My mom asked me a question today. It was benign.

I think it was about my schedule next week. She wanted to plan a trip to the mall or something, but I couldn’t give a good answer. I don’t know what I was going to do next week; I can barely handle all my commitments going on this week— burdening myself with more scheduling right now, that’s way too far off to matter at the moment. Maybe later, when I can think, I’ll have a better answer.

But she demanded, this time. Again.

And I started to feel a headache. I think it has been growing since this morning, but I’ve been pushing it off— but I also felt really annoyed. What are we making for dinner? Avoid the question until I can actually think about it; just give me a minute.

But she kept asking. Clarifying without pause and with an urgency that was really unnecessary. Just tell me! I felt bombarded. Her persistence is really irritating me and, at this point, I realized I felt overwhelmed. I wanted her to stop— why can’t you just tell me?— but now I needed to leave. I have this headache, and it keeps growing, and all I could do is avoid and stop and escape and ignore everything going on. This is too much. Why are they so angry at me? What did I do wrong?

I silently excused myself and left the room. Tell me what’s going on? I wanted everyone to stop talking to me and I wanted to be left alone. I said I had a headache, cause it was really prominent now, and I went to my bed. I picked up a book to read. To keep busy. This will be over soon.

But my mom wouldn’t let me. She thundered into my room. She made me stop and shook me up.

She kept asking, again and again, coming up with solutions to why I had a headache: asking what is wrong. Then telling me what IS wrong. Then trying to solve it. Then giving advice. And then telling me there was something wrong with my brain. Then asking if she did anything wrong— all while I said nothing.

And I pulled on my sheets and hid myself beneath the veil to avoid all this chaos; all this unnecessary noise. She says, “you need to talk it out!”— but I just needed space!!! And I said this already! Why is she still here?

But I couldn’t just say it again either— she wouldn’t accept that. I don’t know what’s going on, but I didn’t want to just say I was just crazy all of a sudden either; I’m not crazy. She was the one being annoying!— but that’s just stoking the flames. Don’t say that. And she wouldn’t take that as an answer anyways. I am a normal person. I just have a headache right now— maybe from them being so persistent and so annoying! Her question was not important anyways; I already said we’ll talk about it later. But she just ignored it and kept making it a bigger issue than it needs to be. This isn’t important right now! I have a headache!

I was adamant. I stayed silent and hid, and, when she finally wouldn’t stop, I stated: “Leave me ALONE! I just have a headache right now and there’s nothing YOU can do to fix it!”

She stopped— finally. But she lingered. In silence. An uncomfortable silence. I could hear her breathing. It was loud. And I could hear her start to say something but then stopped. What does she want now? She sat there.

Until she got up, straightened my sheets, turned, and left.

But she walked out furious— in the other room, she started to call out to everyone about me. About what she thought was wrong with me and kept analyzing the sudden turn of events, my baffling actions for deeper meanings, things that weren’t even related.

That I can’t multitask. That I have a bad posture that caused my sudden headache. That I was stressed from work. That I was stressed from being outside of work. That I hated her for something she did. That I hated her for something she couldn’t do. That she has messed-up children and it was all her brother’s fault. She asked, to no one, what was wrong with my upbringing. What was wrong with me? I didn’t know, but she and her absent conversation partner apparently did. And so it went on and on. And on.

And my brother, who entered the room, joined to do the same, trying to explain the circumstances which could trigger this all-important headache. Or why I suddenly felt overwhelmed, albeit with much more empathy that he’s at least capable of mustering. Whether I was stressed by too many conversations. Was it even real?— but still all without me saying anything.

Conjectures and rationalizations flew across the house about why I ignored them. What did they do to deserve this treatment? Why am I so selfish? It’s just words; use them and say what you really meant to say. That I hated them. I heard them trade these theories and facts outside my room. My mom left the door open, so she knew I heard their accusations, wild or otherwise. And they reached a conclusion: I can’t handle schedules. I lacked the ability to plan things and, just like every time, I don’t like to talk about it and instead just opted to leave. As I apparently do with every problem I faced in my life.

But I just wanted space. I’ll get over this myself when I feel better— I’ve done it this way so many times already— why is everyone attacking me? Why is everyone trying to pick me apart? How could they understand what was happening to me? They aren’t me! Why don’t they just understand!? Just let me deal with this! It’s my problem! Not yours!

Eventually, the debate quieted. They all returned to their daily distractions, their televisions and more-engrossing phone conversations. And I, hidden away in my own corner of the house, was left alone.

And in the silence, my thoughts, bubbling, simmering, finally surfaced. They began to spiral. About how they kept wronging me. They kept accusing me of so much and never even listened. They began to linger. About how they were so annoying, so angry. They kept attacking me even after I hid. I felt the resentment building— why are they so selfish? So intrusive and pushy? I told them again and again, I just need to be alone and all they care about is forcing me to be that “normal” person again to answer that question. That question I can’t answer right now. That “normal” person I put up to show everyone when I am okay. That takes a lot of effort! And I am not okay right now, and I need time and space BY MYSELF. I need to be alone. Why won’t they just leave me alone!?

And after the fury and the injustice dissolves, over time while laying in bed, I started to feel really, really alone. My world had shrunk so much, much smaller. The sky disappeared and the roads vanished. The house had gone and the room dissolved away. All that was left was my bed. Nothing outside the small fitted circumference of my body remained, still wrapped in sheets. It was so small that I could barely stay on it. I couldn’t move. It fit only me. No one else could have ever lived there. No one could ever, truly, believe me.

They kept making assumptions and assuming it was right. They kept blaming me for everything and assuming I didn’t care. They kept demanding more and more— and I took it. I will keep this peace, whatever that is left, and suck it up. I will be responsible. This is family.

I wiped off the tears, readied myself, and inched out of bed. Forget everything that happened; my world may be small, but I only need myself in it. I went back into the room and answered their question. They caused my headache because they were annoying, but I’ll be the bigger person cause I can handle it. I just needed space. They don’t understand me; all they want is what I can do for them next Wednesday. They don’t care about me at all.

And after I told them I could drive for them next Wednesday, their anger came back. They reignited. They blamed me for being stressed out over nothing, and she threw out: “Just forget it! Everything stresses you out. I don’t need you. I’ll do it. Just go back in your room!” And, if I was well-collected that day, I’d let it go and apologize for my headache. For I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t who they expected me to be. I wasn’t who I needed to be. But I couldn’t. Not today.

I said, “okay.” And I crawled back. Back into my small world, alone, where I always belonged.

-=~+~=-

But what if I stopped myself? When I said, “Leave me alone”— and I laid back in bed, I instead detached. And I breathed. I watched my breath and relaxed my body while my mom ranted away in the hall. I still had a headache. I was still angry. But I separated myself. From my feelings. And from my thoughts, I asked myself: why do I actually feel this way?

I know she can be obsessive and self-absorbed, but why do I feel so overwhelmed? What actually caused that? Cause she definitely stoked the flames by being impatient and crossing my boundaries multiple times, and my headache really showed itself when she asked me that question. But I don’t think she really started it. Maybe I got fed up, but she wasn’t pestering me about anything before then.

Cause on a normal day, if I was normal, I would be able to answer her. In fact, if I imagined watching myself as someone else, of the actions I actually took, ignoring my thoughts and feelings in that moment, this does seem like an overreaction. That I was, indeed, ignoring them. What they did had exacerbated the issue, but what was I doing? And why was I doing that?

And when I then included my thoughts— my feelings back in, I saw this was not an overreaction. It’s a valid reaction, but it was not to HER. Not to this moment. I was overwhelmed by something else and she was just there to keep pushing into it. She probably didn’t know, and how could she? I didn’t tell her anything, but she also never just stopped to ask. To be understanding. Why can’t we just understand one another?

But what is it I am actually feeling? Cause it wasn’t about her question nor how she kept bugging me afterward. I mean, it didn’t make it better, but that was not the cause. That was not what I reacted to. So what was it?

And to be honest, even as I write this, I still don’t know. I’m piecing it together, over time, but I want it to stop. Because all of this resentment and frustration damages relationships. But, more importantly, it’s exhausting me. I can always keep face, recover, and make amends to maintain these relationships, but this has become a personal toll on me. This is a wound, a self-inflicted pain, that I now carried with me everywhere. And I can’t escape by pushing it down anymore. I have to face it.

Because it’s been a while since I felt this again. It made me stop and really think about why. To ignore these emotions, these anxieties, however loud and obnoxious they were, and be comfortable suffering through them so I can pry into myself— so I can see where it’s coming from. I thought I healed this over the past year, through my excursions of self-discovery, of meditation, and of self-reflection. But it’s back.

Maybe next time I will catch myself earlier and finally understand what really went wrong with me.

Because I don’t want to live alone in this crappy, small world anymore. I’m done running away from myself.