Forgotten Damage

Do you ever just sit and think about all the things you’ve dealt with throughout life and try to piece everything together to see the picture of why you are who you are today?

I’ve been damaged little by little throughout my life. Even though I don’t have all memories, I have the stories I’ve heard. Like my mom leaving me when I was just a few months old to someone who had no intention of caring for me, but rather to somehow who abuses me for their own pleasure at their convenience. And I don’t mean sexually or anything to that extend (thank god) but rather used a belt to bruise me because I was just being a kid. Or making sure I didn’t eat because I was being “bad”. Now, I don’t exactly know what’s real and what’s not but, I wish I could save this little girl who’s harmless and did not choose to be in this world from the chaos her life will most likely turn into. This is part of my damage I won’t remember but that its very likely it’ll affect me later in life.

Now, I can say I had a good childhood as far as I can remember. I remember being a happy kid once I was with the right people. I was free, I had friends, I took advantage of nature and climbed trees and created toys out of anything. I was happy. I had love, I felt loved. Until my “father”, he does not deserve to be called that, decided it was a good idea to take me away from all I’ve ever known, to a new country “for a better life”. but that “better life” came with a cost, not on his expense but on mine. I was damaged a little bit more from the age of 11 and 18. I lived with a parent who showed they did not care for me and a stepmom that did not care to be a mother figure to me. I learned what it was to feel unwanted and learned the question why, what about me is not right? I learned what it felt to be in a house where my presence was not really wanted, and because of it I learned that hiding in a room was better so that I did not make anyone feel uncomfortable and so I could feel I belonged. Even if it was in a small room where I felt it was the only place I was allowed to feel. I learned that keeping my emotions in was easier because when shown they did not mattered. So being normal throughout the day was easy to do, and once my head hit my pillow I let myself feel.

While being damaged just a bit more, I learned that I had a job, and that job was that in order to be included I had to do shores, and babysit kids while I was a kid. I had to “prove” myself to get a good gesture, to be given a quick hug, or to simply not get yelled at for whatever it was that I did or expect to be bruised by a belt being control by the hands of my “father”. To this date I am not sure of, what was it that I would do to be the “bad” one, the “rebel” one, what was it?

I came to think that there was something wrong with me for a while. I wondered if I was a different person maybe it would’ve been different. I asked myself if  I was maybe just hard to love? If my mother left me as a baby and now that I got to experience living with my “father” and his cold treatment and somewhat hatred towards me, there had to be a reason behind it and it all had to do with me. Because how can 2 parents not care for their child?

Now that I’m a little bit more damaged, I’ve learned to live with what god gave me. A family where I was an outsider and I was just there because there was no other choice. As a teenager, I was not allowed to do much. When I learned how to ask to do something with my friends or cousins, the answer was always a no. So I stopped asking. I always got good grades and while school is most of the time hated, I learned to find happiness in the little things. I was happy to go to school because I was shown kindness and warmth and love by the friends I had and by my teachers. I enjoyed every minute because once I went home I was not sure what would be happening.

I always made sure not to cause trouble because I was already “trouble” according to my “parents”. So I stayed to myself many of the times. I had one person in my corner throughout this period of my life, my stepbrother. He was my best-friend, he showed me what it felt to hear words of comfort, he reminded me that I was not the only one wondering why was I treated this way. If he was present when an insult came from his mom or my “father” he would step in and I would get nervous because I did not want him to get in trouble. But, he made me feel better about myself, and reassured me it wasn’t me. But if you know, no matter how many times you are reassured, the damage is already there and the reality of it is that actions speak louder than words and those actions where always proven otherwise.

Many times, I was told that I was useless, that I didn’t deserve anything because I was bad. And if I describe bad, I’m not sure if it meant like a rotten apple bad or if doing the chores I was supposed to do, taking care of my half siblings, attempting to cook or any other gesture I tried to do to get them to feel “proud of me” was being done all wrong. But I couldn’t ask so I had to just wonder what it was. I became a little more damaged when now part of my life was to constantly wonder and wanted to know what do I need to do to be accepted into this household? How do I convince them that I am worthy? But that answer never came. The reassurance I learned was that I might just be in fact, broken. And no one wants a broken person to deal with because it takes too much work.

I always wanted to feel enough, but I wasn’t. I wanted to feel loved, but it was too hard to love me, I wanted to feel what it was like to be wanted, but I was never wanted. I continued to be told I was no one. I learned to be a walking body with a broken soul who had no choice but to continue. I felt defeated and part of me made peace with the fact that it was a possibility no one would want me, just like my mom didn’t and just like my “father” continued to show me that he also did not want me.

Before I left this household, I was called a liar for asking for help. I was told when I cried that my tears were “crocodile tears”. I was told that life would be bad to me. But life was already bad, I had no one who would protect me, I had no one to show me what love feels like or looks like. I never asked for anything. All I ever wanted was to feel safe, to feel that I wasn’t always going to be abandoned, just like when I was a baby.

I now am broken. I learned to cry on my pillow once everyone was asleep. I learned to hug myself until the heartache went away,  I learned to treat myself with kindness and learned to continue finding joy in the small things.

If I had the chance to go back in time and view myself, I would not say much but rather give her a hug, a very long one. Because I know so many times that’s all I needed. A hug.

To be continued…