#BlogLife576 - Dear Bully 5 - I'm weak because I say so, not you!

Today I thought let me be open, weak, vulnerable and incapable of putting any defences up.

Just for this moment. Tomorrow I will continue to put on a brave front.

I don't feel any nausea or pain just a lot of bloating and some inner turmoil.

Usually I feel better not thinking about family and how I grew up. I had this weird daydream and it disturbed me further.

I thought what if social services had intervened and took me out of my home and I was placed with another family.

Would it have been any better? Would they have been kinder or would I still fear that I would be harmed?

Would they have bolstered my ego or made me feel the same nothingness that I grew up with each day?

In this dream I was placed with a caucasian family who appeared to be kind but didn't want my truth, my opinions, my way of life getting in the way of their traditions.

I was served food, I barely tolerated, choosing to eat minimally or not at all.

I did all the chores I could think of to pay my way. I became less a member of the family, more a servant.

And then I spoke with the Social Worker and teachers and said I didn't belong anyway, so where did it matter how or where I ended up?

I guess my interpretation of this is that maybe the grass isn't always greener on the other side.

Maybe I would have ended up even more screwed up.

I want to forget, to move on, to forgive or make peace of whatever the hell will let me have some tranquility....

But I can't.

How could I explain there was a problem at home, when I had grown up this way?

When you keep being silenced..... When you have a million things to say but someone halts you..

I think eventually my parents got tired of saying knock it off and just let him dictate.

At first I protested. Hey I have things to talk about too. But then I went internally.

He kept saying shhhhh. Was there a reason, it was only ever said to me?

Maybe what I had to say wasn't relevant and then years passed and I thought, what if nothing I say is intelligent?

Better to not talk at all right? People were content to talk over me, ignore me, ridicule me, not take the time to get to know me.

Never thinking much of me and I take responsibility for being difficult to converse with.

But by that time I already considered myself invisible. Talking was so difficult I couldn't even express myself, even if I wanted too.

I'm supposed to grow up and be a better version of my family. Be kinder to others, treat them better.

Be a whole person, instead of a broken one but there is some sort of guilt maybe, eating away at me.

I should have been tougher? I should have risked a beating and stayed true to myself.

Screamed at him to stop bullying me. To shut the hell up himself.

To leave me alone! I should have forced myself to integrate better, maybe fake friends were better than none at all?

This is what I wanted to confront. This is what I wanted to air out.

Because I don't blame myself for being a scared child or adult. I blame my parents for not truly having my back.

I did or said anything at all, to protect myself and survive. I don't think badly of myself.

I commend myself for living through it and getting out of it.

Do that, do this, give me the power?!

Yes I admit, back then I had no confidence, no power, no safety.

And I still feel haunted by their presence, when it's noone near me.

To the few people that I told and I didn't convey that much but they didn't get how brutal it was.

My friend at school thought the worst was being done to me, she thought I was being sexually abused.

I told her a million times, I wasn't and that was the truth. It wasn't my body.

It was my mind being violated and tortured and stunted. At home or with friends, can you speak?

Can you express any big or small thing you wish too? I couldn't.

There was no place for me to have a voice and opinions. I had diaries and journals but even those were limited.

Even when I was alone, locked in my room, either pressed against the door, or barricaded in for my wellbeing.

While there were screams outside, violent threats, pounding on the door.

I couldn't open up, even to myself. It's fair to say I hate my family but I also love my Mama.

Love/Hate is accurate because my parents witnessed my torment and did nothing to stop it!

I mentioned this before and maybe I was 5/6years old at the time.

But I didn't talk at school for a whole year. Imagine not making friends, not volunteering answers when the teacher asked questions.

Imagine holding back, from what you wanted for 365 days. Maybe I was bullied, maybe others thought I was simple too?

Maybe they pitied me and included me anyway? Because that one memory I have of myself, is me being happy.

Maybe I was told that my Mama was coming to see me or to pick me up early? And that caused me joy?

I'm only guessing. I suppose I was scared, in case people pointed and laughed at my thoughts and ideas.

I was used to not saying much or anything at all. I don't recall my parents ever prodding me to open up.

Everybody was content with my silence. I think when I got a few years older..

I learned that in small doses, talking was alright. As long as I kept the important stuff hidden.

As a writer and blogger who has tried and failed to communicate. 

It became somewhat easier but I'm not sure I'll ever be totally transparent.

I don't think I want to be but when I like you, when I'm comfortable....

I can be soooo chatty, so animated, so willing to share....

Now I feel empty and drained of all emotion. Let's put the walls back up and return to a more closed, more secure, semi-normal state.