Definition of Time Warp: A place in which one keeps their thoughts in order to avoid conflict or issues.
This would be a definition of the mind set of many people I know. With the main focus on my own family. We each have our issues. No one is perfect. And I am in no way calling myself normal. But at least I’m bringing myself to face facts and admit that there are problems rather than put them in a mental storage container.
There are many different ways to ignore your issues. You can either box them up, explain them away, blame them on someone else, pretend they don’t exist…. and so on and so on. I’ve seen them all and more. Each person in this house hold is an example of any of these stages. It was always difficult living in a household in which I was fighting to get attention and acceptance while staying out of trouble at the same time. I was constantly accused of lying which in many cases (obviously not all) I was innocent. I was only looked at as a venting point in some cases. My main problem was that I resembled my father too much. I smiled when I was nervous and that only angered people more. I did my best to avoid the house and that only created distance.
Obviously issues within the house caused my own. I’m not planning to point out the problems of everyone else before my own. Then again, these are normal when you look into cases of a middle child in a single parent home. All I wanted was for people to stop screaming at me. Give me a break. The first time I was pushed out of my house was when I was six. No, not by my mother. That would be negligence. It might as well be considered the same thing because it was my older sister. At fourteen she was my secondary guardian when my mom worked 13 hour shifts in the hospital. She hated me simply for my existence. At that age I never realized we weren’t fully related, but half sisters. She was traumatized by my lowlife of a father and didn’t want any reminders. Well here I was living with her. A 50% carbon copy of the person she hated most in her life. I cried and sat outside for a bit until I went to the neighbors house because I was scared of the dark. You would think that when my mom got home she would have said something to her eldest daughter about the situation of kicking a six year old out of the house. Not a word. She did her normal face of frustration and simply pretended nothing happened. This happened every time my mom didn’t like something.
It wasn’t the last time my older sister took out her frustration on me through verbal abuse and accusations along with the new slap across the face routine if I ever chose to speak against the crap that was coming out of her mouth about me. I began to look for attention through relationships. I wasn’t the most popular at all. I was always the big girl of the group that had yet to get the pretty gene in her puberty stages. I dated and didn’t come out with the greatest outcome with my self esteem nearly nonexistent. From a boy telling me I wasn’t good enough, to being cheated on, to being used for sex, and then used as a punching bag for over a year; there was only so much one could mentally handle before disconnecting oneself from the world. I was going in every wrong direction to avoid facing the life that I would have to deem a “hopeful” reality at home.
So my issue was disconnection and the negative seeking of attention that we shout at women for on the television wondering why they just sit there and get beaten but stay saying “He loves me”. All I did was create a dimension in which neither home nor outside in a relationship was safe.
My father was a full out sociopath. There was no doubt about it. He used people to get what he wanted, exhausted them of everything they had both mentally and financially, then left. As you can see, I have some “daddy issues” as they call it. I never came to find a father figure. But this part isn’t about me. But the main influence in my life.
My older sister told me stories of what kind of person my dad was. They were in no way the prettiest and would make him the perfect example of what not to do as not only a human being but a parent in general. When we confronted my mother about it I either got one of two responses. A: “You’re not old enough” or B: “I don’t remember”. I could understand the first but the second was only a wall of smoke. Her stressed expression was a blatant as a 9 month pregnancy of twins in a very skinny woman.
This was her skill, box things up and put them so far away that they no longer existed. If it caused stress and it was avoidable, it didn’t exist. To this day, 13 years later, it’s the same concept. Pretend everything is okay and it will be ok. She’s afraid to face the truth assuming that everything will fall apart. I guess she hasn’t realized that by ignoring it, everything broke down a while ago. It is the reason that I call this The Time Warp. We confront her about an issue and we hear, “I’ll talk to her (I’m referring to any of my sisters and I) about it”. Or “I’ll take care of it”. It never really gets done. It just sits there like a bad smell with hopes that maybe it will disappear on its own accord. At least she admits that she doesn’t want to face it. But the reasons make no sense. She’s afraid to break but she can’t seem to see the affects that it’s taking on her children. With all that’s happened, all the heads turning in the opposite direction, I gave up hope on ever getting the place into one piece. My mother screams at my younger sister and I because we don’t get along. Saying we need to be a family when she herself doesn’t want to confront the hardest parts. If she ever sat down with the two of us at the same time, and realized what was actually going on, maybe it would be a little bit easier.
My younger sister…
From the day my Nana passed away, all hell broke loose. As if there was a balance and on one end stood my sister while on the other side my grandmother stood giving her love and sanity. That balance was thrown off drastically. My sister was thrown into a downward spiral of the little girl that we once knew. Her violent outbursts made her a danger not only to herself, but me. She went from the one who smiled all the time to the girl who couldn’t do nothing but scream at the world and live in a constant tantrum. There was no longer such thing as respect due to the fact that she didn’t believe anyone loved her. My grandmother had shown her all that she needed and all of that was ripped away from her.
My sister went between craving attention inside of the family to isolating herself in a depression that no one can shake her out of. The main aim of violence towards me. I tried to be an older sister and was suddenly accused of being the reason our Nana passed away. I was no authority to her being only two years her elder. I kept a patience that would baffle anyone in the same situation and took the physical hits from a child that was younger than me and I never hit back, only restrained. Sadly my patience didn’t matter. Her happiness became based on some form of twisted destruction for years. She made up stories telling my mother I would beat her or try to strangle and kill her when it was the other way around. It hurt to think my sister hated me that much to ever imagine that, but I kept my mouth shut and simply told my mother (and my older sister who was on my sister’s side for many things at the time) that the stories weren’t true.
She began writing. Yes, I was a nosy kid who found my sister’s diary. But the difference was that unlike my siblings, I didn’t take it and use it against them for pure enjoyment.
She wrote about suicide and how she was unloved. But most of all how she hated me and that I was the reason she wished herself dead in every letter. I never figured out why all of her anger was aimed towards me. She did what she could to make my own life a living hell. My best friend of seven years was taken away from me through her when she told him stories of how all I did was abuse her. She fell in love with him and used him as a weapon against me.
In all honesty I can’t tell you much about her. Not even her favorite color. We only spoke about very small things when her mood was up. Nothing personal. She didn’t trust me. I doubt she even really saw me as a relative. When I moved away to college and came to visit her words burned me as I went to bed. “You don’t belong here. No one wants you”
My Older Sister…..
I’ve been told many times by her that her life was great before me. Before my mom married my dad. Before she was moved to the U.S. And before I was born. Yet she was the one who asked for a sister. I don’t quite understand how you can be so upset with a child. Filled with natural curiosity and small enough to get into anything. As I grew up, everything I did around her was wrong. Especially when it wasn’t asked from her first. She took a place as a mother to my little sister and I while my actual mother did her best to make ends meet. My mother didn’t believe in physical discipline though that gene didn’t seem to be instilled in my sister. It wasn’t for discipline though. It was her way of stating that she was always right. Always. No matter what was said. She told me that I had to learn to admit that I was wrong and yet she couldn’t do the same. Her being my sister, I knew she had no right to hit me so I hit back.
All it did was turn into a fight where it was screaming and hitting back and forth. If our relationship wasn’t already ruined, I would say it didn’t exist. Not only did she dislike me because I reminded her of her stepfather, but because I could do so much that she couldn’t. Even so, I had done my best to catch up with the achievements she made. She was the top of her class with recognition for everything while I barely made it through high school aside from a few AP (Advance Placement) classes. Yet here was the difference, I could go to college without issue. Being that she wasn’t a U.S citizen, she couldn’t because we didn’t have the money for out of state fees. So here I was, the little sister who sat back and did nearly nothing and got through school to get into the college SHE wanted while she had to sit back and watch.
With all honesty, I can see where her anger comes from. But to take it out on the world is a little, actually very harsh.
Except there are some instances where she will catch the traits of my mother. Neither of them accept what can make them upset. She believes she has one stable thing in her life if anything. And I, the sister that reminds her so much of a downfall, seemed to be trying to ruin her life again. I wasn’t allowed to break what bubble she had. So instead she tried to make it seem as if I was the one who couldn’t separate the cold truth from reality. With everything that happened, it was as if I was telling her to choose between me and her “faithful” husband. I wasn’t the one who helped keep her reality together thus I was not the optimum choice. Knowing her since I was born didn’t count. It only mattered that her reality stayed in it’s place.
I love my family dearly. I do. But the amount of issues under one roof is unbearable. It’s as if there is a pressure for perfection that I’m not aiming to reach. They fight for so much to be normal and believe that altering whether or not they think about it will save everything. I left because no one wanted to hear that anything was wrong. I don’t want perfection. All I had asked for was for a family. We aren’t together. None of us truly talk unless we need something. It’s sad. No more pretending. For the love of all that’s humane just let us sit down and talk all of it out! Yes, there will be tears. And yes it will hurt. Psychological mindsets will be broken. But in the end you can at least start with a fresh slate. Yes, there will be hundreds of cracks but that simply means we are human.
Someone tell me why this is so difficult…..