Friday 23 September 2011

... 113

My best friend finally responded with a few words telling she’s out of town, “xoxoxo”. Err, OK, umm… It’s good to know I’m still on the list of her friends; it’s more than good-it’s a relief. But I’ll have to keep it a secret how her silence made me feel, the agony it put me through. Because it’s not her fault I am overly sensitive, it’s not her business to know that silence to me is a death sentence. Why this fear of abandonment? Where did it come from? Why do I always have to be assured I am worthy of friendship and love or else I fall apart?

My father used to give me the silent treatment in my teenage years. That was his method of punishment-evident disregard, silence that shouts “You don’t exist for me! ”-as I was an empty space. That was his way to protect his authority whenever I dared to express an opinion contradicting his. He probably didn’t know how to communicate with me. I don’t he hated me-he just wasn’t aware of the consequences of what he was doing. I think it was then that I went silent about what was going inside my mind-it felt safer that way. I must have missed the right moment to stop. And my father missed the right moment to start talking.

OK, let’s say I know how I got here. How is that of help?

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