Between a Rock and a Hard Place

The relationship that I share with my family has never been that great. I’m the oldest of four by almost three years and from the age of eight the responsibility of maintaining the household was mine, as both of my parents worked long hours. I never had a normal childhood because of this, and a close sibling relationship never developed because I was seen as more of an authority figure than a brother.

When I was younger, my father had an affair which produced another child. My mother found out about this and attempted suicide after a legal separation. I was old enough to understand the situation in part, but never knew the truth. Eventually my parents worked their relationship out and renewed their wedding vows.

Growing up, I can remember that there was a distinct lack of emotional and affectionate expression within the family. Anger was the one emotion shown freely and though instances of physical abuse occurred near the time of my incarceration, verbal and emotional abuse was a constant occurrence in my life. For some reason, my siblings were almost never the focus of it; I drew the brunt of it all.

When I was 14, I discovered the details about my half-sister for the first time. I instantly resented the years of deception by my parents and my relationship with them, however twisted it may have been, was shattered. From that point on, I chose to do whatever I wanted to, and often times did things to instigate trouble. In combination with other aspects of my life, things quickly spiraled out of control.

Today, our relationship remains toxic. Because of the things that were done just prior to my incarceration, my family places the sole blame for every problem in their individual lives on me and, admittedly, I deserve some of the blame. There exists a great amount of anger, resentment, and fear within the individual members of my family that is directed toward me.

The trouble is that my family is completely blind to the issues that we face as a family. I am constantly reminded of the part I played in our issues, and the effects that has had on the family. I am also made a scapegoat for their own unresolved feelings and issues. It is as if resolving my personal issues will also resolve theirs.

This leaves me with a troubling problem. More than anything else in this world, I want my family to be healed and to be a part of my life. As things stand now, that cannot happen. Though my own issues are no longer an obstacle to healing, theirs are still in the way. I realize that I can do nothing about this and that, because they continue to deny the reality of the situation, things will probably never be resolved.

Because my family has such a negative effect on my life, I can now clearly see that in order to continue my own progress and have a chance at succeeding in life, I must cut them from it.
Only it’s not that simple. First of all, I love my family, no matter how dysfunctional it is. Love is what makes any decision regarding my family important and hard to make.

Also, I’m extremely stubborn. I know that my family is bad for me, and cutting them from my life is the right thing to do at this point, yet do I want to do it?

I know that I cannot heal my family on my own. I can do nothing to resolve their issues. I cannot change things. Yet I don’t want to give up. Even though I know that the issue is not mine anymore, I see my family the way it is as a failure of mine and I never let a failure go unresolved.

I must choose between three options. The first is to cut my family from my life and move on. No doubt this will cause me a great deal of pain and guilt added to that which I already feel. It will also hurt them and leave them with unanswered questions. I do not know if I have the strength to spare for the weight it will place on my already overloaded conscience.

The second option is to let my family know exactly where I stand and let them choose to either acknowledge and resolve their issues or continue with their lives without me. This could completely backfire on me by allowing them to the opportunity to deceive me as they have in the past.

However, it could open their eyes to reality and be the first real step in achieving my goal of repairing my broken family. What I need to say to them though, will definitely stir the pot of already volatile emotions, and make it fairly easy for them to blame me for shattering the fragile relationship that is currently in existence.

My third choice is to accept things as they are and continue the charade that suggests that things will eventually get better. If I do this, my family’s toxicity threatens my very life. The constant negativity that exists in my family has caused me to break in my past; twice leading to violent encounters that have resulted in incarceration, and once in an attempted suicide. It is almost certain that if things continue as they are, such an event may occur again--either by my own actions or the emotion-driven actions of another family member.

Coming up on parole, the need to make decisions such as these are instrumental to my chances of success in life. My issues run far deeper than criminality, incarceration, and the need to learn how to live an adult life. My family issues further complicate an already complicated life, and the decisions I must make regarding them are far from easy.

Whatever decision I make, I can be sure that its consequences will affect the course of my life.

I only wish that I didn’t have to choose.

The Power of Choice

With my potential release from prison looming on the horizon, I am struggling to prepare myself to face the many challenges such a transition will undoubtedly present. One of those challenges has been foremost in my thoughts recently and has elicited a fear response from my psyche because it is something that I am unable to prepare for. Overcoming this challenge is probably the most detrimental part of my success in the transition from prison to life.
For my entire thirty years my life has been dictated by others and lived within the bounds of a tight structure. The few instances that I have deviated from the structure in my life and made my own choices didn’t turn out so well. I am accustomed to being told what I can and cannot do, what to wear, what to eat, and how to spend my time.
We all experience limited control over our lives as children. Our parents dress us. Our parents feed us. Our parents tell us when it’s time to go to sleep. From the age of five until we graduate, we go to school, which has its own set of rules, its own dictates and runs on a tight schedule. There is surprisingly little freedom of choice as a child, and in that respect, prison life is similar to life as a child.
I went directly from childhood, albeit a troubled one resembling more a life of abusive servitude than that of a child, to prison. I have spent nearly half my life in prison where I have absolutely no real freedom of choice. I do as I’m told, eat as I’m told, wear what I’m told, and even wake when I am told.
My entire day is rigidly structured around four head counts and three meals. The time in between them is spent working as I’m told, where I’m told, and when I’m told; in recreation which is limited by certain guidelines; or in educational or rehabilitative programming. I have been doing the exact same things, in the exact same way, at the exact same times, for years on end. My life can be lived mechanically.
There is a certain comfort to be found in all of this. When decisions about how to live your life are not yours to make, the responsibilities tied to them are also out of your hands. Worry and stress all but disappear. I know exactly what the next day, or week, or month is going to bring. This is how my life is different from yours.
I’m not naïve enough to believe that people get to dictate their own lives. I know that life dictates itself but that as it plays out, circumstances present themselves that require choices to be made, and that people are free to make choices that determine the outcome of the circumstances.
What triggers my fear is how foreign that concept is for me. My choices have been limited by both the rigid structure of my life and limited to those not already made for me. The only important choice I have had to make in my life is the one that led me to prison.
What is going to happen when I am free to make the choices that determine the path my life takes? What is going to happen when I find that I enjoy something, but that something is counterproductive to the goals I have set for myself? What is going to happen if the road I’ve taken begins to get a bit rough and I have the option to continue on or take the easy way out? What am I going to do when I don’t know what tomorrow will bring?
The truth is I don’t know. I can’t even imagine it. Of course I know already what the right choices are for almost every decision I will ever face in life, but I don’t know if I will be able or willing to make the right decisions. There is no way to prepare for that.
Hopefully, I will find it to be easier than I think it will be and I’m making much ado about nothing. If not, I hope my fears about failure push me always in the right direction.