After my last exam I went home. I was rather eager to see my family again, after all it had been three weeks! It's been a while since I was truly happy to be my family, it's so long ago I can't even remember the times. However, every time I don't see them for a while, my hopes rise and I believe. First I forget what it's like to be around my family, I forget they're loud, disrespectful and I forget they don't talk to me when it's not convenient for them. Then I start hoping they will be happy to see me, I hope they have missed me. Lastly I believe I will want to be with them, that I'll be happy with them. I'll believe they'll want me too.
Going through that process once again, I eagerly returned home, only to be disappointed. Yet again. My mother wasn't home yet, so it was only my father, sister and I and I'd already gotten a headache, because they are so loud. When living on my own - even when all my neighbours are around - it is quiet. My neighbours are students as well and they know that living in an apartment means it is important to keep the volume down. Apparently I have become so used to the peace and quiet that I develop a headache when I find myself in an atmosphere that I used to be used to. An atmosphere that I used to enjoy.
Another knife got stabbed in my back when I got into a rather heated discussion with my sister. It was not the discussion that moulted into a knife, rather than my mother's comment she preferred I wasn't home. Apparently my own mother - the only member of my close family that I can talk to - would rather not have me home.
After that I looked at my being home from without rather than within. I saw myself participating in situations, rather than actively participating and enjoying myself in those situations. I'd rather not be there, yet to please my parents and avoid confrontation I did their bidding. All the while I couldn't help thinking how funny this was.
For the past few years I've been dealing with all kinds of negative energy, ranging from hopelessness, the feeling of being lost to selfdestructiveness. Last year however, I reached a point where I didn't trust myself to be on a train station anymore, and taking at least four trains everyday to get to school and back, this was a difficult time. So when I came at this point I called my mother. And she called my father. And I had to explain everything. I told them about all the negative energy, we ended up going to a doctor. He then asked them if they knew at all about this. They, of course, didn't. For the next few weeks they proceeded to ask how I was and I went back to pretending everything was alright - even when it wasn't. It struck me then how easily they were persuaded, how easily they thought years of mental health issues could be solved in one afternoon, and it struck me again this week. As I was being home, completely miserable and feeling out of place, they never once took notice of how I was feeling. Not one member of my family even asked me how I was doing. Instead I got reprimanded for talking too loudly with my sister. I received comments on the outbreak on my face. And even though I lost weight, my family thought it was necessary to remind they think I gained weight.
On Sunday we went out for dinner, because my grandmother celebrated her birthday earlier that week and wanted to do something with the family. After dinner, while we were enjoying dessert, my grandmother addressed me. Together with her husband, she made it very clear that she wants me to get married. She compared men to chicory, making the point that I should hurry and pick a man, because if I wait too long I only get to choose between the remnants. If I wait too long, she said, I only get the men that all the other girls have tried out, but don't want. And like with chicory, I would end up with something rotten and used. All the while I was trying to make her understand that was not how I saw the situation, but she wouldn't allow me a second to speak my mind. Instead my grandfather went on to criticize dating. He told me - again - that he didn't understand what dating is about. "You meet up with someone and go for a drink, why would you do that?" My father enjoyed that and made a comment about dating apps "oh look, another single nearby. Let's meet up with this random stranger!" and even though that is how some dating apps work, he didn't think about the fact you get to chat first and exchange ideas. That piece of information was irrelevant to his side of the story.
While I otherwise enjoy dessert the most, it made me sick this time. I couldn't stand their close mindedness, and their unwillingness to listen to me or consider the option of another point of view.
Returning to my place has never been better. I arrived and revelled in peace and quiet. Putting in earphones and drowning in my favourite music has never been sweeter. Being able to think my own things, to have my own ideas and think them through, even when I am later proven to be wrong, has been good.
However I am grateful for the experience last week brought me, it has filled me with motivation to do well in school, study late nights so I can get my own place as fast I could possibly be able to.
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