozens of beer bottles and am still uncomfortable going in the basement for fear of seeing cases of alcohol. Then I remember not having ever had friends over, because I never knew if he was going to be awake or not, embarrass me, or worse and recall setting up longer practice hours and more tutoring session just so I wouldn’t have a reason to come home before nighttime, when I would sneak past his room and lock myself in mine.

I remember my sister crying herself to sleep every night and me not being able to stop her; I remember the screaming matches and the fear I felt for my mother and me not being able to protect her; I remember the pain in my grandmother eyes when mother would come home from working overtime to cover for him and me not being able to ease her; I remember me, sitting on the ledge of my balcony, thinking it would end if i were to move an inch and not being able to do it because then who would sit with my sister and play piano for my mother and help in the kitchen my grandmother? And then I remember the day he raised his hand and me, an 11 year old blond, blue-eyed girl blocking it.

That girl cried herself to sleep that night but vowed to never do so again. Crying never helped anyone. It caused headaches, and puffy eyes, that would raise questions in class next day, and would make it hard to focus. No, crying would not do it; working hard in class and on the court, getting ahead of everyone else, and being accepted in a college abroad more than eight years in the future, that was the way out. That girl never cried because of him or because of home ever again. But that girl, she was not a child anymore.

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Trusting anyone is hard after a while

15 Feb

I found it difficult to convince myself to post things here for the past couple of weeks. I felt I was a hypocrite for believing that the stuff I write has any meaning or that the writing itself- any value. I missed it, so I kept writing in my diary but I didn’t trust myself enough to publish anything.

Today, I learned that perhaps trusting somebody isn’t that bad. Having been hiding all my life, pretending, trying to elude questions and maintaining a happy appearance has hardened me. Especially after the one person I confided myself in disappointed me enormously, trust became something nobody could earn from me. All I could see were false friends waiting for the opportunity to see one of my weaknesses, to use the information I would let slip against me or to their own advantage. Slowly but surely, without me even realising I began asking myself every time I spoke: “Do they need to hear this? Does this give any of my secrets away? Could they use this?” Inevitably, I stopped giving voice to many thoughts for this fear. I was never alone, being lonely would be a hint that something was not quite right, that I might not be that happy person. But I didn’t have friends either. I got along with everybody and nobody actually suspected that I didn’t particularly hang out with somebody. I was constantly on the move, gravitating between groups but never really bonding with anyone for fear of being exposed.

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The post I dreaded the most or Do I have to give up tennis?

2 Jan

I need to change my about page . And this is killing me.

I learned to embrace change as a positive thing some time ago. It usually means development, evolution. But today, I am uncertain if this change I need to make can in anyway be for the better. And the dramatic part is that I cannot avoid it.

In short, I am no longer a tennis player on the international junior tour. My last year as a junior has officially ended on the 31st December 2012. And today, in relation to this game I do not know how I stand and what I am.

Questions regarding my future in this sport arose again. Questions I have tried to deffer for as long as possible. That means for the last 10 years, as I have been under constant pressure from my friends, parents and teachers to give it up in order to focus on school.

I know I have always know I would not become pro. I am aware I am not that good and even if I was the career is too uncertain. Even if you have tremendous success you need to retire at 30 and rethink and restart your life over. Of course I dreamed of such a life and quietly hoped I was going to be good enough for it to become my obvious choice.  But despite my hard work and wishes it did not happen that way.

At that point where it became obvious for everyone, including me, that I did not have a future on the pro tour, I came up with the middle way between that life and quitting. I could not even start thinking of giving up, it was that painful. Playing college tennis seemed the answer. I would continue my sports career for at least four more years, have a way to fund my studying and overall be happy. Continue reading

Confession or about not feeling anything anymore

25 Dec

DPchallenge

via Weekly Writing Challenge: Just Do It!.

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.

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Daily Prompt: Just a Dream

20 Dec

»Daily Prompt: Just a Dream

via Daily Prompt: Just a Dream.

You’re having a nightmare, and have to choose between three doors. Pick one, and tell us about what you find on the other side.

Ever since I was little, I have had very vivid nightmares. Sometimes I would know I was dreaming but was unable to wake up, and sometimes, I was so caught in the action, I would scream out loud or get up in my sleep.

This part of dreaming, that you have no control over your actions or whatever is happening, is the most scary to me and so for this dream, the one in which I have to chose between three doors, I am again a spectator.

I see myself facing those doors, and I immediately feel a lump in my throat. something is not right and I want to warn that person I see, I want to warn me not to proceed. But I have no voice to scream, no body to move and stop her/myself, I only have eyes to watch me open the door from the left, (I always chose the left side, even when I’m awake), and stare at the horror behind.

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