(blog carnival subject)
We didn’t celebrate birthdays a child but if I did I think I would be offended by such a display of love and positive attention. There would be balloons and cake, punch and potatoes chips. There would be burgers grilling outside as my cousins ran around in party hats blowing those obnoxious horns. What I just described is a typical scene from the movies, the only reference I have to birthday parties. If you take that example then add my family in there the only thing one could feel is frightened. Besides, I don’t believe I’d feel special at all. While everyone looks dead at me and sings that infamous song out of tune I doubt I’d feel anything but exposed. We’re talking about the family that hurt me as much as inhumanly possible and they’re all focusing on me. I think I would have been frightened by it.
I got a heck of a lot of gifts as a child, some big, some small. The mother spent a lot of money on me and my sister. In this way she was quite generous. Sometimes I’d wake and find a gift on my dresser, something pink, something sweet. I remember thinking she’d been in my room without my knowledge. How long was she there? Did she talk to me, ask me questions or did she just leave the gift and go? There were a hundred different things going through my head but that was all tossed aside because my little show was about to start. I’d run out in my gown and give her a big hug and lots of kisses with an overabundance of thank you. This response was expected and would be the subject of stories to her friends about how much her children loved her. It was fake, totally fake.
My emotional responses weren’t true and I knew it. The best way to describe it back then was that it made me feel yucky to fake a smile or fake appreciation. To fake anything at all was “yuck” but I did it a lot because I had to.
Maybe I thought way too much and didn’t let myself enjoy moments when I was focused on for a special reason. It’s just I had a hard time separating her sadistic hand from the one putting a piece of pie on my plate. The pie was sweet but it was served by “her”. The same mouth that said “congratulations on your graduation” was the mouth that tore me down to nothing, the same mouth that was on me. How was I to separate them? And her eyes? They were always the same. They were always the eyes that looked at me from head to toe, that watched me shower, and that looked at me with disappointment. Was a special day to erase this for a moment so we could enjoy cake, pie or a barbecue before we got back to her real life? To do so angered me because it seemed as if it was just another falsehood, another lie. I’m going to smile and act as if everything is fine but as soon as we leave here I’ll prepare myself for what will happen at home. How does one put that out of their mind for an hour or so? I couldn’t.
Even though I didn’t celebrate birthdays there were parties and other gatherings that my family attended. I couldn’t appreciate them because it all felt so fake. I just couldn’t get past the idea that this was all for nothing because I was going to get in the car and go home with “that” woman. Knowing this made a slice of cake and ice cream served by my abuser seem like a slap in the face.
I didn’t want a special day where every harsh word was held until the day was done. I didn’t want a day where I’d hold on minute by minute, savoring it because when it was all over I’d have to go back to her life. I want(ed) year around kindness and normalcy. When I blow my candles out (just before I go to bed) I want to do it knowing happiness is real and not just a wish floating on an unnamed star. I don’t want fairytale happiness. I want truth in my dysfunctionally-functional real life.
The Focus of Attention-Tuesday, February 16, 2010 – 9:58PM EST
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