[Depressing Essay] I Was a Cog in the Family Machine

*Contains some depictions suggestive of violence and impulsive thoughts

I was a cog.

For a long time, I lived as a cog to keep the family from falling apart.

Ever since I was in elementary school, I killed my own emotions to avoid disrupting the atmosphere at home.

I simply stayed silent and kept spinning to suit the family's convenience.

It wasn't as if I was born with a mission to be a cog.

If such a person existed, they would be an anomaly.

I wasn't born in such a strange way, either.

Perhaps the trigger for becoming a cog was the family discord that occurred when I was in the upper grades of elementary school.

At least, if my memory serves me correctly.

I had an older brother four years my senior.

He had always been mean-spirited and prone to holding grudges. When he reached middle school, he went down a path of delinquency that was like something out of a picture book.

He would throw tantrums when he couldn't get what he wanted, and he would harm me whenever something didn't please him.

Such violence existed even before he became a delinquent, but I feel it became merciless once he did. Ever since he started acting out, he would scramble to collect the money he needed before going out with his bad friends.

First, he would steal the money I had saved, and if that wasn't enough, he would start ransacking the house.

The way he ransacked the house was beyond normal levels.

Normally, one would open a dresser drawer, check the contents, and then close it, repeating the process.

But my brother, perhaps because of his nasty personality or because he had a few screws loose, would pull the drawers out and dump their contents all over the floor.

The more my brother tore through the house, the more of a mess the rooms became.

Notebooks, my mother's handkerchiefs, and other things were being scattered across the room in the blink of an eye, until there was nowhere left to step.

After finishing his search, my brother would usually leave by slamming the front door shut.

I suppose he didn't find as much money as he had hoped.

Meanwhile, I would be huddled up, trying not to get hurt by the flying drawers and objects.

And from the gap between my arms protecting my head, I would watch my brother, who looked like a demon.

I remember the sound of metal and wood hitting the floor being more terrifying than thunder.

The rest of the family was not there.

My family was a single-parent household, and my mother worked until late at night.

My father was apparently a hopeless man who had disappeared long ago.

In other words, from the time I got home from school until my mother returned, I spent a lot of time alone with my deranged brother.

Even outside of the house-searching times I just mentioned, I spent my time trying to hide from my brother.

Some of you reading this might want to say that since we were brothers, I should have used force to stop him.

However, I was in the upper grades of elementary school at the time, and my brother was in junior high.

With a four-year age gap between brothers, there was little chance of winning in a head-on fight.

Besides, my brother was a jealous and resentful person, so even if I had managed to win by surprise, the aftermath would have been troublesome.

I'm sure that until he forgot his grudge, he would have hit me as we passed each other or suddenly shoved me.

It is a story that also applies to abused children; what people with problematic family members fear is not the other person's physical strength.

It is the fear that even if you fight and beat them, you still have to continue living together.

Because you are being resented by someone with abnormal grudges, all under the same roof.

What I used to do

After my older brother left home, all I could do was clean up.

Handkerchiefs, notebooks, and things I didn't really understand as a child were scattered all over the floor, drawers and all.

There was no way I could know which item belonged in which drawer.

However, relying on my faint memories, I would put the items back into the drawers and return them to the dresser.

At that time, my top priority was to make sure my mother didn't find out about my brother's actions.

It wasn't that I was protecting my brother.

I just didn't want my mother, who came home exhausted from work, to sense that there was a problem.

That said, even if an elementary school student tried to cover things up, it couldn't be fully restored.

In the end, I would be asked what happened, and I would reluctantly tell my mother about my brother's actions.

That would lead to another fight between my brother and mother, which was depressing, but I suppose it was my responsibility for not being able to hide it completely.

When I recall the solemn look on my mother's face at those times, my chest still feels heavy.

This was how I spent my time after school when I was in the upper grades of elementary school.

My brother would turn the house upside down to take anything of value
I would clean it up, and when I was alone, I would play the Super Famicom
When my mother came home, I would report the brother's actions that I couldn't hide to her

The time my brother was around was painful, and I actually felt more at ease when I was playing games by myself.

Even now, I sometimes dig out games I'm used to playing, and perhaps this is a remnant of those days.

Premonition of collapse

As time went on, my brother's delinquency began to escalate even further.

It went without saying that he would leave the room in a mess, but when he didn't have money, he started destroying the sliding doors and tables.

This really got to me.

I could manage simple tidying up, but I couldn't repair the torn sliding doors or the broken table.

I could only feel anxious about how my mother would react and what kind of fights my brother and mother would have.

Furthermore, my brother's behavior escalated, and he began to hit not just me, but my mother as well.

With just one deranged brother, our household completely fell apart.

I was quite depressed during this period, and at the same time, I was also angry.

At one point, I even thought about taking a kitchen knife and attacking my brother while he slept.

In the end, I gave up on the idea, thinking that my mother would be sad if I were arrested for murder.

Even now, I sometimes think that maybe I should have just stabbed him to death back then.

My brother's delinquency did not stop.

The house kept getting worse, and my mother, who was already raising us brothers on her own, looked like she was becoming quite mentally exhausted.

In fact, my mother even considered abandoning us brothers and disappearing.

But she told me at some point—I don't remember when—that she gave up on that because she felt bad about leaving me behind. I remember feeling sorry that I existed.

With all that, our family was definitely on the path to collapse.

I thought there was no way out unless I killed my brother.

However, a helping hand came from an unexpected place.

My uncle's intervention

My uncle, unable to stand by and watch my brother's delinquency, decided to intervene in our family affairs.

And so, I ended up temporarily taking refuge at my uncle's house.

While I was at my uncle's house, I played my Game Boy without talking to anyone.

I don't remember what I was thinking about at that time.

I just don't think I was even that concerned about what was happening at home.

I wasn't told the details of what my uncle did to my brother while I was taking refuge.

And then, a few days later, I ended up returning home.

When I reunited with my brother, his mouth was slightly cut.

I suspect my uncle probably punched him with his fist.

When I entered the living room, a somewhat luxurious meal was prepared on the table my brother had broken.

I remember that besides my brother, my aunt, uncle, and mother were also there.

I was told to sit in a chair, and I did as I was told.

"It's okay now."

I don't remember who said it, but someone said that to me while patting my head.

At that moment, I stopped caring about the feast in front of me.

I actually wanted to say it.

I wondered what was okay about it when they said it was okay now.

If I understood it simply, it meant my brother had been persuaded, he wouldn't go on a rampage anymore, so it was okay.

Even as an elementary school student, I understood that much.

However, I just couldn't accept it.

For years, I had been punched, kicked, threatened with a kitchen knife, had my money stolen, and been shot with an airsoft gun by my older brother.
And in recent years, I had been suffering greatly from his selfish misconduct.

On that day, at that time, one of the adults present
"It's going to be okay now"
said to me.

However, that was not the word from an adult that I wanted.
To put it more bluntly, I also had things I wanted to tell my brother.

What I was seeking was a sincere apology from my brother.
And what I wanted to convey to my brother was the resentment and anger I had held toward him all this time.

"It's going to be okay now"

The moment those words were said, those feelings of anger drained away as if an electric current had passed through me.

I thought about speaking my mind honestly.

Words to blame my brother were on the tip of my tongue.

However, I started thinking about what would happen after I said them.

If I demanded an apology, if I lashed out with my resentment, what would happen to my brother?

If the education from our uncles had been successful, he might have apologized on the spot.

But what if that education was only superficial, or what if my brother was more mentally unstable than I had anticipated?

Surely, my brother would have flipped the table laden with food, shaken off the adults trying to stop him, trashed the house, and beaten me for getting ahead of myself.

Should I ruin the situation that had finally calmed down thanks to the adults' intervention by dredging up my own emotions?

After a moment of hesitation, I decided what to do.

The answer was
to put on a casual smile and start eating the food.

I had convinced myself that if I didn't demand an apology, didn't vent my anger, and just played along with a silly grin, the situation would resolve peacefully.

From this day, from this moment on, I was no longer a member of a normal family.

I became a being who suppressed my own self entirely so that our family—this incomplete and distorted group—could settle into the most desirable form possible.

Thinking about it now, I believe I should have just vented my anger.

The reason I became a cog maintaining the family was, in fact, within myself.

Regardless, on that day, I was completely finished as a cog forced to keep the house running.

At the same time, I lost my sense of belonging as a genuine member of this family.

My Role as a Cog

Ever since then, I lived my life paying meticulous attention to ensuring the family didn't become strained.

When my brother was about to lash out due to trouble, I racked my brains to resolve it.

When my mother was tired, I took the initiative to comfort her and became a listener for her.

Being a cog to prevent the family from falling apart was how I existed throughout my teens and twenties, I think.

I recently learned the term 'Good Boy Syndrome,' and perhaps I was a typical case of it.

Present

I plan to talk about how this came to be in another article, but I currently live alone at a considerable physical distance from my parents' home.

There are various reasons for this.

One of them was to stop being a cog for my family.

As a result, putting distance between myself and my parents' home has made things easier.

However, there are problems that only surfaced once I became free.

I mentioned 'Good Boy Syndrome' in the text earlier.

Perhaps I was a 'good boy' too.

That is because I am now facing the problems that people with Good Boy Syndrome encounter after becoming adults.

People with Good Boy Syndrome are those who have lived by suppressing themselves to respect other family members or others.

Because of that, they lose sight of their own true interests and concerns.

When that happens, they end up spending empty days as adults, unable to find goals or things they want to do.

This is something I can relate to.

Right now, I am at least able to live to the extent that I won't die.

However, I have no desire beyond that to do anything or to gain anything.

I am just living day by day, and I am living a life devoid of things like human vitality, dreams, or anything that brilliant.

I thought that once I left my parents' home, the feeling of dreaming would naturally return.

However, the backlash from having played the role of a cog (a good child) for so many years seems to have been far greater than I had imagined.

At present, there is no prospect of treatment for this.

I have not even consulted my current doctor about it.

If I were to deal with it, perhaps private counseling would be the way.

However, it will take time to save up enough money to receive counseling multiple times.

When I think about that, I cannot help but feel overwhelmed.

Note is my salvation now

What is providing me with even a little bit of salvation right now is perhaps this Note that I am writing.

Compared to other social media platforms, Note does not have a toxic atmosphere, and whenever I write an article, someone will give it a 'Like'.

Besides, it feels good to see the articles I have written accumulate.

From now on, as long as nothing happens to break my spirit, I intend to continue writing on Note regularly.

If possible, I would like to continue this habit until I have saved enough money for counseling, and perhaps even write about my treatment records.

It is a very small wish, but I believe that fulfilling it is also necessary for me to break free from being a cog.

It may take time to reach the point of counseling, but I will continue to write something, believing without any evidence that this small habit will become a reliable path forward.

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