Good old days

You know how some people like to complain about the now, while referring to "the good old days"? Well, I don't understand them. I mean, I know what they mean, but to me, my best days are in the now. I stopped living in the past. I accept whatever comes on my path and I try to look forward. Not to better days, well, maybe a little, but I can't say Im unhappy now. I have been depressed for quite a while, but it seems to be over... For now, anyway.

So, what's with those good old days hmm? Did you have a nice childhood? Or maybe your teens were your primetime? Not to me! I'll tell you why, so try to read on with an open mind. I don't want to be felt sorry for. The past is what made me who I am today, and I would do it all over again to get here if I had to.

So, childhood. A warm home where you can evolve into the future you. A place where you feel safe, even. Sound familiar? Not to me. My bio dad liked to beat me up on saturdays. No reason, really. Just a way for him to get rid of his anger he saved up from the past week. He didn't need a reason to start, but I could always sense it coming. A wrong look or comment was enough to pop him. Hell, even remaining silent, looking at the floor, didn't help. It didnt bother me as much as the rest though. Yes, there's more.

The emotional abuse was much worse to me. I was still a child, developing myself. I had a half sister (same father, different mother) that he fancied over me. Of course I was from the past marriage. A child he got stuck with, a child he didn't want. Anyway, when he got in his rage, he didn't look at where my sister was. Every time I felt it coming, I hid her in the closet, telling her to play a bear in hibernation. I was her spring, telling her to come out, when it was safe. One day she got bored of it, I guess. And she saw it. She got a heavy asthmatic attack, causing her to end up in the hospital. Of course my dad told everyone it was my fault that I didn't warn him in time, that we were playing too rough.

When she got better, she either got too scared to tell, or she really didn't remember. I thought, and hoped, that it was the latter, that she really didn't know. From that day on, her mother shunned me. I was no longer welcome (well, she always looked at me as if I was a pest). My dad also wouldnt let her come on saturdays anymore and eventually she forgot about me too, I guess. It's okay though, shes happy so I won't shake up her life. I'll carry this for both of us.

Aside from that, he also threathened me with if I'd ever tell anyone about being his personal punching bag, he would come to my house and kill my mother. As a child I of course didn't realise that I should go to the police, or whatever. I did try telling my mother once, but because she confronted my dad with me on the spot, I told her that I lied. I couldn't risk it. After all, she was pregnant with my baby brother (she remarried). Then my dad changed his threat into killing my mother and my brother, so I didn't speak of it again for a long time. Of course, because of those events (what he said and what I did), nobody believed me anymore anyway. Though I never lied...

So, that's one thing. But because of this, I wasn't sure on how to actually communicate with others. In my heart, I knew violence wasn't the answer. I tried to be nice, but I only got taken advantage of that way. But at that point, I was just happy someone actually saw me. I felt invisible to the world. When I was little, and unable to even say anything about the abuse at my dads, people thought I was odd. I was acting out. Every damaged person would think something's up, but nobody bothered with finding out.

Even when my mother suspected something was up, she was told in court that I had to keep going to my dads every saturday. Apparently there was no proof that it was him, and of course he blamed my new stephdad instead. Yes, my dad is a huge asshole, a snake that always seems to get in the right, no matter how much he twists a story. When I heard about this (late teens) I was shocked. I always thought she never tried. Well, I guess that explains her depression before she got my brother, amongst other things.

And that's where we get to teens. And I'm telling you, that was even worse. I remember very well the despair and longing to leave this world. My life got worse by the day. I was already invisible and unheard by everyone I knew. Everyone but one. My grandfather. When I got to the age of 15, I was diagnosed with BPD (borderline personality disorder). The first shrink I got was the best I ever had. I couldn't see that then, but there has never been one like him, who actually saw a girl instead of a patient.

My mother and stephfather (I'll just refer to them as parents) put me on an "after school club". Yeah, a club for derailed kids like me. Not their best idea, for that's where I first experienced sexual harassment, smoking people (that didn't listen to me), and drugs. Of course I didn't start smoking or doing drugs, I had no reason for wanting to fit in, nor did I care about what others thought of me (I was invisible anyway). So, after a day of getting bullied in school, I had to bike my way there, to deliver another battle before dinner and have a sleepless night. That was pretty much my day. And after that "joke" of you showing your dick and telling me to suck it, I got even more on edge. I was happy when I got away from there. Unfortionately more shrinks took their place...

Anyway, at that time I got even more depressed with life. The only thing that could comfort me was my siamese cat, Anoki, and eating with my grandfather at his home on thursdays. Until one day, I had a school assignment. I decided to cancel dinner with him so I could work on it. Not long after I got home, my mother got a call. She looked at me, crying, and told me my grandfather had died. Time stopped. Tears rolling down my face. I saw my mother, then everything went black. I didn't pass out or anything, I just felt like I fell into the void. A big nothing. I shook my head and asked her to repeat what she said. She asked me if I wanted to go there, then she was crying uncontrollably.

Somehow my senses kicked in. I hugged her, took a step back and called a friend. The girl I was doing the assignment with lived a street from my grandfather. I told her what happened and asked her if she could go there to pick up the school assignment. She only needed to add pictures and write her part (i was going to do that for her because of her home situation). She told me not to worry. I wad glad she showed up on site. She kept her word. One of the very few people I can say that of.

Anyway, once I was there, I felt sorry for all the people who had to miss my grandfather now. His wife was long gone (after 7 yrs bedridden by multiple sclerosis), but his neighbor was his girlfriend. She was there too, but after this very day, she couldn't step inside there anymore. I saw my grandfather, looking pale, feeling cold. But somehow, I felt at ease. I thought I could feel him. I walked to his bird room and freed his favorite. His sister caught me and dragged my mom to get me. They thought I was being weird again, but hey, I was already the odd one so nobody really cared. That brief moment of release, I felt peace. I'm sure that was my grandfather, telling me he was still there, keeping an eye out.

Well, after that we had his cremation funeral. I couldn't​ speak. The priest took over for me. I felt stupid, but the words just wouldn't come out anymore. I didn't eat for at least a week, and I didn't speak for nearly 2 months. I decided not to go to my bio dad anymore. There was a hole inside me. I had several suicide attemps back then, life just wasn't worth it for me. But I couldn't do it. I'm sure my grandfather was there, pulling me back. Eventually I gave up, and so cutting myself became a habit to feel numb. I was done with life. It gave me nothing but misery. I wish it ended there, but it didn't.

Not long after, my cat disappeared. At home we had door rules, but since my brother loved to hang on the door handles, they often wouldnt entirely close. Somehow Anoki managed to sneak out (he loved to be outside so I carried him in the yard sometimes), and somehow nobody noticed. Of course, I was the one who got the blame. I wasn't even surprised by that anymore. I spent weeks biking through the neighborhood, hanging posters, calling and searching. I even "hired" a person (when she heard about my age she wouldnt accept my money) who claimed she could communicate with animals. She told me he was indoors and that was the reason I couldn't find him. After a long time (about 2 months) we found him nearby. My parents took him to the vet, but when I saw him... I knew. 

He came home to say goodbye. I could feel it. I held him for a while, so he could listen to my heartbeat. My stephdad stayed up all night to wake by his side. Next morning we saw him taking his last breath. I positioned him with a blanket so it wouldnt scare my brother too much. And you know the funny thing, I had the same feeling as I had with my grandfather. I felt relieved, free, and at peace.

So, I lost 2 of my life pillars. My so called red thread. I was lost. I couldn't get out of bed anymore, or even go to school. I didn't care about food or sunshine. I was a living corpse. In that time I lost more "friends", and got sexually abused by an ex boyfriend. I went to the police for it, but of course they didn't take me seriously (they made me wait for 2 months and by then I was done with it). I was sick of life, sick of society.

Then I turned 18. Yes, the coming of age. I never thought I'd make it. But it wasn't something positive to me, it meant moving out of the house. To live with a group of other damaged young adults, with a 24h watch. It wasn't much better than living with a father that was always working, a mother that eventually turned out to have some disorder as well (she often twisted my story and I never knew why), and a brother with Asperger whose hobby apparently was to make my life hell. He didn't really succeed at that, because to me, I was already there. But, the worst was yet to come.

I got sick of being monitored all the time, so I fled. I moved in with a guy, 8 years older than me, who had a child from a previous marriage, and lived almost 180km away from my hometown. I thought it could be love, but I guess he just wanted to own me. Not soon after, he forbade me to talk to other people on the streets, then he wouldnt let me go out of the house, and then he would even talk to others for me. I was a prisoner. He made me do everything he wanted, including taking full care of his son. He didn't care about him, he was just his possession. Just like me. I taught the boy everything I could. His mother grew jealous of me. Her son asked of me all the time.

Too bad his father had no intention to work for it. After he lost his job he grew paranoid. He wanted to know who I chatted with online, full insight to my phone, email and chats. Until at some point he decided to hit me when I said no. It was like I was with my bio father all over again. Flashbacks came, and in a rage I blacked out. I woke up with bruises and a broken umbrella, glad to see him in bruises as well. It didn't take long until I decided to leave him (I stayed with him for 4 years, to protect his son against him). He stalked me, and refused to give me back my things. Eventually he gave back some, including our cat, Minoes. Which gave me alot of trouble (never been to a vet with her before and my parents had pets of their own), but I refused to give her up.

Me and my parents tried to fight for my things. In total, a worth of €20.000 in stuff and savings. He stalled alot, didn't meet deadlines, and refused to cooporate even a little... He lied and tried to push it all in my shoes, after all Im the one with BPD. I was hurt. So hurt. I knew it would be hard, but my parents thought I couldn't do it. They asked me to give up. If they hadn't supported me with funds for my own place, I doubt I would still be here. I had to let go. Not only of the injustice done to me (not just this, the abuse too), but also of my past.

You see, I took my collections with me. He tried to break me by breaking up those and sending only parts back. I had several things that belonged to my grandfather, dvd's and games I borrowed from people... All gone. I was left with a cat, which also gained a trauma (she pisses everywhere when uneasy). So it wasnt just me anymore. Now I had a reason to live. My cat needed me more than anyone ever would. I couldn't leave her.

That's when I decided to live. For her, and eventually for me. I can't trust anyone, so I'll just live for me. I'll always be alone, even when I'm surrounded by people. And I want to. I want to be alone. For people only ever brought me hurt. Justice doesn't excist in this world, only survival.

Maybe some day I'll think differently. Maybe. But right now im way too busy trying to love again. And to do it the right way this time. So no, there are no "good old days" for me. Only hurt. I can only hope for better days. But right now, I'm happier than I ever was. And that's fine with me.

So, what caused me to wanting to share this story? Well, have you seen "Thirteen reasons why"? No? Go watch it then. You'll see what a story like mine can do to someone. Someone not as "strong" as me. Yes, I was weak for a long time. But right now, there isn't much that can actually break me. 

And really, it's not just me. There's others like me with a story like this. Not everyone survives. So I hope people can start thinking before they act.