I went on vacation to the Philippines for the first time after years of residing in Austria. On my first day there, I received an email from my gynecologist saying that my biopsy result was worse than the previous tests and she would refer me to a hospital for treatment. I tried not to let it spoil my vacation and even though I had a lot of negative experiences in one of the cities we visited, I still enjoyed it. When I returned to Austria, I took things slow as to not overwhelm myself. On the second week of my return, an old friend messaged me on LinkedIn: "Your mother said that your father died." I was so focused on fixing my problems that I forgot how much I despise that woman. I was tempted to respond, "So when is she going next?"
A few days later, I received another message from the same friend. This time with a screenshot of my older brother's message. It turns out my father is not dead but he is dying. He said that when he visited my father, he asked for a hug and forgiveness. He thinks my father is struggling to let go and die peacefully because he's waiting to talk to me again. He said I can talk to him and go on with my life afterwards, that they wouldn't bother me again after that. I'm annoyed by the authority my older brother still thinks he has over me. I also find it insulting that they think I'd be gullible enough to fall for this trap. I have no intention of talking to any of them but even if I did, I know it wouldn't be the last contact. Soon, more people would be "dying" and they would have plenty of final requests.
He also mentioned that they are not asking for financial support as if that was the only reason I stopped talking to them. All of this just reminded me of how much my family never knew or understood me at all. Never mind that I was very vocal about how stressed I was during the years that I lived with them and how much I hated the way they treated me. All those years of being abused, dismissed, ganged up on by own relatives, the humiliation, demonisation, alienation. Over a decade of no contact and they still truly believe that it was about money. People don't suddenly realise their mistakes on their deathbeds if they failed to do so for decades already. The deathbed is just another excuse for some people and those close to them to make it about them. They didn't listen then, they wouldn't listen now.
For context, I cut off contact with my mother over a decade ago and then all my relatives shortly after. I changed numbers, addresses, and jobs over the years. I deleted all of my social media accounts aside from LinkedIn which I use to find jobs. My social life took the most damage because I found it impossible to stay friends with people who couldn't respect my decision and at some point, I just couldn't trust anyone anymore. My privacy has been betrayed multiple times by people who "meant no harm" and just "wanted to help".
- "They are still your parents."
- "Nobody is perfect, not even your family."
- "Your family is the most important thing in the world. They will be there for you when others are not."
- "Blood is thicker than water." (Cherry-picked phrase. If they actually read the whole thing, it meant the exact opposite of what they're trying to say.)
I heard it all. I've gone through enough and I chose peace. I've become less tolerant of people's bad behaviour and could easily make the call to sever ties with them if they threaten my peace. Back then, I knew I might end up alone for the rest of my life but that was better than whatever kind of life I had at the time. Peace was my ultimate goal and you can't have peace without cutting off some people.
There Are No Cameras Here
When I first read the message from my friend about my mother telling her that my father died, I knew that my mother was lying. It's not beneath her to lie about such things and she would put anyone at risk just to get what she wants. She lied about so many things to get attention or money. She lied about how much debt she owed and where she used the money. She even lied about having tuberculosis to get sympathy. At the time, she took care of my brother's kids in exchange for more money. My brother isn't the most responsible person either but when he heard she had tuberculosis, he took his kids with him. My mother cried about how lonely she felt without the kids. She didn't have tuberculosis. She just wanted to get attention and it backfired. She lost the kids and the extra money. I wasn't surprised that my friend sent me a screenshot of my brother's message but not my mother's. I'm sure it was inflammatory just like everything that comes out of her mouth. She spews out poison to anyone that her words can reach.
I remember her coming home from a doctor's appointment. She stopped right at the doorway, waiting for us to acknowledge her. She just stared at a distance like what actors do in movies when they receive a cancer diagnosis. I don't remember what it was anymore because it was nothing serious. I often wondered if she was on drugs because her behaviour is so fucking ridiculous. I realised that the world is just one big stage for her and everyone else are either props or side characters. Everything is about her and everyone must pay attention to her. It didn't matter what kind of attention it was. She would starve to death without it. She frequently humiliated me in front of others. It made her proud when all the nasty things she said to or about me out loud made the neighbours laugh. Some of the things she said were so graphic and disgusting, I couldn't even write it down.
It wasn't just my mother. My father was also unable to be upset without an audience. He could never be mad, sad, or drunk like a normal person. He had to break things and make a scene. He will make noise or break as many things as possible until he gets the attention that he wants. Television, refrigerator, mirrors, beer bottles, etc. It didn't matter how much we needed those and how much they cost, whatever causes the most panic and anxiety from everyone in the house, that's what he's gonna do. The worst kind of humiliation was when they decided to bring their fights into the streets while all the neighbours watched. My second oldest brother, after years of pent up anger, got fed up and punched my father in the face. Him and my oldest brother then ran away from my father while he chased them. My mother sat on the pavement and started kicking the air like a fucking toddler while crying out loud. It was humiliating. It's for these reasons that I never liked people who make loud noises when they're upset even in less exaggerated forms - dropping things aggressively, loud rants that never ends, etc. There's nothing wrong about being upset but I feel like these things can be communicated properly so it doesn't bring stress into the household. When I see someone behave like this, I see a child that screams "I'm upset, everyone pay attention to me!" That is not the kind of behaviour I want from a friend, partner, and even less so from a parent.
This Movie Sucks
I didn't like participating in any of their shows but the final act included me. I'm sure they had several performances after that but I wasn't there to see it anymore. One night, my father came home drunk again. My nephew who must be around five years old at the time was playing downstairs when my father started throwing glass bottles everywhere like he usually does. My nephew cried but he kept going anyway. My second oldest brother (my nephew's father) wasn't there and the people he assigned as caretakers (my mother and my oldest brother) were too afraid to confront my father. I was already mad at everyone for many years and that night, I was fed up because I can see the cycle repeating all over again, starting with another child.
I went downstairs and told my father to get out if he's just gonna cause chaos in the house. He threw a glass at me. It hit one of the pillars of the stairs that I was on, the shards missed my face only by a few inches. My mother would later go on to say that this drunk man intentionally missed because he didn't want to hurt me. In my mind, "What a stupid bitch." My mother and oldest brother tried to drag me away from my father but there was no stopping me at that point. I pulled out my stun gun, ran towards him, and tried to stun him. I didn't succeed because they were pulling me away. I saw the shock in his eyes, he couldn't believe I would disrespect him like that. All I could say was "Fuck you" as many times as I could. I've never felt so much rage in my life. He followed us upstairs and made a whole speech about how disrespectful I am and that I should get out of the house. He made a bunch of threats that meant nothing to me. All I could think of was "Fuck this guy." My mother slapped me because I wouldn't stop cursing at him.
None of that would have happened if literally any of them had the balls to stand up to my tyrannical father but everyone was afraid. Why did it have to be me, the youngest child and the only daughter, who had to do it? Why can't my mother protect her children and grandchildren? Why does my oldest brother cower in fear whenever this old man-child enters the room? And after all of that, they still think it's my responsibility to make sure this old man dies in peace? Like somehow, he would be in this perpetual state of "dying" until he finally gets to talk to me. Why did he have to be on his deathbed before apologising? Does it hurt to die knowing that everyone in your family hated you? Are you seriously stupid enough to believe that these people's final hugs were sincere and they weren't just pretending for your sake due to the guilt of refusing a dying man's request? How selfish can you be that up until your final breath, your feelings and peace are still someone else's responsibility? You didn't make my life easy, why would I betray myself just to make your death easier?
About two weeks after my brother's message, my father died. I guess his passing wasn't up to me after all. As expected, I was flooded with connection requests on LinkedIn from newly created profiles with familiar names. This is actually how I knew that he's dead. After seeing all the connection requests, I used my dummy Facebook account to look up some of my relatives. I deactivated my LinkedIn profile shortly after that. I always block the stalkers as they come but I anticipate more harassment from new accounts. Why they still think I care after I told them I want nothing to do with them and after I blocked every profile they created to stalk me, I would never understand. Things don't change just because someone died. Finding out that he's dead felt like a normal day. I just went on with my day after reading about it. I realised that they've been dead to me since over a decade ago when I decided to live alone. These contact attempts are nothing but annoying hauntings from the ghosts of the people I no longer care about.
The Escape Plan
Setting boundaries in this type of household is impossible. Even after over a decade of cutting them out of my life, they still find ways to disrespect my boundaries. I used to pretend to be asleep whenever they had an argument. This is not an option when my father starts breaking things but if it was my mother alone who was upset, I just pretended not to hear it. She would, of course, sit down heavily on my bed and cry louder so I would wake up and pay attention to her. All of these behaviour makes me sick when I remember it. Both my parents were so immature, they used their own children and everyone else around them to manage their emotions. This is probably why it turns me off so much when people make a show whenever they're upset. You can get some space or communicate properly, there's really no need to be a child.
When I still had empathy for my mother, I felt bad for her and angry at my father whenever he would break multiple crates of beer that were meant to be sold. Ever since my father lost his job, my mother sold items at the store for a living so not only was my father a jobless drunk for many years, he also frequently broke everything that's worth anything in the house. It took many years to learn that neither of them deserved my pity. You can only give so much empathy to people who wouldn't change a thing to fix their circumstances. Instead of splitting up with my father or at least, setting her foot down, my mother decided to cheat on him which made things worse than they already were. Both my parents failed to protect me and my siblings just accepted this family for how it was so I was alone in striving for a safe and sane life.
Escaping my past was slow. I knew I couldn't just move out without a plan. I studied and worked hard to increase my income. Eventually, I got a new job with a much higher pay. I still stayed at my parent's house every weekend. It became less frequent until I never went home again. I kept in touch with a few relatives. I collected all the paperwork I might need - birth certificate, diploma, etc. When I got depressed and lost my job, none of them helped me. As soon as I got a new job, they were waiting to collect more money from me. Money they said I owed them because of the months when I was unemployed due to depression and wasn't able to give them financial support. I cut everyone out of my life at that point. I wrote my brother a message telling him that I don't want to keep in touch with any of them anymore before I deleted all of my social media accounts and changed my number. I swore at the time that it would be the last message they would get from me and years later, I don't plan to change that.
Before I moved out, my mother made sure to drill it into my head that I will not survive on my own but I did. I thrived, actually. Just a few years later, my income pushed me to upper class status. Without all the deadweight sucking away my resources (time, money, and energy), life became a lot easier. I built up my confidence in many ways. Not being around my mother made me realise that the world doesn't see me as an ugly and stupid creature like she wanted me to see myself as. I received compliments from people who found me physically attractive or admired me for my intelligence. It took many years before I believed in any of them. But it was living alone that gave me the biggest confidence boost. When you grow up believing how useless and helpless you are, relying on yourself feels impossible. After years of figuring things out on my own, it's now difficult to see a problem and think that there's no way around it.
Mental and Emotional Currency
After years of being constantly part of a "show", I feel like a retired actor who just wants to move to a farm and be left alone. I dislike social media, family gatherings, weddings, or anything that feels like a performance. I can tolerate them and I make an exception for anything career-related such as job interviews because I need money to survive. I'm not shy, I'm just tired of pretending that I care. I still try to be kind and polite as much as possible but if a stranger gets offended that I didn't show enough enthusiasm about their tales of achievements or latest acquisitions, then they can cry about it. As rude as that may sound, I think it's crazy to demand too much of other people's time and attention for a monologue about things they don't find interesting. I'm not completely against people opening up to me about their lives but I do hate it when they expect me to react a certain way like I'm a part of some play. Got a new car? I don't care about cars, the best I can do is say "Nice." Played a new video game? I might ask questions.
Being my parents' emotional punching bag also lowered my tolerance with certain types of people. I'm always assessing whether someone is "safe" to talk to or if they're gonna turn into another obligation. I feel like I've carried enough and almost everything else is a burden. People are notorious for offering to lend their ears on heavy matters and then never listening at all. They can summarise everything you just said but they internalise everything and respond based on what they think you need because that's what they would have needed in a situation like that. They confuse empathy with projection. While some may mean well, their unsolicited advice and comments just make me feel even less understood. Not only does it make me feel worse, I feel obligated to control my temper and try to understand that they mean no offence in what they said. In the end, it's just another burden for me to carry. It didn't lighten my load, it made it a lot heavier.
Going in and out of depression over the years made me realise the true cost of ignoring how you feel. When you're angry, that anger has to go somewhere and every time you decide it shouldn't go towards the person who caused it, you are diverting that anger towards yourself. It piles up until you just blow up one day for some seemingly minor thing like the train being a minute late and then you feel bad for getting worked up about it. Then comes the guilt, the self-pity, and another round of self-invalidation, it's all part of a cycle. I'm not saying you should start a fight every time you feel offended. I'm just saying you shouldn't make it a habit to neglect your own feelings just so you can fit in. If someone got on my nerves enough times, either I call them out or I avoid them. If the relationship isn't that important to me, I just avoid them, it's not worth fighting for. It doesn't matter how good of a person I or others think they are. I can believe that someone is a good person and avoid them at the same time. You can't get along with everyone and not everyone is compatible with each other. The only sane way to co-exist is to accept this fact.
Molting Into Someone Else
I wasn't allowed to "just be" as a child. I've been trained to think that everything about me is wrong. I am ugly. I am stupid. Everything I did was scrutinised with a magnifying glass and all my mistakes highlighted every single day of my life. As an adult, there were fewer days when I didn't feel some kind of heaviness. I often feel crowded for no reason. I hated the feeling of being watched. It makes me feel like a caged animal in the zoo with no privacy. When my therapist asked me if I ever harmed myself, I said no. I couldn't think of a time when I did. But when she asked if I ever picked my skin, I said yes. Most of the time, I'm not even aware of it. It's like instinctively peeling off layers of clothing on a very hot day. You don't really think about it. You just want to feel comfortable but instead of clothes, it's your own skin. Because it's not something I'm aware I even do, it's not something I can simply stop. Most people do not understand this. Do they seriously think I enjoy destroying my own skin and bleeding? The whole point of me seeking and reading about all kinds of therapy is to get to the bottom of this and hopefully resolve whatever is causing it. I remember watching my brother's pet lobster crawl out of its own shell when I was a kid. It makes me wonder if that's what I subconsciously wanted, to crawl out of my own skin, become a new person, and escape the cage that's becoming too crowded for me.
I hated school when I was young. I was already convinced that I was stupid so I didn't bother to put effort into studying. I was good at drawing so that's what I did during classes if I'm even there. My teachers always complained about my attendance. When I reached College and chose my course in Information Technology, it was a big confidence boost. I finally found something I seem to be naturally good at but I didn't handle it properly at all. People admired me for being smart and while I wasn't really as hardworking as the other students, I still obsessed over getting even a single answer wrong in exams. In my mind, I either get a 100% score or I'm a failure. I'm either a genius who doesn't need to study or an imbecile. I either get rich or live in poverty forever. There was no middle ground. Looking back, it was a ridiculous expectation especially in this field where constant learning keeps you employable. Fortunately, I got over this attitude when I lived alone. I can pick up any new topics without anyone judging me for not being immediately good at it or asking "Why bother?"
The closer I got to graduation, the harder it was to get a perfect score without studying. Professors, classmates, and relatives never failed to remind me how my grades weren't as good as before. They expressed concern as if I was completely failing College when I was still top of my class. Instead of mostly 100 scores with a few 95+, I had some 90-95 scores and some in the 85-90 range. One professor even told me that I would be top of my entire batch if I wasn't so lazy. I eventually had to settle for the "consolation prize" of Cum Laude. I had a mental breakdown before all of this and considered dropping out on my last year of College but I didn't. Both my parents finally attended my graduation and walked on stage with me when I received the honour. Neither of them was present in my previous graduations. I guess now that I have honours, it's finally worth going to, right? While other students walked on stage with one parent each, both my parents wanted to be on stage. They did all the hard work of making achieving anything as difficult as possible and yet they want to be recognised for the success I had despite of them.
When I was younger, I used to feel disgusted by people who liked me. It didn't matter if I found them attractive. As soon as they start looking at me with affection or whenever I feel them get attached to me, I pull away. I knew then that it wasn't right but I couldn't shake the feeling of disgust. This led to a lot of confusion and pain. People found me elusive and I attracted a few stalkers who thought I was some kind of mystery to solve. I realise now that it was because of my low self-esteem that I couldn't believe someone would find me attractive and I often judged them for wanting to be with someone like me. When I met my first boyfriend, it felt like the curse was broken. I can actually reciprocate someone else's affection. I was a fool. In hindsight, I felt comfortable with him because he was exactly like my mother. He was familiar and was also very abusive. When I realised that there's more to life than torture, I broke up with him. After that, I didn't get into another serious relationship for many years.
There's a phrase "A face only a mother could love" but how flawed can you be if your own mother never loved you? Even more, she hated you. It took years to improve my self-esteem and occasionally, I still look into the mirror and see the ugly being my mother said I was. Some things are hard to erase from your memory.
Boundaries
I didn't have my own room when I still lived with my parents. That's probably why as an adult, boundaries became very important to me. I like to think that many of my past experiences set me free from being a slave to an image. After a seemingly endless amount of humiliation, I just couldn't be bothered to care whether my decisions make me look good or bad. When someone insults me, it is not what they think of me that pisses me off, it's the audacity and the entitlement. People can think whatever they want but to assume that I give a shit or to demand my time and attention to listen to their unwelcome review of my existence is unbelievable. What exactly do you expect me to do? Change for you? There's you and then there's me. You focus on you and I focus on me. As much as I hate to thank my mother for her cruelty, it was my experience with her that taught me how to shut people down with words.
My mother accused me of very disgusting things whenever I locked the bathroom door or took too long in there. The bathroom was the only place I could even change my clothes without fear of someone walking in to see me. People often went through my personal items, read my private journals, took my money, everything without my consent. I burned many of the stories I've written and comics I've drawn. With them are many of my aspirations, ideas, and everything else I used to enjoy that people convinced me was a waste of time. "Me" as a person or as a separate individual wasn't allowed to exist for a very long time. It's a miracle that "I" am still here. But as hard as they tried to destroy my sense of self, it just got stronger. Maybe I really am as stubborn as my mother would often say. She did tell me that she tried to abort me several times but she failed. In my darkest days, I hated her for failing to do so. On better days, I chuckle at the fact that she had to get a C-section just to get me out.
Grateful Nonetheless
My mother indirectly helped me learn to appreciate what I have and those who are close to me. I gave her everything I could and I still got nothing but complaints and criticism. She complained about how I didn't give her enough money and how lazy I was without realising how hard I had to work and study in my field to be able to provide for her. You'd think this would make me less generous in my relationships but it didn't. I gave everything I could anyway because if after all of that, it still didn't work out then I can move on without regrets. If everything I had to give wasn't enough and anything else they ask for isn't something I could give, clearly we are not the right fit. When I stopped financially supporting my family, all of a sudden the money that previously wasn't good enough would be all they need. Soon, they were begging just for a single response from me. I've seen this happen in past romantic relationships as well. It's hard to feel flattered by messages like "I couldn't find anyone else like you" when it's followed by years of stalking. I never want to be in these people's shoes so I make it a point to let those close to me know how much I appreciate everything they give or do for me. People get caught up in the flaws of their lives and those around them that they forget how good they actually have it. I don't expect the same people to be around me forever but if the time comes that we have to part ways, I'd still want them to remember how grateful I was for having them.
I complain about my job sometimes but whenever the frustration subsides, I remind myself of how lucky I am to have a source of income. It's not because there are other people who struggle to get jobs. Such comparisons never made me feel better about my life. Why should other people's struggle make me feel better about myself? It's ridiculous. I'm grateful because I can look back to the kind of life I used to have and know that I'm in a better place.
Returning to Hell
If there's any video game that reminded me of my past, it was Hades. The idea of escaping hell and working your way up to the surface appealed to me. In the game, you had to advance through multiple layers or biomes where you will probably die multiple times then you're sent back to where you started. Still, you keep trying and you get farther each time until you finally reach the surface. But that's the end of the inspiration for me. If you've finished the game, you know why I don't want my life to fully resemble its story. We all have different definitions of hell, mine has always been my family. My brain can turn a dream of monsters, death, and all kinds of horrors into comedy but there's nothing more terrifying than being with my family again. Waking up to such nightmares makes me feel relieved but I also feel anxious that maybe my current reality is the dream and that one day, I will wake up and still be with family.
My therapist sometimes guide me to relive some painful moments in my younger years and send help to my younger self. Going back there is hard, almost masochistic but I've physically escaped them and now I'm desperate to try anything to mentally and emotionally detach from them. I told her that I'm aware that this was all in the past and there was nothing I can do to change it. I can imagine protecting my younger self all I want but the truth remains that that's not what happened. I'm not sure if it was the true purpose of the exercise but going in and out of those experiences in that manner made me feel like a visitor and not an active participant, like I'm watching a movie about someone else's life. It made me feel safe to know that I can just get out of that experience whenever I want and every time, I will be transported back to a couch in my therapist's office in a place far away from where the nightmares happened. For a brief moment, I can actually feel that it was all in the past.
Conclusion
We were taught that the only way to move on is through forgiveness but I don't believe in any of that. People repeat this statement like it's a fact. All it does is reassure people that they can do the vilest things and still be forgiven in the end. It passes the burden on to the people who are on the receiving end of bad actions. I will never forgive anyone from the past but I will keep moving on just the same. The more the past crawls out of its grave to beg for my forgiveness, the deeper I will bury it. My loyalty is to myself and my own values, not what others consider good or saintly so if letting a man die without forgiveness is evil then so be it. My only goal is peace and there is no peace around my family.
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