Now it Shows, How Time Has Made Us Soldiers: Part 1

Here I am again, your beaming host of emotional baggage and occasion charm and wit!

Let me start by saying, I'm sure unnecessarily, that I have a tendency to analyze basically everything. I've always enjoyed breaking things down to their very basics to find out what makes them what they are. Whether it be plants, toys, or Subway sandwiches, I've always wanted to understand things as much as I possibly could. This is also part of why I find people so incredibly fascinating. I like listening to people's stories, because finding what a person understands and feels is like getting a glimpse of life through their eyes. We go our days without realizing it, but none of us are living the same life. The world is not the same place to any of us. And it is oh, so intriguing to discover the worlds of others.

But far more interesting and difficult is discovering your own world. What you feel, think and perceive, and why. Being your own psychologist can be quite a burden. Exploring the corners of your brain and researching all the glitches while simultaneously finding out whether or not you have the tools to correct them, I find, is a really taxing yet necessary task. And the process of discovering if you have the tools is often far more grueling and long-lasting than that of finding the glitches themselves. The only trusty tool I've learned to use is writing, so I will wield its healing powers here.

Since I can recall, I've known my past had a lot to do with all my problems, but I was under the impression I had a hold of it all. I thought I knew my story, the sad and happy parts and all the main characters. I knew that my father was the antagonist, a tyrant and a pervert. I knew my mother, sister and I were all his victims, and that I'd been born into a lot of chaos. I knew my dad made my mother do manual labor while she was carrying me and was already so weak she was ordered to be on bed rest, and so I was born with a low immune system and weak joints that plague me to this day. I knew he was unfaithful and that I'd eventually have to choose my mom over him.

What I didn't know was that I shouldn't have been told these things regularly by my mother and sister when I was a child. But I always knew they were hurt, so I never blamed them for anything, even saying things I didn't want to hear. I didn't blame my mom for showing me the lipstick stains on Dad's collar, because I thought she was educating me. I didn't blame my sister for telling me no one would love me if I didn't fit perfectly in a string bikini, I thought she was warning me. And I didn't blame my mom for showing me my reflection so I could see how much I looked like the man who ruined her life, because I thought I must have been just as evil as him.

I didn't know I should have been homeschooled past 4th grade instead of being left by myself every afternoon for years, that I should have had more than one meal daily, that I should have been taken to the doctor and dentist for annual check-ups, or that ephedra is not a medicine your mother should give you to lose weight. I was innocent, and I trusted them all to have my best interest at heart. I assumed any neglect or punishment was due to mistakes I'd made. I thought there must be something very wrong with me to be receiving all this negativity, and I was very angry and frustrated with myself for doing whatever it was I kept doing to make my family reject me.

And now I'm coming to see how broken and messy it all was and that everyone who was supposed to take care of me dropped the ball in some unfathomable ways. I know without a doubt that my mother, father, and sister all love me. But I know now that they were all too broken to love me properly. I hold no grudges towards them, I am closer than ever with my mother and I'm happy to say we're good friends, my sister and I are learning to be good to each other, and I see my father on occasion. But I'm still left with the mess they left.

I've never been the kind of person to bring up what I know of my childhood on a whim, but it's following me like a shadow, and I know I have to face it to let it go. I have to be honest with myself, and accept that I'm stuck with a laundry list of health problems that have formed from long-term malnutrition and neglect, and mental problems ranging from Post Traumatic Stress to Body Dysmorphia. I know that if I want life to be better, I have to unlearn almost everything I know about myself and the world because most of it is mutated by all the dysfunctional ways I learned to live. I mainly have to learn to see myself as the good guy that deserves every bit of happiness rather than the villain who should be tossed down a well.

Part of me knows that life doesn't have to be a big bad scary monster, and that things are likely to turn out OK. A small part, that is. Though I naturally find myself thinking life is going to squash the people I love like bugs and leave me all alone, I find comfort in the fact that it hasn't happened so far. Actually, now there are lots and lots of things I find comfort in. Things that make life worth living and make me appreciate every step I've taken to get where I am now, which I will save for Part 2, but really is the main point of this entire blog. The only way to change the way I view life is to become its student and see every day as a lesson to be learned.

But bonus lesson for the day is that I need to get a normal sleep schedule going, because it's 5:00AM! Yikes! Good day to you, sir!

Abi-Wan