Laying It All Out There

Things have been pretty down. Last week when I was feeling up, that little sigh in the back of my head whispered, "you know what happens next..." and I knew, like I knew from the moment a few years back that I was going to battle depression for the rest of my life.

I started doing something when I was an adolescent: I started to forget. My home was far from peaceful, and while I was only physically abused one time (that I recall), nearly every day was a knock-down-drag-out yelling match between at least 2 of the 4 family members. I would swear to myself that I was going to be silent, that when I got in the car from school I would not speak except for the minimum. I would promise myself that no matter what my younger brother did to annoy me, I would not make a peep, lest cause a torrential downpour of angry from my wrathful mother. She would slam cabinets (her favorite) and stomp through the house, making the rest of us miserable. Finally, she would start to yell and yell and scream and cry. We would have words; her and my dad would yell at one another about something. It was nearly every day.

So this is what I did : I started forgetting what happened. I would often end up engaged in the argument, feebly attempting to defend myself or whoever was being verbally attacked, and end up being in the middle of the fight. Things would get so out of control...the point would get lost...obviously the real point was something far beyond what we were actually talking about...longtime resentments or vendettas between my parents...something or other. The argument would get so nasty, would never be resolved, and would end in all parties retreated to their corners of the house, the women in tears, the men feigning disinterest and setting their jaws. During these moments, I felt grief, unbearable sadness, and helplessness. I remember being very young and trying to reason with myself, trying to understand what the fights were really about. I grew out of that and instead, let the pain wash over me for a short time, stifle it, and move on. I had great friends, better friends than a person could ask for, and as I got older, I would call them and talk about...something else. It wasn't exactly like I was compartmentalizing, but I just would...forget. I didn't want to dwell on the episode.

I may have been able to revisit the argument days later, tempers cooled and parents receptive to finally hearing me or my brother or the other spouse's side. Except not. Tempers seemed to never cool, because another blow up from Mom was on the way. Within 2 or 3 days, there was another horrible night to endure feeling trapped in a place that wasn't my home, that I didn't feel truly safe or loved, even if I was. Not to mention that my parents NEVER were receptive to other sides of the story. With no resolution, and constant conflict, it was hard to keep up with the detail of the fights, only that there was a dark spot in my memory from Thursday night...or whenever it was.

Now the conflicts are usually just with myself,raging and weeping at whatever inner pain or my outer circumstances. Often there are arguments with my boyfriend, except that we always come to resolutions. Still wish we didn't argue so much. I'm so terrified of becoming my parents, I'd literally rather die than be like them. Maybe that sounds melodramatic, but it's true.