Ever since I was a child I've always had a deep and often overwhelming urge to question, clarify, confirm that what I think I am hearing is being understood correctly.
That my thoughts are coherent, and what the person who's communicating with me is intending. Because my mind brings forwards a myriad of different possibilities and potential ways that my response can be interpreted.
How the wording could possibly be misconstrued, misunderstood or possibly twisted to mean something else. Whether or not it can come back to bite me in the ass.
I remember these thoughts constantly shouting in my mind, keeping me on guard and always having me second guess myself and everything that is "safe".
That my responses are reasonable and make sense, and cannot be held against me because my logic and thought processes constantly strive to resolve every potential issue before they could possibly arise.
I use to be practically catatonic with anxiety and fear, a deep and dire urge to please everyone around me. Fix all the problems, do everything that needed to be done ahead of time, so well that nothing could be faulted.
I was raised believing that I wasn't allowed to be happy. That I was different from my siblings and that I had to have permission to do just about anything unless I was specifically instructed to do so. And when I showed emotions I was either pushed away, ridiculed or punished. Told I was too clingy. Too needy. Too noisy. Always too much and yet never enough.
As I grew older and broke these teaching, as I forced these ingrained behaviours out of my system and changed my outlook and responses, I can look back and see so many instances of emotional and mental abuse.
Times of physical abuse and most often neglect. My earliest memories are blank blurs, very patchy and extremely difficult to place in a coherent timeline.
Most of my childhood is a black hole of nothing.
Nothing but a big patch of empty, hollow fleeting darkness.
I know there were times of suicidal ideation. Of wondering what would happen if I suddenly disappeared, or never even existed.
Some of the few things that brought me joy were my teddies (stuffies as some know them), animals and nature. Reading books and gaming when I was sporadically allowed to. I understand that these were all means of escape for me, and I feel that even now decades after all the miserable childhood drama us gone, they still serve as faithful and beautiful lights in those dastardly times.
These are some of the only times I felt something, and the only things that sparked even an ounce of joy in my life through some very difficult and troubling years.
I'm sure I'm not alone in all this, as I'm positive many littles and middles experienced much the same in their lives, leading them here eventually. But I find it interesting and incredibly bittersweet that these things became my anchor, a coping mechanism that's carried me from those days to where I am now.
Why am I sharing such somber and morose thoughts this evening?
In case anyone else still struggles with these feelings and thoughts creeping up on them. Still has haunting moment where they freeze in horror wondering if something they've said has been taken the wrong way, or unknowingly created some kind of dilemma or struggle for another.
Because even years after these things are done and over, the shadows still linger and have a hold. The thoughts are just a whisper now, but they're always there, pushing and prodding for moments of weakness or vulnerability.
And because I am so very happy and thankful that that is no longer my life. That those thoughts don't hold me hostage anymore, and are just passing visitors in small spaces of time. That I've grown strong enough to move past them, hold my head up high and say no matter what the outcome is I will rise and handle it. I will step forward and not be held down by the weight of that darkness, like a shroud of misery and sadness.
These things will always have a place for me, but they are no longer a part of me. And for this I am grateful.