This is not so much a post as a cry for help, and not so much a cry for help as an act of last resort.
I’ve poured my feelings into pages through words and meaningless drawings, I’ve typed them up on computers and I’ve sung them out in songs. But for the questions I have I will not find the answers within me.
So I thought maybe broadcasting semi-anonymously to the world could help.
For everyone there is something they believe in, whether it is embodied in a deity or a concept or even rooted in other human beings. For me, I have always had faith in God. Until recently that faith has never so much as flickered. Recently it has wavered. I’d blink once and it was gone and blink twice and it was back again. I wouldn’t classify my faith as restored, because it was never really gone in the first place. I realized my main cause of turmoil was the ideology I was following and not God.
But I am not here to speak about God. I am here to talk about faith. My family, like any other family is less than perfect. No matter how many happy instagram pictures or doting tweets or fb statuses you may broadcast, none of them will convince me your family is as perfect and happy as you depict them to be. Not that I want that to be true, I’d be more than happier to believe that there exist some perfect families. But I know that is a lie, and that each has its own problems, though they could be anywhere on the scale from fights over clothes between sisters to terminal cancer.
Nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors except the people who are inside and those privy to that information are very unlikely to share. That’s why sometimes it feels like you’re on your own. You’re stuck in the worst type of relationship: you love them so no matter what they do you cannot leave them.
It’s true that some do escape, but that’s not in my nature. I empathise too easily. While I may rant and scream and even cry, deep down I know that I play a part in this too. One hand cannot clap, as my father often says. But what’s so frustrating is when one of those hands is out of your control and it’s not so much as clapping with the other than smacking it. Then both hands are blamed for making such a loud noise.
I understand, life isn’t fair. I don’t expect it to be. I understand that I am not the victim, I don’t try to act like one. I’ve seen enough CSI and other similar shows to know that the victim is hardly ever just the victim. But I mean, would you tell the investigators to pardon the murderer because his wife slept with his best friend? Nor would you pardon a drug dealer just because their boss threatened to kill them if they didn’t supply a group of teenagers with narcotics.
So what I’m getting at, in my roundabout way, is that I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. How do I go about being part of the solution if I’m also part of the problem? How do I go about speaking to them when the words will only register as one thing in their minds? How do I create change in people who are so stubbornly set in their ways, who will only pick out my flaws and hurl them at me when I try to help them with theirs? How do I act as a good daughter and at the same time live out my life as an independent young woman?
I love my family, but the truth is, I feel bullied by them, all of them. If I were at school and the principal allowed any of the students or teachers to disrespect me, then I wouldn’t just lose respect for that student or teacher, but for the principal as well. They are all part of the problem, if they will sit there and tell me “yes he bullied you but you were annoying him by wearing those nerdy glasses he doesn’t like”. Maybe I knew he wouldn’t like the glasses, maybe I knew he would say something to me, but that doesn’t justify what he did so much that they can partly point the finger at me.
And while this is hypothetical and applies to school yard dynamics, the home is not that much different. Again you are placed with people at close quarters who you must interact with on a near daily basis. You cannot just simply excuse yourself or treat it as a one-off situation. This isn’t some random person on the bus swearing at you or a stranger giving you attitude in a shop. This is someone you live with, someone you’ve known your whole life and you will see again.
Obviously, one solution to bullying is to leave the school or home in this case. But that depends on a number of factors including the severity of the bullying that would warrant cutting all ties with the people and place. I do not have it in me and a part of me doesn’t believe it meets the necessary threshold of severity for me to sever all ties.
The question then remains, what can I do?