It is hard for me to walk through my life, now that I am free to do what I want. I’m happy, yes. I am extremely happy to be free but deep inside of me, I’m still caged. Caged from the pain I was force to go through and from the wounds that never heal inside of me. Pain from the blows of others and pain because of the blows I gave others.
I am a very simple girl that wishes everyone to be happy. Maybe inside of me I think that making others happy gives me a reason to be happy as well. It is true. I do feel a little happy for that but people don’t remember me for the times I make them smile, they remember me for the times I must have hurt them unintentionally or the times I made mistakes in my life.
Sometimes people expect me to be more than what I can and it pressurizes me.
My cousins and my aunts, people that I had once been close with, these people truly never cared about my happiness. Because the moment I make one mistake, they torment me. First they would scream hurtful things at me, then second they would make sure my parents know about it. The worst part is when my parents actually do listen to them and put me in a position to feel sorry for myself, even if it wasn’t my fault.
Everything I do when I was young, always get me wrong. I wanted to help someone but in the end I will end up being blamed for hurting or causing trouble. It has always been that way for me. Till I started thinking that it is 100% sure that every year I will definitely have a huge problem stick to me. Like for instance I’ve been imprisoned in my parents' house because they think I was wrong. Something like this always happens [when I live with my parents], at least once a year.
So it makes me think I’m doing something wrong, and yet I know I didn’t really do anything wrong except trying to be me. I can never be me; that’s what everything seems to conclude to.
My parents don’t bother about all the things I am going through. My mother, I always wished to hug her and cry on her shoulders and tell her my problems, but unfortunately I couldn’t. For one, she will definitely take me to be making some sort of mistake, and another she will actually scold me or punish me, which in result makes me wish I didn’t tell her anything at all.
I don’t know if I have ever talked to her about stuff before. I might have. But I don’t remember what happened. And in any case, I always refrain from talking to my parents regarding any personal problems I’m going through.
It’s hard to explain my childhood pain I went through. Most of them I forgot really but yet I feel the pain of it. The pain that it had caused me throughout my life. I don’t know why I feel the pain eventhough I don’t remember things. Maybe I have come to accept the fact that perhaps it’s better to let the images go so that it might be less painful? I don’t know. But it didn’t become any less painful… It hurts a lot.