Whipped

"Do this!" and I do it. "Help lah!", and I help. "Leave me alone!" and I clear out. "Do it this way!" and I follow blindly. "Shut up!" and I clam up.

I have been raised from young to unquestioningly follow orders, reprimanded for infringing on others' personal space, and generally angering the close to heart. In my youth, as any human being would, I fought back to reclaim what I thought was my personal space, that it was my right to do what I did, mostly within reasonable bounds. Alas, I was of lowly mettle and, having realized the monolithic reality before me, copped out, tail between my legs. When they strode straight at me with a thunderous noise, I meekly stepped out of the way, sometimes hoping that I will somehow, someday, become strong enough to stop them cold, sometimes realizing that hoping in itself was futile, and then sometimes hoping that I would go beyond hoping and find a way.

As I endured jostling after jostling, my angsty, vengeful will retreated into embers, fading into obscurity. I was no longer cunning, no longer sharpening the daggers beneath my sleeves. I was meek. I had given up the fight, and accepted the prospect of forever bowing to everyone else, never having a will of my own, never having an sovereign, unfettered opinion. Forever in compliance with everyone around me.

Day after day, month after month, year after year, I have been whipped in the ears. Repeatedly, time and time again. Even though that was as far as the whippings went, I became whipped in the heart. Giving up. Supporting others instead of standing for myself so that I would no longer suffer the lashings that I came to dread. I became weak.

Am I just a whipped dog?

God, please help me find my will. I think I've lost it...

I need it, God. If not yesterday, or today, then as soon as possible. Because there are people who need me to have it with me.

I am tired of opening the box of my life. There is simply too much broken glass to throw out without cutting my hands.