The book says that if we’ve learned to forget bad things from the past, we are likely still trying to do it when we are adults. In today’s post, I will look at some of the things I might want to forget, although most of the things I’ve truly cast from my mind happened during black-outs and as such Those hours, days, even weeks or months, are now lost to the sadness of time.
DISCLAIMER: This post contains depictions of sexual assault and abuse.
Being called Arrogant
When I was learning to drive, in my father’s expert mentorship, we had a fallout that led to about a month of silence from both sides. That day we were practicing parallel parking, and he was explaining to me in a very amazing way about the car and its angles and all the things to consider that happen while maneuvering the car into such a spot. He had even drawn me up an illustration to make me better understand. I proceeded to an attempt, and that is where things went wrong.
As I was doing my best at handling the car, (his car mind you, I was terrified of scraping it) he kept giving advice, barking orders if you will. I stopped and asked if he could give me advice when I’m not trying to park. He did not like it and called me out as arrogant. It was a very unpleasant moment for me, as he just didn’t seem to understand that for me as a person and a learner, it is easier to hear what people have to say, then make an attempt, and then have another talk and so forth. To be branded ‘arrogant’ for such a reason seemed very unfair to me, and so I asked him to take me home and refused to even think about driving for a while. After a month or so, he called me and asked if it was time to continue lessons yet. I said yes.
This conflict is something that keeps eating me from the inside, and it has led me into many situations where my word is not heard. My wants and what I know to be good for me got overruled by people who think they know better all the time. Or at least this was the case up till my marriage when ⅔ of the family turned their backs at me. I don’t like to think about it because it brings me the sense of worthlessness, that my word doesn’t matter. That I don’t matter. I suppose I have been living under such an influence, having been reprimanded for having something to say, an improvement or a request, even when I moved out.
Being tossed against a wall
I am a borderline and have been for quite a while. And so, when the ex one day came back to the apartment I was already in a weird mood. Maybe manic, maybe just angsty for whatever reason. I started annoying him, and before I knew it I was up against the wall, his arm pressing me on it, hissing to me that I will not ruin his day off. After that, I was terrified for quite some time to even approach him when I didn’t feel alright.
I did not talk about it to anyone before my husband, I don’t think, because I thought (and still do) that I would not be believed. I never told my parents, much like I didn’t say a word about the other times I got threatened, by other people. There is no point in speaking up in circles where you will be the one to be cast out, instead of whoever wronged you. And, as I said, I was known to be crazy. I am sorry to say, that some people believed me to be crazy enough to threaten they’d lock me up in an asylum, just because I married a man they did not approve of. Who would’ve believed me about the wall slamming in that environment?
Being taken advantage of
As a good borderline, I had some fairly risky behaviors before I was made an honorable woman. Alcohol was a friend, too much so, I think. Sometimes this would lead me into situations that I dared not talk to anyone about, as I would’ve been shamed instead of offered support, and mostly these things happened in the gap when I was having one of those infamous breaks with my ex because of his cheating. There is one time, though, that relates to this particular ex.
I woke up in a stupor, you know the kind of intoxication that makes you blackout and in the morning there’s hell to pay, and he was having his way with me. Needless to say, I panicked and panicked hard. Kicked and screamed, yet in the morning I told no one. Or the day after, or the day after. All I did, was to forgive the actions to keep face. But I never forgot, and my fear of being grabbed got worse.
As I write this, I am realizing how many of the memories I want to bury revolve around shame and guilt. And how these few that I’ve talked about are situations where I have been made to feel like I’m in the wrong, when in fact, it has been quite the opposite. I have so much shame in me it hinders my everyday life, makes me feel unworthy, even tainted. Thank the heavens my husband found me when he did, that’s all I can say.
Letting down my mother (writing school tuitions)
One last memory, this time it all on me, and that is probably why it’s so hard for me to even begin to talk about it. This one mistake I’ve made, validates me being a bad person, lazy, all the negative things you can imagine. And of all things, it had to be about writing and my mother…
You see, I got accepted to a private writing school, to attend it for two years on the weekends and such. There were writers, traditional publishing house’s editors, and all these amazing opportunities in it for me. Only, being a private school, it costs loads. And well, my mother was kind and amazing, and she paid for the school. She paid it, from pennies she did not have to spare. And I wasted that opportunity.
I don’t know what to say, really. The first year I kept up good I think, and I loved being there. These were my people! But then I started getting depressed, sank into the depravity of my own mind, and slowly I stopped attending. The second year, I only showed up a few times and did not even go on the last day.
Mom, if you see this, I’m so, so ashamed. And I can’t face you knowing I took your money and wasted it. I only face myself because I live in this body and can’t run away from it. I am so disappointed in myself for what happened. And I often push this memory away for that reason. It is among the mistakes I can’t seem to forgive myself for doing. Maybe one day I’ll find it in me but until then… I’ll just have to manage I guess.