I Will Become More

Why can't I find fulfillment in the places that I'm seeking? Things that used to bring me joy, that would make me feel like I was doing something meaningful. It all seems empty and obsolete. I don't know why this shift happened, or even when. But it has been ever-present as of late. As I write, as I draw, as I create, I can feel myself searching for a way to make it even better. To really itch the scratch in my brain, to make me feel proud of what I'm accomplishing in my life.

That's what it comes down to. I want to make myself proud. I won't say that I've let myself down, but I also don't think that I've reached my full potential. I haven't dedicated the time to become proficient at the things I love, putting in just enough effort to be okay at them. I want to sit back and feel entirely satisfied with the work that I'm putting out into the world. I want my own validation, I want others', I want to know that this is what I'm destined for.

When I don't receive the approval I'm seeking, I become extremely frustrated and discouraged. I need this outside validation to tell me that I'm doing the right thing. I don't trust myself or my judgement enough to be secure in the decisions I make.

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My father would constantly remind me that I wasn't good enough in my childhood. It was his favourite hobby to ingrain negative thoughts in my mind.

I claimed them as my own.

I'm not doing this right. I'll never feel like I can succeed. I'm too much of a fuck-up to be better than this. I don't deserve to have my thoughts heard and acknowledged. Why do I even try when I know I won't make it?

He did his best to crush my spirit and make me feel insignificant in this world. But in reality, I was only insignificant in his. He did not value what I brought into the world, he could not connect with the way that I view things. He was sour and bitter and resentful, hating the fact that I was an innocent child with big dreams and abundant wonder of the world. He wanted to steal this for himself because he had lost it long ago. And so he decided that if he couldn't have it, neither could I.

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Years followed of emotional abuse and neglect. I sheltered my joy so far within myself that not only was it out of his reach, but also mine. I did this act to protect myself, to drive out all of my ambition and courage, so that he could not take it from me. But in the end he succeeded. Because I cannot find where I hid it so carefully all those years ago. He did much worse than steal it, he obscured it. He changed my entire personality, my habits, my candor. He took my heart in his hands and crushed it, told me that I was not worthy of it. And I foolishly believed him. It did not matter the words I would hear from my mother or friends, all I could discern was that they were not being genuine.

I was in the middle of the cross-fire. In one home I learned to find comfort and respite, and in the other I learned that nowhere was safe and everyone is out to get you. Fear goes a long way in destroying precious things. It drives out all other emotions because it takes up too much space. It is all-consuming and impossible to ignore.

I thought that my only option was to listen to this narrative. To not believe what people told me at face value, to question their intent, to safeguard myself from their reach. I thought that everyone was out to get me, that they were all fabrications that would taunt me once I let them truly know me. I was so scared to reveal my true self to anyone because I believed I would be berated for appearing so weak.

How could I be so naive? How could I truly view the world as a kind place? I simply could not. I had to destroy all of my distinctive traits, dismantle them from my being so that I would be taken seriously.

Even then, this did nothing to protect me, did nothing to stop my father's harsh words. I became too quiet, too demure, even though he wanted me that way. He was looking for a punching bag, a place to take out his own frustrations without facing them. I was the perfect receptacle. I wouldn't fight back because I was frightened of him. I was scared that one day he would physically abuse me because of my disobedience. I wound myself up in grief and solace, crying as soon as the lights went out at night. Punishing myself with horrid thoughts filled of morbid action. And sometimes I would act on these in a more physical way, just to feel the pain flow through my body into something more tangible, something that my body could manage.

The mental toll he took on me was too much for my mind to handle. I figured that this was one thing that I could control, one thing that he was not the warden of. And the best part, my body intrinsically knew how to heal this damage. I had to exert no effort on this matter. My body would heal and take care of me, something that my mind could not do. It was such a deep breath of fresh air, I couldn't believe that I had finally found something to soothe my pain.

As the months passed, I started punishing myself in my head as well.

This reprieve had backfired.

The thoughts swirling around in my head became more vicious and unrelenting. Unforgiving monsters roaming in waking hours, making me think I was an abomination, unloveable, detestable. This soon tied into acts of harming myself. I would now also commit this act to soothe the words in my own head, not just the ones being thrown at me in a constant loop.

Now I had two to contend with. I had become my own monster.

I lacked any form of a safe space. I would toss and turn at night, unable to find a quiet moment with all the turmoil bubbling up inside of me. I think I cried myself to sleep every night, calling out for this ache in my chest to stop hurting so much. I couldn't fathom that humans could experience such deep emotions of anguish. And I certainly didn't understand why I couldn't escape it. I began to feel that I deserved these emotions, that they were just wired within me to experience, with no eject button. This spiralled and spiralled for such a long time. I don't think my vision was without darkness for five straight years at the minimum.

-

This man, my father, has caused irreparable damage to my being. He confiscated my youth, my happiness, my lustre. He took everything that I knew and threw it far away from me. Shattered my resolve and discarded the parts of me that I held dear. All because he couldn't experience it for himself.

I will never understand or relate to this level of selfishness. It's something that I stay far away from. So far in fact, that I haven't been able to fully process the full reality of what happened to me. I numbed myself from the whole experience, dissociated to protect myself. I was not ready to face it, not all at once. It's coming back to me in pieces now, and I search desperately for each one. I want to hold them all close to me, relive that pain, so that I can release it. I will not be able to move forward if I do not.

As painful as it is, it is necessary. I cannot accomplish all that I wish for if I do not learn to let go. I need to identify all of my triggers so that I can remedy them. I'm sick of pushing them down just for them to pop back up again. It's not a sustainable method, it won't heal me.

These pieces I've talked about take many forms. Some more obvious, some more hidden. Each unique and amounting to the person I could've been without them. They show me how much I've lost along the way, but also the invaluable lessons I've learned. I can now decide for myself who I want to be present in my life. I've realized I, alone, hold that power. If I want to be alone, I can be. If I want someone to hold, I can connect with others. If I want to feel fulfillment, I have all the tools hidden within me. Now it's all about extraction.

How do you thaw years of repressed emotions? How can one bear such knowledge and come out okay?

Slowly, is what I've learned. With each day I can see his effects on me. I can choose to ignore them or I can choose to change them. Re-harness my power and turn it into something good and useful. The way I speak, the way I react, the way I'm quick to anger, the way anxiety grasps my heart; I can choose to be better. I do not have to conform to the ways that I learned to conduct myself. I do not have to lead by example. I am perfectly capable of deciding these things for myself. It's a true shame I lost this knowledge along the way, but I am just grateful that I can reconnect with it now. And because I lost it, I do my best to never lose sight of it. I know what it's like to live without it, and that's something I will not go through again.

I will take my time to sort through these jaded memories, process them fully, and release them. The only other option is to hold them close to myself and watch the blood drip down from my chest.

No.

This is not what I choose for myself.

I choose passion and fulfillment and friends and music and creativity and connection. I want to experience life in the brightest hue. I want to immerse myself so deeply in my craft that I don't know where it ends and I begin. I want to provide people the tools to be able to heal themselves.

Just because I was conditioned a certain way, does not mean it is my only path, my only reality. I will break down the walls of this prison and soak in the warm sun on my face. I will learn and grow and prosper.

Not out of spite, but out of deep, genuine love for myself.

It's so difficult for me to say I love myself, because it hasn't been true for many years. I haven't allowed room for this to grow and morph into something greater, in fear of it being stolen. I am now in a space where I can let go of this fear, this defense mechanism. It is no longer needed: I am safe and I am steady in my intent.

It's about time I accepted this.