Recently, I’ve been doing quite well – even though I’ve been stressed and annoyed by a variety of things. The fact that I can even be annoyed is a good sign. It means I’m doing much better than I was a year ago.
My youngest sister has been having her own issues – mostly relating to stress, anxiety, and I think some depression too, all negatively impacting her physical health (which happens to us all – I just think it’s more obvious/prominent for some). She’s been on anxiety meds for almost a year I think.
My mother’s family is fairly Christian, fairly conservative/”traditional”. For that reason (and probably others), they know about my sister’s problems, but not mine. No one knows I was living with the lion, no one knows what happened between him and I, no one knows why I left Japan and moved back into my parents’ house in Toronto, no one knows why I haven’t worked for a year. No one knows my pain, heartache, heartbreak, mental health problems, physical health problems. No one knows, and no one can know.
Why? Because it’s not proper for a young lady to be involved with a man when they’re not married (to each other). Because sex before marriage is bad. Because co-habitation between unwed partners is bad. Because it would hurt my 94 year-old grandfather who’s beliefs are so very different from mine. Because it would raise many questions, and probably embarrass my mother.
I bite my tongue, smile, avoid, pretend, give answers that tell only a fraction of the story. I do this to keep them from knowing. To protect my mother too, I guess (if you can even call it ‘protecting’). I’ve been doing this for about 2 years and counting.
My parents have been great. They allow me to live in their house for free, and they don’t charge me for food either. I do my best to pay them back, through doing things around the house and making sure everyone is looked after as best as possible.
This entire system though, it takes a toll on me.
Neither parent knows what to do, or how, to help me out (and they never have, when it’s come to relationship stuff). I know they care, and they want what’s best for me, but it just… hasn’t worked that way.
My sister, don’t get me wrong, she’s had some tough times. But people know what her issues are. Relatives, friends, neighbours offer to help her and ask how she’s doing. People are extra kind (or try to be) to her. Doctors know what to do, what possible meds to suggest.
There’ve been times when I’m grateful no one knows, because they all leave me alone. No one knows, so no one’s nosy.
Today, she was telling us about some of the things that had happened recently (she was at home on her own for a week, during a pretty rough patch), and I heard myself saying to her in my head, “You’re so lucky people know.” I didn’t say this with compassion and patience. I was (and still am, though it’s dying down) hurt, sad, frustrated, annoyed. Everybody, including me, is so concerned, so sympathetic. The aches that this brings me leads to temporary anger. She doesn’t do it on purpose. She’s just cute and small and fragile and vulnerable, and so people want to protect and help her. It’s always been that way. She knows how to get attention (and I don’t mean that in a bad way).
When times are tough for her, she asks for help, she gets cuddly, she tells people about her meds and problems. She cries. She tells people that she cries, that she’s lonely, that she’s stressed, that she wants hugs and cuddles.
Nah, I’m just here… apparently pretending like nothing shitty happened. Hey, I haven’t worked in a year. I’ve travelled a lot. Don’t you think I’m lucky? How do you think I manage it all?
Being at home is great for some things, but sometimes it’s the least helpful thing I can do for myself. And so… on the road I go, whenever possible, where I can build confidence in myself, learn all the things I want, be free, and heal – for real. I can look after me, instead of spending my precious energy constantly making sure everyone else is well looked after.