Final Chapter of Full Body Burden Gabriella Maddaloni-my own personal "writing about what scares me" triumph

            This chapter was definitely the most insightful one, and the most meaningful one to me.  One quote that really struck me because I can admit to having thought it myself, except as referring to both parents instead of one in particular, was, “What is a daughter’s responsibility to a father?  Is a child obligated to love, care for, and respect a parent in the face of indifference?  Indifference that is perhaps more devastating than conflict or anger?  He has been absent, tormented, darkly destructive, angry, sometimes threatening.  I am invisible to him, yet my father looms so large in my memory and imagination that I can’t seem to knock him loose from my head or my heart”  (Iversen, 309).    This struck me so strongly because I can admit to feeling, at many times, abandoned by my parents. 

            I was, for lack of a better word, “trained” at a very young age by my parents to be strong and independent.  It was an unspoken rule in my house that crying was weakness, while suffering in my bedroom alone in silence was strength and respected.  I always knew that my parents loved me, I just didn’t understand their lack of needing to express it.  I’m not an overly emotional, constantly crying, hugging type by any means.  Yet, I do express my feelings of love towards those I care deeply for.  That wasn’t the case for my parents, and while I knew they loved me even without saying, I was almost positive they didn’t love each other and I still am.  They constantly fought and I can remember from as young as three years old, hearing them scream at each other downstairs in the kitchen.  Four years ago, I was sick of the lack of emotion.  I was holding everything in to keep them happy, and they had an unattainable sight of perfection for me.  I had to do everything that everyone else was doing, but more and better.    I had to sing, play violin, piano, guitar.  I had to run cross country, track, swim, and play field hockey.  Anything other than number 1 or varsity was unacceptable.  I was never good enough, with grades or school, even though I had a 104 overall percentage.  Then the knowing of their love for me ended.  I became the object of their hatred, and starting then all we were ever able to do was fight.  The screaming matches at each other became bonds for them because they were screaming at me, the common enemy.  I was lost beyond all hope, and I couldn’t hide from the fighting anymore because it was directed at me; if I tried to run they’d follow me.  It all became too much for my 14 year old self to handle.  Soon I had unknowingly unleashed a deadly habit, cutting.  I was great at lying and keeping it from everyone simply by cutting areas no one would see.  The only time I made it at all obvious was at home, but my parents ignored it.  Years later, after overcoming my habit, my parents admitted to having known the entire time.  It was no surprise to me that they knew because my parents had only asked about it once in the three year span of me all but waving my cuts in their faces.  They asked and my less-than enthusiastic response was that I dropped my razor in the shower, a pathetic cover-up because all I really wanted was for them to care.  Eventually I realized that I couldn’t make them care for me and I had to care for myself, but this happened in a much more dramatic manner than needed. So I forced them to admit my problem, there was no more hiding in my room, or hiding my cuts in places covered by clothing.  They made it clear that I would receive professional help.  They were supportive and sought me treatment.  Now, looking back, I wonder why I so badly wanted their acceptance and love when all I ever really needed was my own.  Therapy actually helped me overcome my own insecurities, which turned out to be at the root of the whole problem. 

            The reason I chose the quote I did, was because I can empathize with feeling invisible.  I was never enough of a shining star for my parents to notice and congratulate me.  I can empathize with feeling frustrated by knowing they have forgotten me, but not being able to forget them.  I suppose I have finally reached the point of where my parents wanted me to, strength.  No amount of criticism from anyone can harm me, I only care about what I think of myself, and what those whom I deeply care for, love, and trust think about me.  I don’t concern myself, anymore, with people who haven’t proven to me that they deserve for me to care what they think.  I am finally truly strong, independent and most importantly happy.  This quote could sum up a good 17 years of my life, but I no longer let those thoughts define me. I put myself through too many years of forced silence behind closed doors, just to make my parents happy.  Yet, I’ve made the conscience decision to break that silence because “the cost of silence and the secrets it contains is high, but you don’t learn the price until later” (Iversen 300).