Everything is Not Alright
This is a story of trauma that had been passed in my family and I am the latest victim. I hope it stops with me. I don’t want to sound like a victim desperate for sympathy, but just speak out what everyone might be going through. I know I am not alone in this. And I want everyone to know that. You are not that okay like you think. Everything is not alright. Everything that happens to you is not fate.
I had attended these ten days of group therapy after I had a very bad episode at office. I was unconscious after undergoing a strenuous mental dilemma. I didn’t know the reason. I couldn’t think of any. I was the happiest person in the world. I often wondered, Why this occasional attacks of instability? Why am I often falling into these deep, endless pits of darkness? When I look back to find a reason why is everything blank inside me? I believed that I was at peace with all that had happened to me and everything that was happening around.
In the ten days of therapy, I was asked to go back to my childhood. I then realized that I had not many memories of my childhood. I often wondered how people could remember what happened when they were in each class, what they studied, and so on. I just remember my childhood like just one big bad day. I don’t remember many good things. I remember everybody having a gang and their set of secrets, which they talked about and stopped abruptly every time I went near them. They would just stop and stare at me. When I asked what it was about they would say it’s their secret.
Well, I had my share of secrets too. I was raped by a taxi driver. My cousins came home in his car and they all stayed for a few days. We were playing hide and seek and I hid inside his car. I was at the backseat and he came inside. He held me against the back seat and took me from the back. I was four years old. I never understood what happened that day until I was a teenager. It slowly sank into me one fine morning. I was raped! I always wondered what part of a human body was that strong and hard! Until I discovered it one day, I don’t remember how.
I would say- to hell with your secrets. You know what another real secret is? Crying every day into your pillow! Mom always shouted at me. I just remember that much. The shouting would bring the house down. I never remembered the reasons. My grandparents would take sides with me and shout back for me. Minutes later, I will no longer be the problem. They would insult each other in every possible way; until they are sated. They would talk no longer and cook separately in the same house for months. I will be communicating for each of them until I do something wrong so that the next round of fighting can start. So, I have to keep it a secret that I am crying because if mom found out she’ll have another fit of commotion. If grandparents found out they will shout at my mother.
So I had to keep my secrets.