So I was out driving around the other day, trying to clear my head and was listening to music. The song Bohemian Rhapsody came on and the line, “Sometimes wish I’d never been born at all!” finally clicked for me.
For years, I’ve been trying to get to the root of my self loathing. It was something I traced to the fundamental beginning of all of my anxiety and depression, but could never really reach the reason for it. It didn’t make sense to my logic seeking mind.
When I heard that lyric, though, it all came flooding back. From a very young age, I became aware that my parents actively and openly hated each other. Their fighting and abuse of each other, my brothers and myself, made me wish that I could never have existed, because then this chain of events would never have taken place.
I then began to hate myself for even being born, because my birth was the thing that triggered the bad things to happen to the people I care about.
As a child, this wish to not exist was not like being suicidal. To end my life wasn’t the same as never being born, because suicide would actually make things worse. I never wanted to kill myself, I just wanted to never live in the first place. In my child’s mind, they were very distinct and separate things. I think they still are.
Still, I know with logic and reason that these thoughts are not helpful or productive, and in my heart, I don’t want to die. I have a lot of happiness now, and I feel like I do a lot of things to make other people’s lives better. I’m recovering from my abusive childhood and from the self destructive things I’ve done to myself because I didn’t either know better or love myself enough to care otherwise.
Since my son was born, I’m determined to make his life happy and as well-adjusted. It’s for him that I want to be a better person, to work through my own issues and be a good mommy. It’s also for myself, because I’m tired of carrying around other people’s problems as my own.
I’ve realized that even if I hadn’t been born, my dysfunctional parents would have gone on to do damage to other people, making horrible families elsewhere and that sacrificing myself wouldn’t have been able to undo that fact that they’re just bad people inside.
Since I had this realization, though, I’m lighter. I feel like a weight has been lifted, and that I don’t have to bear this burden on my heart. I’ve still struggled with my depression and anxiety, but I finally feel like I’m “getting better.”