When I was a kid I was a trouble maker. I would lash out against my family, especially my sister and my father, in uncontrolled and violent ways. This was a pretty common occurrence at the Comer household, and it almost always resulted in the same thing: me, sitting in my room, no access to TV or video games, being forced to think about what I did and what it meant to be punished for it.
I always seemed to come to the same conclusion: that my family was against me, that they refused to listen to my concerns or wants, and that I could not trust them.
Those feelings are hard to shake as you age and to be perfectly honest, they are feelings that in no small way I still harbor to this day. Maybe the point of view has matured a little, but the sentiment is still there. I don’t think they are all against me, but I do feel there is a lack of understanding regarding me. I do still feel that they refuse to listen to me, but I think that is a general problem in my family, no one listens to anyone with any real intention of understanding, solving, or moving forward. I have no reason to believe I cannot trust any of them, but the feeling still lingers there. I often find myself huddled over an idea or feeling, long considering if I should express it to my family. Probably 90% of the time I don’t do it. I’m too afraid of their reactions. Not necessarily how they react to me, but what kind of mood those reactions will put me in for weeks to come while they are able to move on freely and I’m stuck.
When I was a child, I would purposely try to piss my family off. I would do things that I knew would get me in trouble as long as I felt like the punishment was worth the reaction I would get. Most of the time I went for it, and most of the time it was worth it. I was very satisfied with myself when I could upheave an entire household and I got to get away from it all by banishment to my room with my books.
Now I don’t want to piss my family off, but I don’t care if I do. I let them hinder my life enough as it is. I have somewhat underwhelming relationships with them all, excluding my sister, and despite efforts on both sides to improve it, I don’t see it going anywhere.
I suppose the lessons learned as a child really matter in adulthood. I wish I would’ve taken different things away from the lessons being taught to me, but I didn’t. While the anger of my youth has moved on, it has left its mistrust and suspicion behind.