"My drawers"
Childhood is the best time of life. Surely? Is it always so? With great pleasure I return to the memories kept in the corners of my soul. And depending on my emotional state, the appropriate "drawers" open. Some of them are still locked with a big key, inaccessible to anyone, and to me too. In some there is order; from time to time they are cleaned of dust, so that I remember, as a warning. Yet opening some of them still causes great pain and suffering, but I know that I must look inside, especially when difficulties multiply within me and I have to solve everyday problems. Indeed, all sorts of answers are contained precisely in my "drawers": answers about the way I experience the world, about my fear and unease, of which, unfortunately, there is more than joy. I will say honestly that I impatiently await the moment when I will laugh out loud, without thinking that I must not, without feeling that I cannot, or that I will be punished for a moment of joy.
What is hidden in these "drawers"? Everything I went through in childhood. What do I remember? That constant state which accompanied me I can today call loneliness. Back then it seemed normal to me, like breathing. Alcohol has accompanied my family from generation to generation.
In one "drawer" lies the closest family - grandfather and grandmother. On both sides of my parents someone fell into alcohol dependence. I was closer to the family on my mother's side. Besides excesses of various kinds, there were also joyful moments there: the time I spent with grandfather in the park, looking for a hedgehog, scrambled eggs from a shared pan. When I came to them from school, grain coffee always awaited me. Yet when today I look at the relationships that existed there, with sorrow I note that they are like those in my own home. Grandmother held the whole house "in her hands"; today my mother does the same. Above all, both of them wanted to have the last word on every matter, regardless of the truth and the situation. Every protest "threatened" a heavy defeat - silence or a quarrel. From my mother's stories I remember that grandmother preferred her brother. My mother tried very hard to live up to her own mother's demands - in vain. Unfortunately, today this "vicious circle" repeats itself in my case too. I put superhuman effort into making my mother pleased, and she, as one can easily guess, always finds a crack. And then what? Silence... Thus the "inheritance of generations" is passed on.
How good that I had a dog, Rex. It was with him that I spent most of my time. I roamed the parks and the streets. I adored going to my favourite park, where I always found a quiet corner for myself. The contented dog ran beside me while I read books. So time passed. Dusk often chased us home. In winter, when the cold did not allow us to sit too long on a bench, we walked together through the city streets and peered into the windows here and there. I loved that game, a guessing game about a particular house. Very important in this game were the colour of the light and the curtains in the windows. I imagined what was happening inside the house, I imagined the life the household members led. And that life was quite different from mine. I imagined that in this house it was joyful and noisy, the whole family sat at one table during meals, everyone kind to one another. I came home tired, went straight to bed, and forgot what was happening behind the wall.
I remember very well how I was forbidden to leave my room. I was punished, who knows for what, made to stay at home. I spent that time, of course, with Rex, books and music. When things were very bad at home, I played the role of a buffer, calming, muffling, cleaning up the flat after yet another gathering. Every time I was afraid, but I could never show that I was afraid. I feared shouting and quarrels. To this day I feel my stomach clench when I witnessed a quarrel, discord. I am afraid it will all end as it did at home - with violence, hurtful words that cause pain to the soul.
I also see the afternoons I spent at my friends' homes, where it was a little quieter. And it is a pity that no one could come for me, that my mother could not treat my acquaintances. These visits gave me a lot - I peeked into other homes, the relationships between my peers and their parents, I observed how people behave at the table. Today, perhaps clumsily, I try to bring these singular and important observations into my own life.
From one drawer a small casket falls out. When I open it, I see a torn heart inside. It is torn by sorrow, longing, guilt. When something happened and I was blamed, I made titanic efforts to ask my mother's forgiveness. I remember notes left everywhere, on which I wrote that I loved her very much and apologized greatly for everything bad I had done. I never explained exactly what I was apologizing for, because I really did not know what I had done wrong this time. Only my mother knew, and she fell silent for whole weeks. And finally, when it was impossible to bear that atmosphere, I decided to do something. After a while my mother stopped taking offence and began to talk, come what may. And those moments when she began to talk to me were the most wonderful for me.
For me, a small box is hidden in the corner of a drawer, labelled: dad. Unfortunately, it is an empty word. If anyone ever asked me how my dad was, I never knew how to answer. His image is limited to the outline of a figure, transparent inside. I have few memories of my dad. Two of them are pleasant and sit deep in my head: once dad brought home a pigeon. I was very glad, because I always wanted to have an animal at home, but it never came true. Unfortunately, the pigeon only lasted until mother returned from work, and she ordered it taken out of the house. The second event happened one Saturday. Father went to the shop and came back with... a dog. I still remember it was a brown cocker spaniel. It was happy and wagged its tail. I jumped to the sky with joy. And the next disappointment, when mother woke up and it turned out that in front of the shop dad had untied the dog. Unfortunately, he had to take it back. I remember nothing more.
One big "drawer" I kept for my older brother. I remember the time I spent with him. He made tents in which we hid (tents of wool blankets, between the chairs and the table). I am much younger than him; he had his own friends and did not include me among them. I always watched him, peeked at what they were doing. I loved to sit nearby and watch what he was up to. He spent little time at home. When he came back, I was usually asleep. When he had his own car, he took me for a drive from time to time - just when there was yet another quarrel at home. Yet in this "drawer" I also find situations that arouse my anger and grief. Juzek sits with mother in the kitchen and talks to her about the past day. Mother always looked at him with interest, listened to him. Unfortunately, I never lived to see such a time. When I was old enough and wanted to talk about my life, mother went into a drinking bout, and it was impossible to "meet" her.
The next "drawer" is the time of rebellion. High school and my disagreement with the injustice at home, the lack of a sense of security. I do not like to open this corner. Because of it I have an enormous feeling of guilt and shame. I am ashamed that I allowed myself so much. Frequent parties with a lot of alcohol, contacts between women and men. If I could, I would turn back time and fix a few things. Now I need to forgive myself all these situations. Separating from home, creating my own life, friends whom my parents did not like, were all the more important to me. Among people who accepted me as I was, I felt community. For such situations I would be able to give my loyalty, my faithfulness, and, more precisely, myself entirely.
The largest "drawer" is the one labelled "sadness". There are all the situations, the images that were expressed by big eyes drowning in despair and suffering. Hardest of all was for me to accept that my parents did not keep their promises. I heard a lot, many plans and promises. None of them came true. And that air escaping from a burst balloon - so hope escapes. When you live in such a home, you have to learn to survive, you have to "work out" a system that will give you strength. I counted the days when, in my view, my parents would be drinking and when they would be sober. Most often it did not hold true; their drinking was hard to foresee, but you could stay alive, you could at least a little control and anticipate. I learned to distinguish the signs - when they were drunk, when they would go on another binge. I reached such perfection that, looking at a face, I already knew that, for example, he or she had drunk only one beer. And when I knew this, I could change the order of the day, my approach to it. Instantly I slammed shut the door of my heart, and onto the battlefield stepped a soldier prepared for any eventuality. Such a state of readiness lasted until the next day. I learned when I had to "walk on tiptoe", behave quietly, disappear from sight. I knew when there would be a quarrel at home. I learned to "hold my tongue" so that it would not get worse.
To this day, yet another "drawer" causes distress. The "drawer" in which I hide the lack of love, a terrible cold and emptiness. In theory, I now know that everyone happens to make a mistake. I had no such possibility. When I broke a toy (I think I had "wooden hands"), when I got a bad grade, when I did not manage to tidy the flat in time... All this confirmed what I thought about myself - "I am good for nothing". Such words I heard from my parents. One image: I had a beautiful bag I had dreamed of. There was a day when my parents and I set out for a walk. I was the happiest little girl in the world. Finally, tiredness knocked me off my feet. I asked dad to carry my bag. He shouted at me and immediately after that threw the bag into the rubbish bin. Again the world collapsed for me. All in vain - crying and wailing.
I went through the time of rebellion. I was angry: why can I not have a "normal" home? Why did this, of all things, befall me? I wondered whether I was a bad person and because of that felt such pain. I searched for the reasons why my parents did not love me. I pondered why they treated me so. For a long time these questions sat within me. I found no answer to them, and everyone around became enemies. I often felt like a bird with a broken wing, which now cannot fly freely. It is as if I had been created for something quite different, but my whole childhood destroyed those plans and possibilities. So it once was. With time I undeniably see that every day of my life was needed. Everything that happened has meaning. This is very important to me: first, every day I use my family trials at work, in my attitude toward other people. Many situations taught me self-reliance, resolving difficult situations, understanding other people's problems. I also gained a sense of responsibility for myself and others. As a result, I take an active part in life and want, above all, to be myself.
A very important place in my life was and still is occupied by the Lord God. On Sundays my parents never went to church. I got to know Him during a retreat for school-leavers, to which I went, in fact, only to break away from home for a short time. At the first meeting I felt God's embrace, wonder at His peace and love. I remember that time perfectly - for whole days I felt joy. I felt good, despite the family problems. Crises came, of course. The next important moment was a retreat for students. To tell the truth, a friend "dragged" me along. During my university studies, my isolation from the world of people was very great. Apart from a few contacts with my closest friends, I kept no relations with others. Such a trip with a group of strangers was no small challenge for me. I had no concrete plans for the holidays, and I agreed when I thought I would be spending them at home. There God the Father received me with open arms - I loved to call Him that then. I delighted in His presence and care. I could talk for many hours about the pain I feel. I asked a multitude of questions to which, of course, I could not immediately find answers, but I could say them out loud. This is precisely how, to this day, I am close to God. From time to time I am a terrible rebel, when it seems to me that He does not help me, forgets about me; sometimes, when I am sure that I am good for nothing, I distance myself from Him. But I know that He is with me, even when I protest and do not go to Holy Mass. I see His care in many cases and situations, in the people who direct my attention and heart to the right place. I never fully belonged to any community, though I needed it. On the contrary, I called out for someone to hold me longer in one place. Unfortunately, I did not manage it.
In my life I did not befriend many. I had no close friend, because no one could know what was happening in my home. Those contacts I managed to form were destroyed by my mother. She said: "you cannot trust anyone, because you will be left with nothing", "only the family can help you and understand you", "people are insincere", and as a result all my friends stayed with me only "five minutes". When I told mother about some trouble, she would embrace me and say: "I told you so". I still remember it. When I meet different opinions, an enormous fear takes hold of me and I want to leave.
Nowadays... I understand more. Probably. The mind does not always help, especially when yet again I go through something. Yet more and more often I use it to clarify circumstances, my own and others' behaviour. Everything that happened in early childhood is reflected in our present. Every day, every slap, every tear. Nowadays I am often unsure of myself, of others, of today, of the future, and then I open my "drawers" and there look for the reasons. Most often I find them.
I am very afraid of misunderstandings, conflicts, quarrels. Every day I confront myself with difference, with misunderstanding. I am learning to accept reality in its real colours - as it is. I try not to run away, not to slam the door behind me, pretending that fear does not exist. Yes, in fact, my first reaction is fear. Only later do I look closely at reality and switch on my mind, so that emotions do not overwhelm me.
My second name is "the sense of guilt". If you answer for what you have no connection to, you very quickly fall into the trap of feeling responsible for everything and everyone. This is exactly what happens to me. I feel guilt in situations beyond any possibility of my acting. When mother feels bad, when she is in a bad mood, when I am unable to help a neighbour... Many other situations, similar to these, cause in me low self-esteem.
I did not realize how important other people's opinion of me was. It would be good if everyone around felt affection for me. Unfortunately, that is impossible. I constantly need to be accepted by other people, and when again I think badly of myself, I explain that once more my mother criticizes my action and behaviour. I strive for perfection in what I do. Unconsciously I try to prove to myself and others my worth - to show and prove that I can do something, that I am fit for something. But at the same time, when I hear compliments, I do not believe they are sincere. I do not notice positive traits in myself.
Yet the sore point is building relationships with other people. When someone interests me, I immediately withdraw and look for a pretext for such behaviour. I often tell myself that such relationships make no sense, because they will end anyway. Sooner or later, but they will end anyway. I get to know new people very cautiously and let them into my world with reluctance. I also think that I am an uninteresting friend and that people are probably bored with me, so why all this? It is precisely in such situations that logic and the ability to open the appropriate "drawer" are very much needed.
But in truth, every day I repeat to myself: it is worth it. It is an extraordinary adventure - a journey deep into oneself. I am discovering myself as I really am. Studying my interests. The ability to share my world with other people. Experiencing pleasant feelings - joy, love, delight, satisfaction. It is wonderful to "throw out" the little outfits that are too small, to fill the "drawers" with new clothes. I do not yet fully know who Asya is. I know her a little. I adore sitting in my flat over a cup of coffee, watching the swallows outside the window (I dream that they will build a nest near my window). After a long, tiring day, I take a shower and love to read a book on my sofa. My cat's meowing delights me. I love the sparkle in my friends' eyes during conversation. I sing and dance - when I am alone, but I am glad of it. I cannot imagine a year without a hike in the mountains with friends. I love to feel the wind in my hair, the tiredness and warmth in the room in the evening. Most of all I love to come home. To my own home. Without fear, without stress. Such a return after a long day I now associate with joy, peace and safety. A short chat with the neighbours in the corridor.
All this is possible thanks to the help of kind people whom I meet every day on my way. Thanks to the ACoA therapy I can rejoice in all the little things I did not notice before. But, to be exact, the best therapy is a close relationship with another person, the constant overcoming of oneself, the struggle with one's own fear and doubt. And so, another person can remove the scars, even the deepest ones. But in order to see the other people around, you have to learn what is the source of your own worries and sufferings. You have to notice that even those closest to you did not always behave impeccably. When I first looked at it this way, and I was supposed to be loyal, it turned out to be very painful. The sentence spoken for the first time, "my parents are alcoholics", caused an uncertain pain. The pain of a small child who cries: "I love my parents and I need them very much".
Yet now everything works to my good. But I know that a year of therapy is not yet the end of one's own struggle with the past. It is the beginning of the road. On a road that is in places stony, the feet are wounded. In places I sink into the sand. But more often I begin to lift my eyes and see the beautiful landscapes around the road along which I walk. And when I find myself on this wonderful stretch of road, I am grateful that I have a Friend who left a mark on my path, prompting me to stop and look inside myself. I am grateful that I have a Friend who lifted my head and every day turns my attention to the beauty of the surrounding world. I am grateful that I have a Friend who every day helps me to call the world by name, explains its complexity.
About half a year ago I met a girl whose home situation was similar to mine. I began to spend time with her, helped her overcome difficulties at school, cope with difficult situations at home. For the most part, I saw myself in her. She reacts to various situations just as I do; she has the same view of the world and the same sensitivity. I thought: why not? Perhaps this is the moment - someone once helped me too. Why not now "repay the debt"? Perhaps the time has come to pass the baton on? Unfortunately, my mother, suffering from jealousy, considered that I was betraying her, and this was yet another pretext for silence. In my view, she suffers greatly that I live my own life and manage without her help. She worries greatly that someone else will be as important in my life as she is, and therefore systematically applies the most effective method: she shouts, rejects me, humiliates me, saying that I am good for nothing. Once again she behaved this way. This last time I thought I would not survive such situations any more. I was wrong. It seems to me that, as a result of her behaviour, I am hardening, freeing myself from her anger and blackmail.
This time I decided to write her a letter. A letter in which, probably for the first time in a long while, I will speak frankly. Here is its content:
Mum,
I am writing because I want to tell you. A little about myself. Until now, I listened to you attentively. Now I want to say what is inside me. If you dare, listen.
First I will only say that, despite everything that happens, I love you. Sometimes it seems otherwise to me, but it is true. All the time I tried to be a good daughter to you. I did everything I could so that you would be pleased with me. Yet I did not succeed. Constantly something happened, as a result of which you were dissatisfied with me. Do you know how many times I heard that I have no mother? Try to imagine the reverse situation. Such words are very painful. It grieves me that complete strangers accepted me. Many people in my surroundings ask how I am, how I feel, talk with me. With us it was different. You tell me about your self-sacrifice, your care. Do you call all the quarrels and swearing care? Do you really think that I have "fallen low"? Why?
You see only your own perspective, and I never said how I see it. Besides, it seems to me that you do not want to hear about it. It is easier to say that you do not know how to hurt others. You hurt me with your behaviour. You know how I hate your silence. You simply stop communicating with me. I never know what happened, why exactly so. It happened that you did not talk to me for a whole week. And suddenly you spoke, as if nothing had happened. And then my head was a mess - why?
I often wondered whether it is true, what happens at home, whether perhaps it is only a figment of my imagination, but recently I met Patrycja, we recalled the past. And she told me that at home things were bad. Food is not everything. I do not know where you got the idea that with my behaviour I do things to spite you. I do not intend to do that. After all, I feel like a grown person. I live as, in my view, I should. If I make a mistake, I myself draw the conclusions.
I am proud of myself, because I have achieved much in life. I am glad that I managed to do everything with my own hands, that I have friends who rejoice in it together with me. These are people who give me support, and I can have a cry if I need to. And even if I do something foolish, they do not "throw me out the door". I know how I want to live. I have bright goals. I will reach them. Regardless of whether you accept me.
It horrifies me how you and father live; in fact, nothing has changed. Two calm years, and now again you blaze with hatred for each other. In such an atmosphere one cannot live. I decided long ago to shape my life quite differently from you. I do not want to surround myself with people who love no one, not even themselves.
Do you know how I remember our life together? I constantly apologized to you for what I was not guilty of. You taught me that perfectly. You know, I can no longer do so. Something has burned out in me. If you do not want to communicate with me - you have the right. I will no longer come back with the word "sorry". If you want, if you demand it - I am always there for you.
You know, sometimes I cry into my pillow. I need a mum. A mum who understands and loves. Who loves regardless of everything. The words mum and dad are empty for me. In my life there were moments when I would rather go to Zosia, to her mother, than to my own home. Now we have our own home. A home in which there are no quarrels. Neighbours come here - sometimes even late in the evening. A home in which I feel good and safe. Once I thought badly of Agnieszka, who moved far from her home town. Only now do I begin to understand her. She is a guest in the house; her parents manage perfectly on their own. There are no grievances or complaints between them.
What happens between father and you is your affair. You chose and built such a life. It is time for you to take responsibility for it, and not blame the whole world for your problems. This was once your choice, you chose it with your husband. Juzek and I are only your children.
It hurts me when things go wrong between us. It hurts me that never, until now, have you said "sorry" for your words. Today there are ashes within me. Perhaps you need solitude - you will get it. Truly, I am sorry that you torment yourself so. Unfortunately, I am unable to do anything about it. I do not want to blaze with hatred toward the whole world. People are good. The world is beautiful. And life is worth living. One only has to notice it. I intend to do so. I am near, if you need me...