Alpas

[verb]: to become free, to break loose.

"Comfort is uncomfortable to those who are more well acquainted with pain, than love." -- Janette...ikz

I came across this line when I was first introduced to spoken word, and at that time I was in an incredible amount of pain. The kind of pain so great that it resonates and almost becomes physically psychosomatic. At first I couldn't understand what it meant. It was probably because my sheltered, naive behind was completely oblivious to the kind of pain there was in the world. The kind of pain my parents "tried so hard" to protect me from, but I, determined to be a big girl who don't need no mama, decided to start an adventure to prove that life wasn't so bad. Little did I know that once the scales were removed from my eyes and all its broken glory was revealed to me, there was no way of ever turning back.

I went through a pretty fucked up childhood. Much like every other filipino kid who grew up in the Philippines and was disciplined in the ancient ways of my grandma, my ass was frequently caressed by the stinging, sweet strides of my dad's imported cow-leather belt. He was very proud of his collection. He had one to match every outfit. I've been embarrassed in public, brought out into the street in my PJ's because I did something stupid early in the morning. I was exposed for all the neighbours to see. My disciplinarian did not care. I think the worst i had to go through was that my dad put me in a laundry basket and tied it up so I couldn't get out, and he carried me and set me right next to the garbage can outside of our house, scaring me, telling me that the garbage man was going to collect me and put me in with the rest of the garbage they gather. I don't remember what I did that gave him a solid reason so he had to do that. I just remember hysterically crying while the sky was still orange, seeing concerned people pass by, but not do anything because it's none of their business. And then it was blur. I probably blacked out or voluntary blocked it off my memory, and then I just remember sitting there, silent. The sky was already black, the streetlights were buzzing an eerie sound that you only hear if the light's been on for hours, and the street was quiet. There were no cars, no voices, no dogs barking. You can hear the meows of a stray cat from far away.. And then I woke up in my bed, being prepared to go to school, as if nothing had happened the night before. I know there were more memories like this but I don't want to remember.

I feel like I've always been misunderstood. As a kid I always remember being the one that the older generation would get mad at. In settings with my cousins, I was always the butt of the joke, or the kid that ruined the party for the rest of the family. I was flagged "matigas ang ulo" (hard-headed) because I liked doing things my own way, and I liked exploring things that were beyond the limits that were set for me. I was never really allowed to express how I truly felt, or I was punished for speaking my mind and having these wild ideas that didn't seem to be in line with what the older generation thought was proper. No one took me seriously. I remember feeling like a monkey with the red vest and the gold tassels, holding a pair of golden cymbals, waiting to clap my hands, sing and dance to their hearts' content. I was very aware that I was only good for entertaining people, but never good enough to be cared for in the way that I yearned. I remember crying asking why they were more affectionate towards my brother or my older cousins. I remember acting out because it felt unfair. I felt alone, because my family always treated me differently. I was ostracized and dismissed often because people would belittle me and tell others "oh, that's just audrey. it's just how she is," completely ignoring the outcries i have wanting to be heard and understood and loved like everyone else. I was constantly told that what I had to say was too loud and unnecessary. I just wanted to be seen. I wanted to be heard.

The first guy I fell for asked me out, but asked if we could keep our relationship in secret. I got bullied because I would be honest when I was asked about our relationship status, and he would deny me, completely. I looked like a delusional, desperate little tweeb that was obsessed and had nothing better to do. I don't know why I thought it was okay to stay in that relationship for two years. I don't know why i waited for him to cheat on me to break it off. All I knew was that I've been crushing on him since the second grade and he finally noticed me after 6 years.. only to keep me in the closet because he was embarrassed to even be associated with me. This trend of settling for scraps, because I was grateful for even being seen by someone, continued in most of my relationships. I was either used for sex, money, connections, affection, or I was constantly being cheated on. I was easily manipulated, and it became easier and easier with each passing relationship because I was so desperate to just be loved and gotten, that my sense of self and principle began to crumble and dissipate every single time someone would come into my life and try to change it to fit what would complement their ideals.

The last straw was a relationship that had a lot of power over my psyche. I had felt like this man was my last shot at being wanted. I felt like every single move I made was criticized if I was off by a centimetre. The way i spoke to people was ridiculed constantly, and my character was constantly attacked. He was in a situation where other people were shitting on him and he had no one else to take it out on but me. He had a superiority complex because he was out there making a steady flow of money from a job he hates, but he definitely thought he was better than me because I almost flunked school, and i've been in university for about 6 years now, with no degree to show. I'm not even close to completion. There was always an assumption that my intention was to make others feel small so I just feel better about myself. There was always this notion that I thought too highly of myself with him saying "you think you're better than me?" This person audibly expressed that he thought I was a "horrible human being" that had no hope of ever being happy because all I wanted talk about was how sad my life was and how shitty i have it at life and i've only ever been dealt shit cards. Little did he know, they were my feeble attempts to open up to someone and ask for help, because I've been trying to work it out alone and it's gotten me nowhere. He said that i'm hopeless and permanently choosing to be sad and butt hurt about my life. I was told that I ruin every moment that comes to pass that has a potential of being happy.

I felt judged on a daily basis. When I don't feel safe, i fold. I felt like I was adding a new list of things to change on a daily, aspects of who i am to eliminate. I felt disposable. He called me an "airhead."

That shook me because I didn't realize that all I talk about is how shitty my life is. My thought process had always been: "This is how i feel, and I trust you, and this is why I'm telling you this." It's become a habit, because it's mentally my normal. And I didn't realize that it was such a bad thing. I always thought that sharing things with people that matter to you was a way for you to show effort and to show that you want them in your life. It was never intended to burden you.

I'm a sad and bitter person on a regular when I don't have to be "on" for people at work or people who don't know the real me.

I realized.. I'm happier talking about pain because my mind has been conditioned by the many people in my life that i will constantly be a second thought. I didn't realize that I accepted the fact that my peace, my relief, my happiness will never be a priority to anybody. No one will go above and beyond for me the way I go above and beyond for them. No one will ever love me the way I want to be loved because my expectations are all straight from movies and sitcoms.. they're not realistic.. for me. For other people, they are. For me, nah. Thinking about being happy and finding companionship that I deserve has only brought more pain, because with every attempt came a greater failure. I can't remember when exactly it was, but I do remember asking myself if finding my happy was worth another shot. Could I really risk one more chance at some mediocre form of happy, only to produce a "screw up" to add to my list of many?

---

As I dip my toe in the sea of turmoil that is my feelings about this subject, I understand more and more that I am torn between hating them and hating myself. It feels so good to relish in the suffering that I went through because it's easier to feel resentment and hate towards those that have wronged me. Those that did not make me feel welcome. Those that used me as pink matter, a physical and emotional punching bag, and a companion because It was convenient for them. At the same time, I hate myself because I allowed this to happen to me. I was supposed to be my own champion, but I was too weak, and I couldn't really put up with it anymore, so I let go.

I don't recognized the lady i see when I look into the mirror. Recently, I met up with a few good friends that knew me in 2014. The first thing they said was "what happened to you?" I couldn't understand why they asked me that. I asked "why the question," and they responded along the lines of "you're not you anymore." The saddest part about that exchange was that I had no clue who they meant by "you" because I don't remember how I was. I wish I did, and I wish there was a way for me to go back to that, because at least the me then knew who she was.

I want to stop this. I want to finally find peace without ever having the option of just circling down the drain. I don't want to be sad anymore. I don't want to constantly be okay with pain. I don't know how to process these feelings because every time I make my way to open the pandora's box that is my feelings, I get overwhelmed and scared, because how i feel about certain things scares me and makes me angry. That's all I feel.

Submitting to its narrative is destroying me. Talking to the people that are supposed to be in my life isn't working anymore. Ignoring it isn't working anymore. Drinking only magnifies its intensity. Numbing myself in every way that I can has lost its power as my tolerance seems to get stronger and stronger. I feel like it's finding it's way out of the cold hearted tower I banished it to.

Here's to hoping that maybe writing this out can help. Here's to hoping that no one ever experiences this on even the smallest of scales. I wouldn't wish losing one's self on anyone.

Be brave. Stay Bueno.

"And if we can't go back to the way things were, could you bring me back to the person I was before?"