The big question is “Do I love my family?”. Hell if I know. OK. Maybe I should rephrase that. “Do I love the family members that abused me?”
Would I be upset if something happened to one of them? Sure. I guess. I cried at my grandparents’ funerals. But somehow I think it was more of a reaction to seeing other people cry. I’ve always been super sensitive to other people’s feelings and maybe I was just experiencing their sadness.
It’s hard for me. Sometimes I feel guilty about my lack of feelings for those family members. A good daughter/granddaughter should love her family. She should care about them. She should be devoted to them.
But what to do when they hurt her? What to do when her life is shattered? What to do when rebuilding feels like a momentous task?
I wish I had some answers for these questions. But I don’t.
I constantly struggle with the thoughts that I’m a bad person. That somehow this is all my fault. That I should love them and that I’m a terrible person because I don’t know if I do love them.
Right now, I don’t know what to think. Sometimes it feels like I would be better off with no family and no friends. Only myself to rely on. Hell, it feels like I have relied on myself for so long now, I don’t see any other way to live.
Life can be so confusing. And I don’t always know the best way to deal with it. I’m trying as hard as I can to keep my head on straight. But so often I feel like I’m wandering in a dark alley with nothing to guide me.
Sometimes I wish there were easy answers to my questions. I know there aren’t any but I keep on wishing.