Written by: Katyayani Mishra
Abuse can feel like love.
I see families support each other, and I wish I had that because support from family was never something that I experienced.
I see families smiling together and having fun. I don’t remember the last time I could spend time with them.
I see others being close to their families or at least one of the members, and I feel miserable not being close to any of them.
I see people crediting their families, but I don’t know who to give credit to apart from myself, because I was all by myself.
Maybe I had mine with me, but I don’t think that was ever out of love. It felt conditional.
I’m expected to put it all behind but why am I unable to do that? Why can’t I move past it, what it felt like for years growing up, becoming silent. Not out of choice because I know that standing up to them meant more abuse and screaming.
A family is supposed to accept you, love you; I never felt that feeling. For years, I didn’t cry, I didn’t express because I couldn’t surrender, I couldn’t show what it is to be vulnerable.
I don’t know if I was loved, but I know for sure how it’s not supposed to be. I know exactly what it feels like to burn alive because sadness gets to you, and you feel alone, like you stepped over a line with yourself, you breached your own morals because they are “family.”
You keep it to yourself, because who would understand? And, if anyone does, can they even feel it- what it feels like to be in a broken home where the door slams and everything in you flinches, where any loud noise jolts you?
