I’m back

I haven’t written in a while. I don’t even know where to start. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten how to write entirely. I judge each word, looking at them individually through a microscopic lens, and I no longer understand the meaning of it all. I wonder why anyone would care about my life or what I have to say. I question whether my thoughts are enough to share and what “enough” even means.

I’ve been afraid to share too much. I don’t know who reads this anymore and what their intentions are.

These past few months have been a little hectic to say the least. I decided to delete all social media a couple months ago and have been MIA ever since. But I think this hiatus has been happening for much longer than that. I transitioned from writing my thoughts to writing my feelings in poetry. But this was a defense mechanism. It helped me hide behind the fluff and keep my guard up as high as possible.

But I’m tired of keeping silent. This is no way to live. I’m proud of my story, and it’s time I opened up.

I lived with unhealthy, toxic people for the majority of my life. And I kept returning no matter how much I tried to convince myself I wanted to leave. I returned to the toxic families who raised me over and over again, convinced that they had changed or grown, sucked into their bullshit again and again. I returned to toxic friends who repeated those unhealthy family dynamics I experienced growing up. I returned to my own toxic behaviors, unaware that I was continuing the cycle of abuse in adulthood.

And every single time I tried to leave, I went back. Sometimes months or years would pass without contact, and then as soon as I received one nice message from them, I’d forgive and try to move forward.

I was fully convinced that people can change. And I still think this is the case. Everyone has the capacity to change, but not everyone will. Through the loneliest and darkest times of my life, all I wanted was to be loved by my family. I wanted parents who cared about me. I wanted to feel wanted and seen. And I thought these needs would eventually be met by them. So I forgave constantly, hoping that something would eventually change.

I was scared to graduate from college because, deep down, I knew my family would never be healthy. I knew my parents and everyone who raised me would still be emotionally abusive. And I knew that I would eventually have to disappear.

September 2020 was the last time I saw any of them, and the last time they will ever see me again.

I cannot express how lonely it is being estranged from my family at 23 years old. (Except my grandma. She’s great, and if you’re reading this, I love you so much.) Trying to figure out what life is like outside of school is difficult enough as it is, but doing so in the middle of a pandemic without a stable support system feels like a constant uphill battle.

It took me a year to find a job that paid enough to survive. I struggled and fought for life and tried to act as though I wasn’t constantly on the verge of a breakdown.

Through this time, I’ve figured out a lot about what healthy relationships are supposed to look like and have surrounded myself with friends I’m endlessly grateful for. But sometimes it hits me that I don’t have a family, and that no matter how close my friends may be, I will never have parents who care.

I’ve tried to find resources to help me cope with this lack in my life, but my situation is unique and it often feels like nobody truly understands. I’m taking it one day at a time, though, and have seen a lot of progress in my mental health and future outlook.

Sometimes I forget the abuse ever happened. It seems so far away, as though it was happening to someone else. But most of the time, it’s the only thing I can ever think about. One small comment can trigger hours of flashbacks, panic, and fear.

But I know I’m safe now, and this is a childhood dream come true. If I was able to escape an impossible situation, I will also find a way to heal and live a beautiful life.