Captive

Hell. It’s a real place. And its not what you think it may be. When we think of hell we think of fire and brimstone, demons and ghosts. But sometimes hell can be your family. Well that was the case for me anyway.

Whenever holidays came around, I got a huge sense of dread, as the impending apocalypse that is Christmas, knocked on our doors. Most families put up trees or send their loved ones a card. Food gets made and presents get wrapped. Extended family come to stay and school ends. Its all an amazing time. Well in theory.

My holidays were a little different. Firstly, I would panic, as holidays for me bring back awful memories of when I was held captive by my own family. No, they didn’t tie me up or lock me in a basement, but they still destroyed my image of how family should be.

In my house, family was always an F word. Out and about they were the perfect parents, showering myself and my brother with love and support. And they put it on thick. It was enough to fool anyone, even me.

Behind closed doors though, it was a very different story. The abuse, both physical and mental, well it was off the charts. I remember even now, years on, the fear and existential dread I would feel walking into the house and never knowing what mood my parents would be in. if they were happy, I was scared, if they were angry, I disappeared. I was seen and never heard. Even that didn’t make them happy some days.

One Wednesday I had come home, my split lip barely healed from the previous night, when my father started laying into me again. I would go to my mother for support, but she would just shrug and look the other way.

I took it, always keeping my mouth shut, never uttering a word to anyone about it. I just waited for the day that his knuckles would rip their way through his skin. I never complained and I never asked for help. I was held captive by the manipulation of their ways. It had been engrained in my being, from a young age, that if I spoke up, I would get hit. So, I stayed quiet. Never made a peep when it happened. I was scared for what was to come so I shut down.

I left home at 14 and never looked back. Just the thought of family, still makes me break out in a cold sweat and tremble in fear.

Seeing my parents form the perfect family without me, well it hurt. My brother was always the one who could do no wrong and was always right. No matter what he said or did.

Years later, making a life for myself was hard. I was scared and pushed people away a lot because of it. Eventually, as everything else in life has a course of action and grows, so did my family. It was filled with love and support. From my nonna who was married into the family and then treated like an outcast until they just finally stopped talking to her, right down to my three godsons. I had friends who always had my back and would make me smile. Sometimes I would panic, catching a whiff of their deodorant or hear someone that sounds just like them. But my family helped me get through the panic and never once did they judge me for it. This was my family now and I no longer had split lips that I had to try and hide or a tear streaked face peeking out of the bedroom, waiting for them to sleep so I could leave. I was loved and I was happy.

One Christmas, it was 40 degrees Celsius outside and there was no breeze. We were all sitting down at the beach, getting fried like a turkey on thanksgiving. The sun was harsh, and the sand got lodged in places it would stay for the next year. The water was cool but staying in it to long would increase the burning on your skin. We would be heading home soon to start the cooking as all our bellies were making whale noises.

There were multiple families around us, children laughing as the waves crashed at their feet and parents having a few drinks, wrapped in brown paper. People were laughing and doing things families do.

We ended up leaving the beach at the arrival of my family. They looked straight through me like I never even existed to them as they flicked their towels down and stared at us until we moved. They always liked to have things their way.

My friends obliged, picking up their kids and belongings and leaving the beach. I was frozen in fear, my breath catching in gasps as I backed away. I tripped over their umbrella and the look that I got from them, sent my body into a cold panic. I was no longer hot and sweaty but instead scared and cold.

My family came back for me and stood guard between me and my relatives. They wouldn’t let them close and one of them even threw fists with my father to protect me. I ran up the beach never looking back. In the car I calmed down as my three godsons all under 5 poked me and tried to tickle me. High fives were given all around.

Once we had gotten home, everyone else was settling into the backyard for a barbeque, but I was trapped. I couldn’t make myself step outside and face them. I was scared that they would no longer accept me. Somebody knocked on my door and I opened it with shaking hands.

They handed me a cracker and a Christmas hat, and dragged me out of my room.

On the table they had laid a beautiful feast, prawns and ham and trifle. It was fit to feed a king. I sat down with them and toasted to an amazing new year with love and support. We broke Christmas crackers and shared bread, doing some brain teasers or mad libs while eating. My favourite dish was the chicken Caesar salad and the cheese and olives. We ate until our bellies couldn’t hold another bite and then laughed when the dogs would fight over the bones. Watching the kids try prawns for the first time was the highlight of the night as none of them liked the taste. Their little faces would screw up in disgust as they let the shellfish roll off their tongue and then pushing away their entire plate entirely. The only thing that made them happy was some chocolate and cream. To be fair though, I don’t blame them. Prawns are an acquired taste. By the time we cleared the table for dessert, the air was cool. We watched the kids play with their new toys, and then finally put them to bed. By the time we had dessert, we were all a bit lightheaded from all the eggnog and tiramisu. We had pavlova and tarts, chocolate cake and mince pies. We would be eating leftovers for weeks. It was such an amazing dinner and the first where I had openly enjoyed myself without any barriers.

This was my family. The ones I deserved but never had before. Through their love and support, family was no longer an F word for me. Holidays didn’t make me break out in a cold sweat, and I no longer panicked as much when I caught a whiff of their deodorant in the shops. I was no longer captive to something I could never control.

I no longer knew what hell looked like. Maybe heaven, but certainly not hell.