So far, this blog has been always filled with a lot of occupations of mine, my writing, me being in search of topics I find interesting, worth commenting on, maybe also trying to be funny and sharing some of the literature and films I like. Maybe also me being quite interested in the darker sides of life. Me being me I guess. Whatever.

This blog post is going to be different.

One thing, one chat I had with a friend of mine today made me realize how wrong conceptions of people can be sometimes. I don’t want to go into detail. It was just a bummer and it was something I had not expected at all. The message did strike home there and then.  No matter how well you know somebody. There is one thing, nobody likes to talk about. The most awful things that happened to you. And it made me realize something for my own sake… I need to accept myself for what I am, I need to understand who I am, and literally be myself, instead of creating a sleek carefully constructed persona I might set up without knowing. Of course, that’s what people do. They put up a front. They have an outside persona in order not to get hurt or show their hurt. That is what happens I guess.

But in case you are in touch with someone, who you really value, who should know and who should understand their real persona and vice versa, they should know and appreciate the real you.

Well, there you go. What is needed is a giant leap of faith. That leap of faith is important. Otherwise things remain on the surface. You cannot always hide behind a mask, or underneath that neat, cheerful and sarcastic exterior that you built up in order to protect yourself. If you want to really know someone, you need to be prepared that they too have a story to tell, and that your story again will come to light. Whether you like it or not.

I guess I fucked up many relationships because for one I could not bring myself to be me, face up to who I was, pretending to be someone else instead. And second perhaps because I am clumsy. I can’t get my head around the fact that people will actually like me the way I am. In other words, my self esteem is really worth shit. On a good day, I might recognize that I have a certain talent for this and that, but it is never a feeling that lasts. So I pretty much have lots and lots of bad days. Sometimes I reckon, this gets on people’s nerves. And it is not that I don’t notice it. It is just I can’t help it. I wish I had more self esteem. But that is nothing that grows on trees.

Self esteem is something we build up during our infant and teenage years. Those years were probably the worst years of my life. I was constantly the victim of verbal abuse, intimidations, threats, and more emotional warfare. Where? School? Nope. At home. There is the hell that formed me. While I actually tried to not let anyone notice how traumatizing this was, I did try to be away from home as much time as I possibly could. Yes, I am talking about domestic abuse, emotional and psychological violence. It was hell.

While on the outside, there is not much damage you can see, there are invisible scars that probably will remain there forever. There is not much I can do about it. Except for try to live with it and try not fall into same sick pattern.

As a result of this, I had a very strange relation to limits, authority, anything really that reminded me of my father. There simply were none. I was pushing limits any time I was confronted with rules. Trying to seek if there was any real limit. That was kind of unhealthy. In many ways: bad habits, drugs, alcohol… Excess was my answer to emotional abuse. I was so much in denial. I would rather die than admit that I was affected. Maybe it was a means to survive this “home”. I don’t know.

It took me years to figure out this one. I spent years reasoning, thinking that the reason my parents were like this was because they themselves had had such a hard life, that it was my mistake, I made up tons of excuses why they would behave they way they did. And the worst: I did not tell anyone. I was just writing in my little book, driving around town on my bike, speaking to all the outsiders and outcasts from society. It made me feel that at least I had people to speak to. I was pretty much alone.

The minute I came home, I knew my mother or my father had it in for me. I was a born scapegoat. I really did not fit in. I acted strangely. I tried to be more like a boy than a girl. Girl seemed too nice and pretty. I needed to be strong to survive…

At 15 I started doing drugs. It was somehow inevitable. It was the best I could do. Escape. If it was just a couple of minutes without the reality I was faced with. I don’t blame myself for having done what I did. I really don’t. 

After leaving home, my unhealthy behaviour and my excessive lifestyle brought me tons of really sick and unhealthy experiences… I don’t know what I was looking for. I did look for something good but the way was just all messed up and pretty much distorted.

At age 22 or 23 I started a psychological therapy cos I noticed that my inner life was still well below par and I really struggled with the why and wanted to change. I had never had a relation of longer than six months. Anytime I would stop seeing someone and do something that would terminate the relationship. I was not able to build up something that lasted. While starting that therapy I met my now husband. It was pretty much love at first sight. We met at the uni’s library while piecing together an essay and doing the bibliography. I saw him, our eyes met, it was fate.

At first, I was afraid I would mess up the relation again. And I probably did a couple of times. But we were meant to go this way together. And so we did. I cannot say that it was all easy peasy, skipping through the daisies. I used to have huge problems with being jealous and also with intimacy. I was really bad at trusting people. So we did have some initial problems but the love we felt made us overcome one problem after another.

When I think back now – it is a wonder that we are here now. I guess we did all the things that you should not do when you love someone. But we managed somehow. We made it work.

Coming back to the trigger moment I had today, I can only say: If you know me and believe the things I say, please, whenever you meet someone, who is acting weird, or who is acting like you think this is weird, stop for a moment and think about the thousands of people who might have suffered the same. Think about what they might have gone through, maybe they still go through and please understand, there is more to it than meets the eye.

Psychological violence and emotional abuse is something you (sometimes) struggle with your whole life. Some victims have better coping mechanisms than others. No need to feel superior because you were lucky enough not be in it.

These people are just as real.

Even so, I knew I want to do something about the weird way I felt as a teenager. I always felt out of place, out of sorts.  

If I really want to go that path of being a writer, then I also must include my past, for good or for worse. I must not forget what it was, and what it felt like. Even if I would much rather love to forget about it. (Which I tried for years…)

That is a very painful process. There is no way I can make this come undone. It is just a part of me. I need to sort this out. I guess it started some years ago. Once I had my kids, I became more and more aware of things I did not have as a child. There was this thought about things, episodes I thought I had long forgotten, but they come back to haunt me. And it seems to be just plain irony when you figure that you have been a victim of year-long emotional abuse, sometimes physical violence and year-long psychological abuse, that this is something that does not really come in handy with periods of high emotional stress. Put in other words, whenever I have a period of heightened stress, these memories will pop up eventually and influence my thinking, the way I feel about myself.

I sometimes return to be the sometimes loud-mouthed, sometimes mute, wild, black-eyed, moody, provocative, insecure, helpless teenager I used to be… And that is something that makes me really angry. I don’t want this to happen. I wish there was a way I could put a stop to this.

Right now, I feel that I would like more people to be aware that there is something called emotional abuse and that it is something that does not leave you black and blue but it is just as bad… You wear the emotional scars from that abuse. Chances are… for much longer.