Today I tell the story of Sally, who after so much pain in her family of origin, torn by quarrels, finds herself having to experience the same suffering in her married life.
“The beginning of the end, I start from here. Today is the beginning of the end. I feel this way, with this revelation, which resembles the joy of when I took you in my arms for the first time, when I felt so powerful that I was able to give birth, to give birth to new life from my womb.
It was an explosion, the lighting of a light bulb that suddenly turned off the darkness that covered for years what I did not know, what I could not know before.
I am a mother, yes. I am your mom. And that time, the first time the darkness went out, is when you were born. At that moment I realized that nothing would ever be the same “.
But this time it is me who is born, or rather, who is reborn. It takes courage, you know? It takes courage, to question ourselves, to look inside this vase where everything enters, sometimes with violence, sometimes drop by drop, but almost nothing comes out. Yet I am here, after all, after all these years of soft light and dim light, after the light that you brought, after the pain that breaks everything, the abandonment, the sacrifices, the anger, the disappointment, the confusion…. ‘, the confusion…. There is a great confusion here, the memories mix, the pains fade with time but do not disappear, they remain like wedges and the only proof is the water, the dripping drops, like a broken tap, because the vase is full and in order not to explode let this pressure cooker vent. Who am I, who have I been so far? I have been a daughter, sister, spectator, actress.
I have been engaged, wife and mother. Now I am your mother, but perhaps I have always been a bit of a mother, because in my family I was the elder sister. With more responsibility, with the commitment in the morning to accompany my younger sister to the nursery, before going to school, and after the commitment to go and pick up my middle sister. When I was in junior high, I went out at 4 and waited for my sister to come home together. They are small things, I know, but at the age of 12 I already had the Responsibility. Here is another leitmotif: Responsibility. I guess I was never just a daughter. Well, in fact, on my first birthday there was already my brother, that much hated brother, but perhaps the only person who has ever allowed me to behave as a child. I was little with him, I stole his pacifier, I made him cry, I (was?) Envious of the attention my parents gave him, but all in all, even if I don’t remember it anymore, I was a child with him. Then, when 5 years after my brother, my sister arrived, that’s where my childhood ended. It ended immediately after the joy, the emotion that only a birth can give, after the satisfaction of having won the bet against my brother and that of having a new baby doll for the house.
Yes, because if my jealousy ended there, with the victory for a new little sister, there the battle between them began, my brother’s jealousy towards my sister. Finally, after another 5 years we are complete: 4 children and two parents. A mom, dad, older sister, brother and two sisters. Many for a single family, but alone in a country without roots for my parents who emigrated from the south. What family were we? A special family, a normal family, maybe both, who knows? In the end, every family is unique and it all depends on who is part of it. My parents never got along. For a long time I wondered if they were still screaming and screaming at each other about things that happened before I was born, before they got married, how did they keep in mind all those details years, sometimes decades, after they happened? I can’t do it, I forget, how hard it is to keep painful episodes in mind, better to let it slip, let the sand smooth on the shore, prepare a blank sheet for the next chapter. Well, that’s it, I never understood my parents. Why keep harming yourself? Yet after the worst fights, after the slaps, the deafening silences, the months of sleeping on the sofa, not talking, not even with their children, to blame everything in front of us … and yet, after the lawyer, the threats, the pleas , in the end he on his knees begged her to forgive him. And so they made peace, the serenity lasted the time of some picnic and we started again, and each time we relived the same things, even if each time it was like taking one more step, one more step towards madness. And what was I doing? I was the elder sister and I felt Responsible because I had to protect my brothers. So, when mom and dad argued, we locked ourselves in the room or bathroom and told each other stories, sometimes we tried to overhear the arguments to figure out who was to blame that time. We played the game of the assumptions, to divert attention from the screams, I had invented it in a moment of tension to explain to my sister that there is a reason why people behave in a certain way, just understand what their assumption is, their belief, what goes through their minds before they say or do something. I had forgotten it, my sister just reminded me a short time ago.
When it happened that there was only me in the house, however, I tried to mediate, I asked questions and gave answers, I explained to one the motivations of the other and vice versa. I also felt responsible towards them, as if I had created the family with my birth and not them with their marriage. It’s amazing how an insecure and shy little girl can feel so omnipotent and self-centered. Yet I felt the cause of everything that happened in the family, all the good and all the bad was somehow my fault. Growing up the problems have increased, it could only be like this, I know this now, but when I was there in the middle between the screams and screams of mom and dad that added to screams, screams and blows between my brother and my sister, I could not understand how things always got only worse. And here is the worst moment. I was in high school, a delicate period in itself, the period of transgressions and self-determination, and I lived my life as an older sister as always, I went out carrying one sister, sometimes two, always mumbling because I was the the only one to have duties, the only one to have duties, the only one to have schedules. Yes, because my brother, on the other hand, could go out without having any task, not even buying bread, he could go and come back whenever he wanted and obviously he didn’t have to take his sisters with him.
Yet, despite all his privileges, my brother has always lived badly the birth of the third child who had taken away the role of prince of the house and growing this jealousy had increased dramatically, with screams and continuous quarrels between the two brothers, unchanged and perhaps also increased after the birth of the last child. The more time passed the more the situation degenerated. My parents both worked and were away from home everyday all day. Now that I am on the other side I begin to understand the fatigue and difficulties they have had, but the fact remains that they were not able to intervene with authority before the normal quarrels between brothers resulted in violent and heavy fights for the most disparate reasons and absurd. For example, the irrecoverable insult that triggered my brother was that my sister turned on the light to cross the room where he took his afternoon nap after school (too bad it was the living room). In short, in the afternoon after school the house became a battlefield and in the evening mom and dad could only collect some complaints that did not help them take matters into their own hands, at least not effectively. The quarrels got worse from month to month, sometimes it even happened that my sister left home to escape my brother. And me? I tried to mediate, but in front of two rubber walls in the end I always sided with what seemed to me the weak side who was also on the opposite side of my hated brother, at least since I was one year old.
Adolescence is a difficult period for everyone, but for two parents too focused on their quarrels, perhaps the adolescence of two children together could be too much, and so I simply chose not to give problems, no more than I could give in the fight between me and my sister against the hated brother. I have never failed, never failed the school, never smoked cigarettes or anything else (which went around in school), nothing, by choice. Because I saw so much madness around me (hitting hands for a light on or a remote control) that the biggest rebellion I thought was normal. But my normality didn’t keep us safe from problems. Obviously the background was the quarrels between my parents, to which were added the scholastic, relationship and bad company problems of my brother, and the problems between the two middle brothers. Everything obviously affected the whole family. My father, when he was exhausted more than once, tried to escape, my younger sister in elementary school had panic attacks and I continued to feel Responsible. So responsible that after a furious dispute and beating connected between my 21-year-old brother, 1.80 m tall for about 90 kilos, towards my 16-year-old sister who weighed at least 20 less and in which she had threatened to call the police …. Well, I accompanied her to the carabinieri, to ask for their help with an unmanageable brother and convinced that he could do what he wanted, thanks to his size. So responsible that when my father did not come home for two nights, I spent them wandering around the village alone in search of his car parked in front of the cemetery, where he took refuge to escape the delirium. So responsible that I called him secretly without telling my mother to find out if he was still alive, and when he came back dead drunk I went downstairs to clean up the vomit in front of the house entrance So responsible that the day after my high school exam I looked for him all night until I found him locked in the box inside the car turned on with a pipe that carried the exhaust gas from which it came into the cockpit. had to drag out screaming and crying Always Responsible. Always all my fault. But this is too big a burden to carry. Now I understand it. So no, I couldn’t and I didn’t want to understand it and to protect myself I could only get away, stay away from home as much as possible, taking on all possible commitments to avoid being with the family. I wanted to escape, find another dimension out of there. My dream was to have another home to return to in the evening.
Until I met him. Your dad, just him, and it was a great, engaging love that made me question everything. With him close, all of a sudden, and for the first time, I felt supported, protected, listened to. Now I know it was a mistake, but I lived for 8 years as if it were forever, thinking I had found love, light, the other half that could have completed mine. Since we met we started planning, first a house together, then the wedding (or rather 2!) And finally we wanted YOU, THE LIGHT, without shadows. For 8 years I was happy, aware of my happiness, regardless of what others said, because I was fine, I asked for nothing more and I felt grateful for the fact that I realized how happy I was. Even returning to my parents’ house had become pleasant, because I knew that at the end of the evening I could close the door behind me and return to our home, to the nest that we had laboriously built only with our sacrifices.
But it’s over. And this ending was destructive for me, devastating, it made me psychologically collapse. Suddenly and without a reason, my prince charming decides that he can’t take it anymore (but of what? Of whom?). For months I have been looking for an explanation, an answer, but perhaps there is no answer, things end up even without a reason, just like my dream, the one I consciously knew I had built and gazed at every day, vanished without my having it never lost sight of. In the space of one night I found myself alone, in a house that I suddenly felt like a stranger, without a husband, alone, with a two-year-old child whom I had the responsibility to protect and educate, with the only certainty that I did not want for anyone. reason that what I went through was going through. Does my husband no longer want to be with me?
I tried in every way to make him understand that he should not take a sudden decision, that he could think about it calmly even outside the home, maintaining normal relations for the good of our son. The only thing I knew I could never face was a lawyer. “Do what you want, take all the time you want, but if you put a lawyer in the middle, I’m sorry but it’s over for me.” I couldn’t even think of retracing my parents‘ path.
Unfortunately, however, one day the letter from the lawyer arrived. Another blow, but from there I said to myself: Ok, the limit has been exceeded, so you have to look forward, head high and you must go further, now there’s no turning back.
It was hard, it is still hard, feeling alone, abandoned by everyone and having the responsibility of raising a child, always being afraid of making mistakes, facing everything alone, from morning to evening, nights with fever, doubts and tiredness . It is hard, but I am putting all the possible commitment, putting my best effort into it. And I know I’ll make it !!
From today I am reborn because I want to look inside my life, starting from my childhood and empty the jar, finally let all my rags dry in the sun and I no longer want the tears to fall to avoid bursting.
I remove the wedge, let out the emotions and finally make room to welcome what will be.
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storia vera, tratta dal blog: http://blog.pianetadonna.it/lestoriediagatha/sally/