Started with divorced parents on 2004, the year I was born.
Date unsure but confident that I didn’t deserved this.
Was unlucky, fed with only affordable bread and milo.
Stacked letters and pile of bills
Our second home was the hospital
Our alarm was the beeping noises of the life support
Cold chairs at the waiting area became our go to sleeping area
We had nothing but only us.
We became our parent’s last hope and strength to move forward.
All my praises to Allah, we finally had a ‘home’.
Growing up became a song going on repeat
Did the same thing, ate the same thing
We didn’t have anything but the bond made us forget about how we were poor
3 times a day, same old floor, on some random laid out newspaper
Dad went out for a whole day with just a cup of coffee
While she was enjoying herself out there
Making the best for someone else’s children
The only sentences we’d repeat were “mana ibu?”
All four of us didn’t have anyone to protect us nor raise us properly
However we managed.
We slept together side by side, hoping to feel safe
Until one night, trauma hits me
Giggles, laughter, tight spaces, the shake.
Still clear in my mind.
Couldn’t sleep and so I pretended to be asleep as I watch her do so much inappropriate things
And thank god, I was the only one watching it, not any of my siblings.
An unknown face started becoming very familiar
The night was kept on repeat, noises still echoes in my mind
All I felt was disgust and fear
I hated the stranger for breaking them up
The toilet didn’t felt like a safe place either.
Felt like a mom taking care of the fear for years as it grew
It went on for 9 years and finally had enough of it
That one damn touch that occurred not only to me but to my siblings to
Went on for years
It has caused pure damage to my mental health
I spoke up about it
No one believed me in the first place because of the relationship we had
Luckily dad was there and supported me through out
At that point of time, I thought that life was going to get better for me but
The world decided to turn their back on me
“you’re too kind”
“you’re too nice”
“you’re too forgiving”
“why do you choose to stay although you knew that these people are causing you pain?”
The feeling of being left have always been stuck with me and I know that feeling
Just because of this shit I’ve been through, that still does not give me the rights to make someone else go through the feeling and pain that I went through.
“why are you doing so much for people?”
This is the way I was raised
Imagine being a father watching his 6-year-old son waiting with a black plastic bag filled with clothes at the bus stop at night for 4 hours for his mom who promised to pick him up after work and didn’t.
The betrayal, the pain. The broken feeling.
The feeling of abandoned
So, I choose to stay
They were tired so they left but I’m tired too, but I still choose to stay.
I’d find ways to make someone stay, losing these people would hurt to the max
I’d give in so much and yet they left as if it was nothing and that made me feel like I’m not good enough
It was if I wasn’t doing my best or that I am not worth staying with
I guess they were tired of my constant overthinking that maybe I might have made them felt like it is too much for them to hear out
They were tired and I pity them because trust me, I myself couldn’t bare my overthinking thoughts.
So, I stopped sharing my feelings
I bottled everything up and just shut everything out
I did not put myself to priority and that has been my biggest regret up till today
Despite that, I’m proud of what I did for others by being there for them
That has been my full time job since then
Until one day, I realised that I wasn’t able to help anyone anymore because I have completely lost everything I had in me.
I gave away too much of myself that I wasn’t able to give a piece to someone who needed it and that literally crushed and tore me into pieces
I felt like a failure as well as a disappointment
The voices I had to block out every time took over my own voice
Art became my coping mechanism whereby my body became a canvas.
I’d draw lines repeatedly with only one tool and it literally felt so good
I felt at ease because I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself
Until one day, my “art career” came to an end when most people in my life were disappointed with what I did.
A few people left, a few people made fun of how I did not go to school for 6 months
Most people didn’t believe me up till today
Not going to lie but that’s been the most heart breaking thing for me
I’m confused literally.
At one point of time people would find ways for me to stay and then they’ll become the reason for me to die.
I don’t know what to do.
This is gonna be last straw and if this still does not work out, I’m hoping that my countless attempt will finally be a success.
khairiahblogz 