The question that has been running through my mind all day is: When did I break?
You see I am well aware that I am different and dysfunctional. I know that I am unwell or ill. The thing is I can’t figure out is if I was born this way or became this way. I know that this could become like the chicken and egg argument, as in which came first the chicken or the egg. If I were to change this to how I am thinking then it would be: Did Tony or the mental illness come first in my life?
For me, it would be easier if I were created this way.
It is probably more difficult to think that I was broken because of others. If I were broken later then that would mean that I was born normal. That would mean that I was once a happy, giggling, and full of promise baby. But if I were broken when did it happen? Would the brokenness have happened quickly like the snapping of a twig or slowly like rust?
Ok, let’s take this a step at a time. I don’t want to get ahead of myself or jump to any conclusions.
If I were broken could it have happened with the violence that I saw? That women were cooks, cleaners, baby makers and property. The violence towards women and in particular one woman that I witnessed was despicable. The sound of someone bruising another person is horrific. The sound of someone struggling to remain independent under the onslaught is appallingly unforgettable. Was it here that I broke? Was it being frightened that broke me? Surely, I wasn’t old enough to break then?
Could I have been broken when I was made the object of desire by someone older when I was 6 years old? Surely, the voices in my head couldn’t have started from my screaming in my own head. That couldn’t have broken me because time heals all wounds not that I was left beaten and bloody.
Could I have been broken by the constant moving? I lived in house after house and went to school after school. In fact, I went to three schools by the time I was in Yr 2 or back in the day what was called 2nd Class. There will be three more schools to come and dozens of houses. Light switches are the thing that unnerves me. With the constant moves and if I ever woke at night or came home late remembering where the light switches were and what light they turned on caused high anxiety. If I visit someone’s home or go to an office I cannot relax even a little until I locate the light switches, I don’t have to touch them just know where they are.
Could I have been broken by never feeling like I fit in? I guess it is like the old saying about the square peg in a round hole. I was never “boy” enough. I have never been into riding motorbikes. I was never into fixing motors or gadgets. I wasn’t sporty. I have never been boy enough. I didn’t want to drink, get drunk and fall down. I never wanted to be in fights. Yes, I do like a good verbal stoush but detest violence. I never wanted to marry and actually said from the age of 5 or 6 that I would never get married. If what I saw was love I didn’t want to love. So I wasn’t even boy enough to marry. I would rather do arts and craft than get grease under my fingernails. I definitely fail at being male.
It couldn’t have been any of that so I must have been born this way. That would explain why I wasn’t worthy of love. Being born this way would explain why things of life affect me so much. If you ask some members of my family you’ll find out that I was never normal.
To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I were born this way or if I was broken because all I know is that I have to deal with all of the shattered pieces. My mind is a tad like Humpty Dumpty because like him all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put me back together again.
Just some thoughts in a long stream of consciousness.