3 views
Nobody Ever Taught Me:
I grew up given the distinct impression, that it was in some way, wrong, to have dramatic or drastic feelings. Any display of emotional sort was frowned upon, really. Eventually I was led to the conclusion that it must be some downfall of my character. I believed that there must be something wrong with me. SO I blamed a chemical unbalance, that probably never existed, as my valid, human response, fell quietly through the floorboards, forgotten, left eternally, to the wayside.
Does a history of addiction, of mental illness, run in the family? I used to be able to answer every doctor immediately, without any hesitation, whatsoever, "No." From this point forward I will always have to hesitate and take pause before answering because I see now, sober me so much differently than I had before.
The social acceptance of alcohol addiction? An addiction, 100% nonetheless, yet my problem received (hypocrisy in their) judgement (of me!) regardless of the fact we both battle the same enemies but by different names; mine being what you see as a much more horribly and ugly stigma: 'actual' drugs.
Emotion and empathy, feelings, do not have to be, solely, a weakness. That when used in the right circumstances, they are in fact, a strength... a power even. Magic. Wonder.
During my journey of healing, while simotaneously, walking backwards through drama and the worst experiences of my life, I've learned a lot. I do believe that because of my "weaknesses," we were actually able to survive.
How was I able to survive before, and how am i surviving now? I know what to expect. Every day, I am to roll a rock, further then the day before, up a steep slope. I know I'll have to try my abolute hardest, not to freeze from trauma, daily, in order to try my best not to collect moss.
Trauma deafens and blinds me as I fall face first into your guilt laiden shame spiral, trapped in your stupid portal of nonfiction, not able to do a single goddamn thing, least of all, clear my mind... which gives way for my real inner demons come out. For my darkest monsters to claw their way out of my chest and into the tear stained humidity of my once again, silent and still, night air.
Can we all agree that we understand how my weaknesses have now become my greatest strength? As I bite my tongue until it bleeds, swallowing my every thought of expression, if emotion and feeling, simply to please everyone around me?! I mean, it's so sadly in vain and pathetic... this sorry attempt to make everyone else happy, but since they're not, I'm not, and it's just an infinite cycle?! Not to let it be forgotten that everyone's own, individual happiness is a priority; self love, care and happiness aren't acts of selfishness, they're quite necessary.
This is about mental health. This is about psychological wellbeing. Knowing what I know now, while still not knowing about myself - my own genetic make up, despite the conversation about said traits, echoes through the bones of the same house as I - is simply both a blessing and a curse.
Well I've decided not to be restricted by these definitive confines anymore.
I have chosen to focus on my goals and the positives in my life instead of the negatives so that I can stop literally, and figuratively, stop running myself into the ground and floor beneath my feet.
No one ever taught us, about asking for help. No one told us, that it is, actually normal, to not only experience, but to have, emotions. No one showed us that, well... it's pretty normal, for most people, cohabitating a living space, to communicate (as adult children and a family within a family, no less), without misunderstandings, on at least a semi regular basis.
What is the difference between what you still refuse to actually accuse me of - but nonetheless worthy of being experienced by passive aggressive glares, or snide and short comments, or whispers hushed into silence- versus what you, in fact, actually do (a day home from work, bedridden, after a night of heavy drinking, or a forgotten argumen not only soured by the conversation, held at
3am, but by the smell of alcohol on your breath and sweat)
© MamasMobocracyMusings
Does a history of addiction, of mental illness, run in the family? I used to be able to answer every doctor immediately, without any hesitation, whatsoever, "No." From this point forward I will always have to hesitate and take pause before answering because I see now, sober me so much differently than I had before.
The social acceptance of alcohol addiction? An addiction, 100% nonetheless, yet my problem received (hypocrisy in their) judgement (of me!) regardless of the fact we both battle the same enemies but by different names; mine being what you see as a much more horribly and ugly stigma: 'actual' drugs.
Emotion and empathy, feelings, do not have to be, solely, a weakness. That when used in the right circumstances, they are in fact, a strength... a power even. Magic. Wonder.
During my journey of healing, while simotaneously, walking backwards through drama and the worst experiences of my life, I've learned a lot. I do believe that because of my "weaknesses," we were actually able to survive.
How was I able to survive before, and how am i surviving now? I know what to expect. Every day, I am to roll a rock, further then the day before, up a steep slope. I know I'll have to try my abolute hardest, not to freeze from trauma, daily, in order to try my best not to collect moss.
Trauma deafens and blinds me as I fall face first into your guilt laiden shame spiral, trapped in your stupid portal of nonfiction, not able to do a single goddamn thing, least of all, clear my mind... which gives way for my real inner demons come out. For my darkest monsters to claw their way out of my chest and into the tear stained humidity of my once again, silent and still, night air.
Can we all agree that we understand how my weaknesses have now become my greatest strength? As I bite my tongue until it bleeds, swallowing my every thought of expression, if emotion and feeling, simply to please everyone around me?! I mean, it's so sadly in vain and pathetic... this sorry attempt to make everyone else happy, but since they're not, I'm not, and it's just an infinite cycle?! Not to let it be forgotten that everyone's own, individual happiness is a priority; self love, care and happiness aren't acts of selfishness, they're quite necessary.
This is about mental health. This is about psychological wellbeing. Knowing what I know now, while still not knowing about myself - my own genetic make up, despite the conversation about said traits, echoes through the bones of the same house as I - is simply both a blessing and a curse.
Well I've decided not to be restricted by these definitive confines anymore.
I have chosen to focus on my goals and the positives in my life instead of the negatives so that I can stop literally, and figuratively, stop running myself into the ground and floor beneath my feet.
No one ever taught us, about asking for help. No one told us, that it is, actually normal, to not only experience, but to have, emotions. No one showed us that, well... it's pretty normal, for most people, cohabitating a living space, to communicate (as adult children and a family within a family, no less), without misunderstandings, on at least a semi regular basis.
What is the difference between what you still refuse to actually accuse me of - but nonetheless worthy of being experienced by passive aggressive glares, or snide and short comments, or whispers hushed into silence- versus what you, in fact, actually do (a day home from work, bedridden, after a night of heavy drinking, or a forgotten argumen not only soured by the conversation, held at
3am, but by the smell of alcohol on your breath and sweat)
© MamasMobocracyMusings
