Is it okay?
For five years, my conscience reiterated this question inside of my head. It started when I was merely fourteen years old, easing into desperate pleads, begging to be answered. I, myself, never had an answer though, as is the often trend amongst teenagers. I knew nobody else could decide for me, and I knew it would take me a while, so for years I suffered in silence, constantly pondering whether or not it was, in fact, okay.
He wasn't always a horrible person, in my younger years he proved to be quite the opposite. In hindsight, it's hard to imagine myself diving towards the ground to throw my little arms around his nearest leg in an attempt to sustain him from grabbing his suitcase. It's hard to believe I loved him as much as I did, but how else are you supposed to feel about your family members? We grow accustomed to loving anyone that falls under the 'family' category unconditionally, never choosing from an option of emotions, simply becoming close to them by default. And up until I was fourteen, these automatic settings were a perfect match, if only we were reassured that feelings towards another person are not unalterable.
The initial sign of his transition came in the form of profane speech habits. Swearing is a fairly universal convention, but not to this degree, and not with this aggression. It was tolerable on it's own, because no matter how far you distanced yourself within the house, the words seemed to pierce through the ceilings and walls, and there's greater comfort sitting around a table with siblings and having profanities blaring into your ears, rather than faint taunts slipping into your ears under a door crack, shaking and alone.
Fast forward a few months, and try to believe that 'shaking and alone' became a better alternative. And that the taunts were welcomed with open arms, so long as you escaped the dreaded physical contact that accompanied boozy growls. Getting to a point where your eyes are streaming, praying his hands are too fumbled to pick your weak lock, swiping hastily at your eyes trying to mask invulnerability, just in case. All the while, the only words louder than his screeches are the desperate pleas inside your own head, constantly seeking an answer,
Is it okay? Is it okay? Is it okay?
Yes.
After five long years, four other siblings, three chances too many, two close calls, the one answer I subconsciously granted myself the permission to decide on was yes. It is okay, not to love somebody unconditionally. It is okay to stop forgiving somebody's faults. It is okay to put yourself first and move on.
Yes. Finally, at nineteen years of age, I have at last began to live a healthier, more positive life. We may not have all of the answers, but the right ones will find us in time, and the yes's we are brave enough to pursue will change our lives in the best way possible.
