THE TORMENTING SONG YOU SUNG
It wasn't long ago that I last heard you sing the tormenting song you sung but even without you, I hear the relenting melody repeat itself in my mind. It's a song you knew how to sing so well... You'd memorised every lyric, you'd learnt every note and prepared for every rest. You were the composer, the singer and the drummer all at once, a true master of your craft. And darling, if it were fine arts, you would've won a prize. But nobody wins a losing game, Dolls, and the singer of this tormenting song was a loser, indeed, even when the loser would've bet money that he was winning. It's a song that hurts to recall but the more I keep my silence, the longer the little girl that was once me has to hear the tormenting song you sung.
There were pathways I was led down but all of the tracks were covered so I never had any evidence to provide. There were a lot of 'almost's' and even more 'nearly's' but there was never, really a 'here it is'. As I write this, I understand how confusing this sounds to someone who's never heard the tormenting song you sung and that's because it is. It's exactly how it sounds... Crazy, erratic and insane. It's so much like the tune of the tormenting song you sung. The lines can be blurry when it comes to identifying emotional manipulation. In the midst of fights, we may act out of the ordinary and say things that we later regret: naming somebody a name we shouldn't have or telling somebody we hate them when really, we don't. It's when these lines are crossed (regardless of a fight or reason) with frequency and brutality that alarm bells should be ringing. Considering these lines can be blurry, it's difficult for victims to come forth because it doesn't often sound 'that bad'. Emotional abuse doesn't receive the same degree of sympathy or involve the same resources for help as physical and sexual violence does because often, calling someone a mean name is a line that's somewhat acceptable to cross. Whereas, society deems that leaving a bruise on a loved one is a line that's never, not even once, acceptable to cross. I wish it was a well-known fact that invasive, harrowing and sinister boundaries are crossed even when the bruise left is an intrinsic one. But it's because it isn't a well-known fact that victims with emotional bruises keep silent, living in fear of their cries being brushed off as a loved one merely having a 'bad day'.
'The way we talk to our children becomes their inner voice.'
Dolls, I heard this quote once I reached adulthood. And I believe that it was the first time that I could truly, entirely comprehend and come to terms with my ongoing mental health struggles. Throughout childhood, our upbringing is the only world we know. It isn't until we have conversations about home life with our school friends, watch movies or have sleepovers that we begin to use comparison to grasp a concept of what normal family dynamics and behaviour look like. Even then, certain behaviours aren't always easy to identify as 'wrong' or 'right'. And even once they are, the 'way we talk to our children' is so embedded in their day-to-day life that a new reality may evoke nostalgia of the only world they've ever known. It's important that victims know what real love is and that abusive behaviour 'isn't really love', however, in my experience, this phrase has been a difficult pill to swallow. My inner voice was being formed before I had the opportunity to use comparison to identify the words spoken to me as being 'not right'. Years of being called names and being belittled into the smallest version of myself has resulted in the fact that I don't require the presence of a parent to diminish me anymore because my inner voice has become the voice they used, the song that I'll hear forevermore. Every child, every person seeks love and validation from their parents. No child wants to learn that their parent wasn't showing them love when they thought they were. No child wants to learn that their parent isn't a good person. Humans are complex. We aren't textbooks. Morals, feelings and love play a part in almost every scenario we encounter. Hence, unfortunately, most children will defend the actions of their family members long after they discover that they're wrong. I know I did. I know I still do.
It's normal for our emotions to rapidly change: One minute we're smiling, laughing and then we slam our fingers in the car door and break down in pain and tears, one minute we're singing and then someone barges in and we get annoyed and embarrassed or one minute we're feeling down and a little kid comes to give us a big cuddle and all of our troubles melt away. Its normality is what allows a victim to so easily believe that they're the catalyst of changes in behaviour. If every time we walk into a room, faces drop and heads turn, we'll pose the questions of 'What did I do?' and 'Why don't they like me anymore?' It took me a long time to realise that people who love you won't drop their face and turn their head and if they do, they'll have the courtesy, understanding and compassion to have a mature conversation with you that clearly outlines why. In the thick of experiencing this behaviour, the goal of the perpetrator is to make you believe you're the reason for their sour hearts and as a result of their manipulation, most likely you will. How else could a mood change so quickly? It took me even longer to accept that they want you to be hurt, they want you to live in fear, they want you to blame yourself because it gives them a sick, cruel, sense of power that feeds into their belief system that they're important, strong and adored. Even though I can understand that I was manipulated, the damage is much too late. So he is left with an ego stroked and I am left with one that doesn't exist, inherently certain that I ruin everything I touch, inherently certain that I'm unworthy of all that is beautiful and inherently certain that this life doesn't have a place for me. And I hate that this very fact will make you sing the tormenting song you sung with more vigour, delight and joy than you've ever sung it before.
I don't miss listening to the tormenting song you sung because it made my ears bleed and my soul burn. But I miss all of the moments I truly believed you had love for me, even though now, I can see that you never really did. You just loved how hating me didn't make me love you any less. I hope you remember what that felt like, before the day I woke up and decided that I didn't only love you less, I didn't love you enough to ever want to come back.
Dolls, if you are experiencing any form of domestic abuse: physical, sexual or emotional you can contact 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732).
Kisses & Hugs,
COS xo
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