Saturday, May 19, 2012

Going Home

I haven't been home in almost six months. Of course, by home, I mean the house I grew up in. The house my parents own. I think it's about time I talk about it.
It's going to become very clear, very quickly, that I don't like my family. So brace for that, but I'm not a hate monger. I don't hate them, I just have reason to dislike them. I understand that they are my family and they've formed me into the person I am, but that's always true for everyone ever. Everyone's lives affect each other. If I were to make my family special for that reason, then everyone I've ever met is special. Which they aren't. Some people just suck.

Growing up with my family was hard. I was the outsider. I can only think it's because I was smart, but I'm pretty sure that I was also just an annoying asshole. I really was. Up until a few years ago, I was (and I'll argue that I sort of still am) a quick judging hate monger. I wasn't a bigot, I've always been far from it, but I was just angry all the time, at everything and everyone. I don't know why because I'm also a very affectionate person and I love physical and emotional intimacy.

Since probably 8th grade, I've been depressed. Very depressed. There's a lot I could get into, but I'll just say that I felt oppressed and rejected by my family, and by most people in general. I don't know when I started to feel that way, but I have a good reason why. I won't get into it, but it's a pretty depressing story that's deeply personal.

I'll say this: I never felt like I could ever be myself at home; I never felt like I could express myself genuinely while around my family.

Since moving out, I've gotten used to being myself and expressing myself successfully. Getting away from home was a very good thing to do. I've learned a lot about myself and where I'm going. I've learned about my ambitions and my emotions. I've learned to grow and I've gained an amazing amount of life skills I should have gained from my family, which is another issue I've had my whole life that I won't get into.

Going back home was jarring. I felt as little and powerless and insignificant as I had before. I didn't feel smart or able. I just wanted to ignore everyone and be ignored, like before. I felt worthless and wantless. I missed the house and my old room. I miss what it used to stand for and I miss members of my family, but I don't think I could ever be myself around them. I don't think I can be home and be me.

It's not to say that they treat me terribly, at least not anymore. Maybe that's why, though. Maybe I can only see them for how I grew up with them. I know they've all changed, I know I've changed.

I'm afraid, I guess. I'm afraid of what my family will think of me. I'm afraid that they won't understand and all the effort I could possibly put into repairing my relationship with them will go to waste. I just don't know if it's better to waste the time or not put any time into it at all.


Anonymous said...

I sorry to see that you did not receive the perfect family. But, what is a perfect family made of? Could it be a perfect parent who knows exactly what to do at each and every moment or one that is imperfect but with a self-less heart . One that holds the chubby little hand of a child guiding them through their first step? One that teaches right from wrong? One that tries to protect but understands that they must stumble to learn? I do know that the closes to a perfect parent is one that never looses the tender impression of that chubby little hand no matter how many years go by. Life is not perfect with all roads clearly marked. With a clear path we could not experience sadness and joy, hurt and rejoice, defeat and success. Without family we would have no safe haven. We would not have people that loves us imperfectly, who may not agree with our beliefs but understand our need holdfast to those beliefs. Our journey through life takes us many places, some known and some unforeseen. To find one’s self and one’s position in the natural order of life is not an easy task nor is it uneventful. It is revealed in bits and pieces through a new experience, a new friendship, a new book, a new idea; not a thought that something slamming into us. Who we are is how we journey through life by making turns off a straight path, each turn each experience makes us who we are, we find it, it doesn’t find us. But, at the end of the road is always a family to offer us a place to rest during our journey.

Zacmanman said...

I never said I expected my family to be perfect and I didn't even get into the plethora of issues I have with my parents alone.

I know no person is perfect, I even admit my own fallacies within the post. I admit maybe my family isn't so terrible and it's the remnants of a blindfold of anger I used to have.

My point isn't that my family is horrible, just that I don't like them. The amount of reasons and their extreme depth isn't discussed on my blog for very personal reasons.

A perfect parent doesn't need anything of what you said, at least to what I believe. Being steadfast in belief isn't always good.

The most important thing a parent must do is help their child learn how to live, and that is what my parents honestly failed at.