I just talked to my bff and I guess she feels like she doesn’t know the “real me,” and is wondering if others do. My answer was no one knows the REAL ME. I think I told her that my husband does, but in actuality, he doesn’t either. It’s not like I’m purposely trying to hide my personality or anything. I know me and that’s why I feel that if others knew what was really behind the make-up, smiles, and occasional outbursts, they would run screaming for the hills. As far back as I can remember I’ve always been told to keep my hurt, anger, and sadness inside. Nobody wants to hear it! My friends just don’t know how much I envy them for being able to walk around showing their displeasure of things. I can’t be mad in public. I can’t walk around with my face torn up in dislike. Where I come from, that got you hit or worse. Your emotions were never your own. If something happened, rather good or bad, happy or sad, you better have gotten over it in a hurry or you paid the consequences. Where I grew up you weren’t special, so how dare you feel like you could impose your emotions onto others. Once you started kindergarten their was no more emotions for you, affections, tantrums, all of that had to stop.
My friends could never understand what it was like to grow up in the world that I did. You could only understand it if you lived it. They don’t know what it was like to not be a 5 year old in pain being told by their mother that they couldn’t have a hug because they were too old for that. Or to feel scared and alone in your own home while surrounded by family. Not knowing what was going to happen from one moment to the next.
I know that it sounds horrible to say but I would have rather lived in a home where I was constantly beaten or molested, because then at least I could belong to a group where there were other people who shared my pain. The type of what I know now as abuse that I lived with is something that, if there are others who experienced it no one talks about. I don’t want to talk about it. There are things that I saw and heard that I will never reiterate. I swore that to myself.
Almost every one of my family members who grew up through this has turned to drugs or alcohol, but I refuse to. Pushing everything deep down inside has worked for me. I can deal with that. I feel blessed just to have survived, and there are some days where things get hard when old feelings start to bubble up to the top. But I get a grip and move on. And for this reason I savor the fact no one will know the “real me.” I have made a “me” that I like to be around, a “self” that I can be proud of and I won’t give that up.
