When I should have been discovering my identity, I was merely trying to survive! I felt everything twice as immensely as anyone else would. I went through the motions, numb and depressed!
During that time, my room was my sanctuary. Being an INFJ, empath, and HSP.. my room felt like heaven! It was MY space… for the most part. My room was filled with “stuff”: cds, books, stuffed animals, exc. None of it felt comforting. None of it felt like it was mine. The ONLY two things I had, the ONLY two things that I recognized as who I was at the time… Was my diaries and my music. From those two sources, I expressed my disappointment, anger, confusion, and frustration. My life felt as if I was stagnant in a five year period of time. I hit a mile markers and my growth stopped.
In 2001, my older brother was a Senior in high school. At home, we all were having issues with him, and it reflected in my character. I didn’t talk with anyone about it. I wasn’t allowed, and I doubted anything would be done about it anyway.
He graduated that May, and was preparing for the Air Force. That was his way “out of the house.” Needless to say, he wasn’t ready for that training. He was too controlled and too rebellious.
Due to misconduct, he didn’t graduate with the others. That’s his story to tell; but what I will say is this is when my depression REALLY turned dark and heavy. The secrets of my family were to remain in my family. My mother didn’t allow for me to talk with anyone about how this huge ordeal was affecting me.
For the next four years, I struggled greatly with living. The negativity in our house laid thick. With every passing year, it got worse. After I broke up with my boyfriend again, my mother only spoke negatively to me. He was a good guy. He deserved someone special. She wasn’t me. I didn’t choose him. I didn’t love him. I didn’t know what love was. I also couldn’t understand why I felt physically ill when he constantly touched me and has to be in my space. I’m Bisexual. I didn’t explore it because that was unacceptable.
I started college and my own rebellion grew. For the most part, I was a good kid. That’s my opinion anyway. By this point, I was tired of being controlled. I was tired of my parents being clueless as to who I was, and I myself feeling that way for that matter. It didn’t go over well with my parents. They knew I lied about where I’d been, but I didn’t care.