Losing a long lost home

So after days of wanting to ignore my phobia and even the fact that I´m not alright, here we go again: A nausea attack. At least I feel at home on this blog again…

Sometimes I think I´m just suffering from a stimulus overload, being online all day. I´m currently unemployed, I´m still a student but I got no classes, so I basically got nothing to do. Well, there are a lot of things I should do, but I have to structure and organize everything on my own, so instead I do nothing all day, surfing the Internet and having a guilty conscience. I feel like I´m a borderline welfare case and my room sure looks the part. How am I ever going to achieve anything when I can´t even take out the garbage?

Reading anything about what employers expect and what other students are doing or about what people my age should be doing puts me under sometimes more, sometimes less stress, but there is always a steady current of discomfort when I read about these things. A certain tension. Actually I´m never relaxed. I wonder to what extent this has to do with my situation and to what extent I´ve always been like this.

I´m also sad all the time because we´ll sell our place soon. The place where I grew up. Every time I walk into a room I wonder how many more times I will be doing this. When I walk through the park near our place I think that I see it in late summer for the last time (which is nonsense, I can always come here, but it´s not the same thing). And it´s the last time I see the tree in the garden in full leaves. This sadness is following me whatever I do. On the one hand I wish it was already over and I was living somewhere else, on the other hand that makes me feel guilty and I´m clinging on to this place.

I´m already scared of the winter. Since 2010, when my phobia kicked in again (coincidence?) I´m scared of winters. I feel like they will never pass. And the next summer only comes to pass. I feel safest in early spring because then I know it will be some time until it snows again. And yet I know that time will rush away and nothing will have changed, improved, happened. Not in the way I´d hoped for. I wish I knew what I´m hoping for, though…

I´m so angry at my family for selling this place. I know their doing it for a reason, and my anger probably doesn´t even have that much to do with what is happening NOW. I just feel so oddly betrayed. I feel like I´ve been waiting here, loving this place, caring about this place because I thought that would accomplish something. My mother moving to a new place, together with my father, and my sister being fine with it and being all on their side sort of proves that it accomplished nothing. I did it all in vain and now their are taking away from me what I´ve been clinging on to. I feel like I sacrificed something, but I sacrificed it in vain.

Maybe it has to do with how my father moved out when I was 11. I never counted as a divorce kid, as my parents never got a divorce. For all I can remember, which is admittedly less than nothing, I wasn´t even told why he was moving into that other place. I feel like I more or less didn´t exist in that time. I don´t even have any memories of the year before my father left. Not any memories from my family life, that is. I do remember school, I do remember friends, and, thanks to photographs, I have some limited memories of holidays. But what it was like at home back then? No idea. There´s just nothing there, really. Not even a vague impression.

I feel like I was non-existent at the time. I feel like I existed in kindergarten, elementary school, and then there´s a gap, and then I woke up being twelve years old. Or eleven years old, maybe. Maybe I was just living in a dream world. I cannot describe the disregard I feel I was met with. I was left out of everything, while my parents and sister negotiated the end of our family as we knew it. My mother claims she always told me the truth. Maybe I was simply unable to understand what she told me. Maybe her memory just once again works in her favor. I´ve no idea.

I feel unable to like myself, thinking of that time. Not because of anything specific. It just seems obvious to me that I cannot be liked. Like there is some blemish on me, the way you feel like you´re worthless when someone says to you “your parents don´t even love you!” I feel like they didn´t give me something other kids had, or like I just didn´t have it, and maybe it was only because of me. My sister seems to have it, after all.

I feel like they trusted her with the truth, with what was going on, while I wasn´t told anything. I was living somewhere in a dreamworld, I was being a child, and I got what I deserved for it. I should have been more mindful of their concerns, less egocentric, then maybe they could have told me.

Sometimes I wonder if I cling on to this place so much because I still somehow expect everything to go back to normal. Like: My family reuniting. And that my parents should do so in a different place, without me, in a constellation in which I have no place – that is, in a way, a second betrayal. It´s like spitting me in the face if I really stayed here and cared about this place for all those years because I wanted my old family life back. I don´t know if I did. If I remember anything about that time, it is that I was glad my father was leaving. This has even been confirmed from another source. But the way I resisted all changes to what the place looks like, and the way I reacted to the changes that were made – I feel like I´m trying to keep everything the way it was, or even return it to that state. I sometimes dream that I get old things back, forgotten things, or that suddenly things look the way they looked fifteen years ago. Those dreams, which are no daydreams, but random dreams at night, always fill me with some wild yearning, but also bliss, like: Finally! Finally everything is the way it should be and everything will be okay! Often, in those dreams I realize how fragile everything is, so I frantically start taking pictures, or I cling on to the old things I found but I can barely hold them and I know others will want to take them away from me because – whatever – I found them on some flea market and I can´t just take them. Maybe others want them, after all. Others who have no right to them. But that is something I cannot make anybody understand. That I need these things more than anybody else, and that you simply have to give them to me. Which makes me very angry and very desperate in those dreams.

Maybe I just am more sensitive than is good for me. More sensitive than is normal. Maybe I simply overreact to just about everything. Maybe I would have needed a whole lot of talks and hugs and comfort in order to get over my father leaving, and me being glad that he left shows things weren´t ideal even before that. I somehow doubt I got the comfort, because for all I remember I didn´t even get the talks. I don´t think I realized that my parents were actually separating until a few months afterwards. So what exactly was there to talk about? I never saw myself as a divorce kid. I didn´t seem to have the right to do so, as my parents were still seeing each other, with my father coming home for dinner regularly. In a way, the whole situation was incredibly ambiguous. It would have required even more talking that didn´t happen. I lost my family as I knew it, but the loss was covered up so well from me that I didn´t know how to mourn it. I don´t think I ever consciously assumed or deemed it likely that my father would move back in (I doubt I really desired it), but I wonder now if maybe part of me just never accepted that he had left. That the family life I had known was over. I was glad he was no longer around all the time so he couldn´t yell at me or anybody else. But I might not have been so happy about a lot of other consequences of his departure. Most of this is guesswork, really. I lack the memories. I can only examine what I feel like now, thinking of my parents´ “break-up”.

So they move back in together now, not really as a couple, but as friends. This is another key thing. Throughout my youth, I had parents who were just friends. Maybe even throughout my childhood, apart from the earliest years. Other kids had parents who were an actual couple. I guess this had a really odd influence on my expectation for relationships. I lacked any role models for relationships. For how boyfriends should treat me. I wonder if this somehow contibuted to the desaster with my second boyfriend. I recently thought about me and my girlfriend, and about how our future children will see us hug spontaneously, or kiss, and I thought how incredibly odd I´ll find that. And not because we´re both girls, but because we´ll be parents. And this had me realize that I can´t remember seeing my parents act that way. Spontaneous displays of affection seemed to be missing. It´s hard to see that which isn´t there, so this issue has been a huge blind spot for me all my life.

Maybe I should ask my mother if there were any such tender behaviors between them when I was younger, or if that stopped long before they separated. If she confirmed my impression… well, I don´t know what then, but somehow it might help. It seems terribly important right now.

I wonder if this is why I don´t get this whole sex thing. Why I´m having such a hard time relaxing and enjoying anything. Maybe I didn´t have any positive role models for relationships, trust and relaxation. If my parents were already having trouble (and they did when I was about three, as my mother told me), then of course the climate was not one of trust and friendliness, something that would make you relax. There would always be a little tension, and not so terribly much joy.

It´s a line of thought definitely worth following.





2 Responses to “Losing a long lost home”

  1. vicariousrising Says:

    I wonder if you aren’t substituting your loving attachment to your home to the affection you’d like to give and receive your family?

    There’s just so much here in your post, I don’t feel qualified to address. But I am hypersensitive, probably would’ve been still acutely aware of things had my parents not been awful, but the situation I grew up in exacerbated the whole thing for me. So I write and try to use everything I feel overstimulated by to say something meaningful. I don’t always (or even often) say anything of use. But I try to worry less about how I fit into the rest of the world and try to focus on how it should make room for a weirdo like me 🙂

    I’m sorry I haven’t got anything more reassuring to say to you because I so badly want to make things less hard for you. You’re not alone, though. I hope that helps a little.

  2. Thank you for your kind words, it helps me a lot just to get replies and to see people hear me. Sometimes I need to think about the input I get, and sometimes I do not know what to reply, but I always appreciate comments.

    I think it is very possible that my home is some kind of substitute for a stable family. Maybe what goes away with this home is the hope for something, though I cannot entirely define what it is. I fear it´s all going to come out anyway when this place is sold. When I was younger I never thought leaving home could have such an impact.

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