It's Me

I hate dislike hate going home. It's difficult for me to really talk about with anyone, because at GCC you don't meet many people who come from such convoluted and frequently disastrous home lives, and then at home, why would I go up to my family members and say, "By the way, I would rather be anywhere else." It'd be suicide. I want to live, and I have to live somewhere, so no thank you, I'll just be quiet and keep to myself. And that's exactly what going home is like for me during break periods. I come home and I say hello and if it's summer I'll work and sometimes I get dragged around to events and things, but in the end the majority of my time is spent upstairs. In my room. With the door closed. And it makes me sad, you know, because who wants to be asked about their family and have to hunt around for things to say because, really, they try to avoid their family as much as possible? Coming home for the funeral-related events was even worse, because the people in my family don't really talk to each other about deep things or emotional things. So in addition to being really upset about the death of my grandfather, I was faced with the thought, "Oh, holy crap, everyone's going to be crying and showing emotion," and other thoughts like that. I'm appalled at myself when I acknowledge that the thought of any emotional contact, tangible or intangible, with my family, makes my skin crawl. Because we don't do that here. But recently, I've started to recognize something: It's just me.

I don't know how to explain this properly, so maybe you won't understand the words I'm saying in addition to not being able to understand the feeling, but I'll try. I realized that I'm the only one in my family who doesn't want to touch anyone else, or at least the only person with such a bad case. I'm the only person (though I have my suspicions about my mother), who defaults to a solemn, stoic face (frequently deemed "mad at the world" by my family members) when confronted with emotions that I've decided need to stay hidden. It's not that my family doesn't hug, it's that I don't hug my family. It's not that no one in my family shares things or gets emotional, it's that I don't allow myself to share things or to be emotional. I was hanging out with my grandmother on Monday and she told me that it was good to hang out and have fun with me, especially since I'm alway so solemn. Excuse me? Has any one of you ever used that word in conjunction with my name? I've found myself in the middle of some sort of double-headed identity crisis. I've posted on my own blog that I recognize how Christ has changed me into the happier, more loving Tavi. But then at home, it'd be idiotic of me to deny that I'm closed-off and emotionally selfish. So who, or what, am I? Couldn't tell you. But I will tell you what I'm trying to do.

First, FFG, or Family Family Group. I've shared before my doubts about my family's "salvation status." For the majority of my existence my prayers for them have been along the lines of, "Please save them, and please send somebody else to them." Essentially, let this cup pass from me. I won't deny that I still feel that way sometimes, but instead of moping about I'm attempting to counteract it by forcing the members of my family to sit down and do Bible study together, weekly. We're supposed to start on Saturday...we'll see. I'll have no choice but to be spiritually and emotionally open to my family during these times, at least if I'm trying to do it right. Second, I'm trying to show my younger siblings that I like them. Obviously I love them, because they're family, but according to my mother, they think I hate them. This is probably because I'm the only person in this family who even remotely attempts to discipline them on a regular basis, and so I'm the bad guy. Fine, whatever. But while I'm absolutely positive that my disciplinary efforts are the reason for this, it can't be ignored that I rarely ever try to do things with them for the heck of it, to show them that I care about them in ways beyond hugs (which I don't do with them. One step at a time, people.). Third, I'm trying to communicate with my mother. This is an exhausting and frequently frustrating exercise that I will decline discussing. But I'm trying.