My Uphill Journey

When does the trail even out?

I read a blip from a book called Adult Survivors of Toxic Family Members that read, "When you are constantly criticized by your family, you do not stop loving them. You stop loving yourself." That hit me. In the face. Like a baseball bat.

If you've been following me for any amount of time, you know that I was raised by a narcissistic father, and wound up with my one and only sibling following his lead. Father is a covert narcissist, sister is a malignant narcissist. This, as you can imagine, was a hell that not even the demon Crawley could have imagined. (I saw a Supernatural meme earlier, so my brain went there.)

My sister would only engage with me when it benefitted her, or when she had nobody else to talk to. And now that I said that out loud, I realize that's probably where I got the idea that I was just an obligation or the pity friend. Yay epiphany.

When we got older, after she got married, it got worse. And worse. And worse. And worse. I never knew how she was going to treat me. Was she going to give me a hug and sing the rubber ducky song (she used to call me ducky)? Was she going to be Nasty McNasty and treat me like I had killed her dog? Was she going to ignore me all together? I just never knew, and it was beyond stressful. Every time I knew I was going to have to be around her, my guard was at 100% and my anxiety was unmanageable.

I was lying in bed last night, thinking about how I loathe myself. I think about things I did and think how stupid, idiotic, and just plain freakish I was. But then I remembered. Growing up, I lived in a fantasy world. I made things up, like telling others about how I had all these friends. No. I definitely did not have anywhere near that many friends. I had more fingers than friends. There were other things that I don't want to bring up, but suffice it to say, yes, I made a LOT of things up. And now I know why.

My reality was hell. Abused by two of my three family members, bullied by half the school... Hell. I had to make up my own world in order to survive. It was my escape. It was where I felt safe and loved and wanted.

To some extent, I still live in a fantasy. I play scenes in my head where I'm popular, independent, and normal. My reality has changed as I have grown and learned, but I still don't like where I am. My illness, my awkwardness, my weird way of talking and moving and thinking. I don't like me. But I've learned that despite my feelings towards myself, I have so many more people who DO like me than I ever could have hoped. 

To be perfectly honest, I still get surprised when someone talks to me for more than one or two sentences. My oddities don't seem to bother others the way they bother me, I guess. To those people, thank you. Thank you for showing up, for smiling when you see me, for accepting me when I can't yet fully accept myself.

I have a small circle of friends who I like to call my sisters. My chosen family. I don't need biology to tell me who to have that unbreakable bond with.

I want to give a huge shout-out to Cindy! Thank you. This post was written because of what you said at the party ❤️ More to come, too.