For the holidays, my husband and I went to his hometown to be with his family.  As we were travelling back home, we stopped by my sister's house so that we could see my nephew and niece, and spend a little time with them before getting back.  While we were there, I ended up explaining a situation that happened within the weeks before Thanksgiving, which resulted in my husband bringing me to the ER room.

My sister asked me why I didn't call an ambulance instead.  I rambled off something about not wanting to cause a scene (I was at the gym in the early morning when this scenario began), and the cost of an ambulance is outrageous, etc.  She, in her ever-so-typical way said something to the effect of "Yeah, because having people stare at you while you're having a potential medical emergency is so much more important than actually seeing if something was wrong."  (Or something similar to that.  In her sarcastic tone, too, of course.)

I didn't really refute her, because I didn't have anything to say.  I didn't have any way to explain myself.  And it wasn't really worth the effort, in my mind.

It wasn't until my husband and I were back home, and I was thinking about that moment, that it hit me.  I rambled off reasons - although completely valid - for not calling an emergency number, but those weren't the real underlying reasons.  In fact, the number one reason I didn't call anyone for help (except my husband, who didn't answer at the time because he was busy at work and he couldn't), was because I'm not worth it.

That's it.

It's only been within the past year or so that I've realised that I spent most of my childhood being ignored by people around me, that I learned to ignore myself, too.  Which means, I hardly ever take myself into consideration when it comes to, well, anything.  I try my absolute best to be as little as a burden or annoyance as possible.  I need help with something?  Never mind, I'll figure out how to get it done all alone.  I'm hurting and should speak up and explain that, but you know what?  That's okay, how I feel isn't valid anyway, so I'll ignore how I feel and try to carry on.  I think something is majorly wrong with my body and should call emergency medical services?  No, I'm sure it's nothing, it's all in my head, and besides, I'm absolutely not worth the cost of an ambulance, much less an ER room visit.

...But how could I explain that to my sister?

Perspective determine reality.
My siblings have a different view of our childhood and upbringing than mine, or even each other's.  They all perceived it, took it in, in their own way.  My childhood was significantly different than theirs, simply because of the things I did/went through, that they did not.  No one was around to see what happened in those in-between moments when I was home and it was just my parents.  My parents who were trying to do what they thought was best, but it ended up being very, very damaging to me.  And I can't explain this to my siblings, because if I try to, they'll say things like "it wasn't that bad," or "you're making it sound worse than it actually was."  But they have no right to tell me these things.  Because they're taking my experiences, and how I felt, and applying it to their perspective, their childhood, and completely ignoring the fact that I lived things out differently than they did. 

I hate this.  I hate that I go over and over in my head about how I can't talk to my family members about anything even remotely personal - for a lot of reasons - but mainly for the fact that they have yet to consciously realise "Oh.  Maybe her experience was different than mine.  Maybe what was okay for me, was actually bad for her."  Et cetera, et cetera.  It's forever the curse of being younger, of them not acknowledging that I may actually not be exaggerating things, that what I say may hold some truth to it, that maybe my childhood wasn't as fine and dandy as theirs was.

But still, I keep to myself.  I stay quiet, I don't share, I let them live their lives.  It's not worth trying, because the likely outcome is they will ignore the words I say, continue to think what they want, and still think me childish and unrealistic.

But, after all, we've already established that I'm not worth the effort, not worth believing, not worth much of anything.  I'll just continue to try to be as minimal as possible, to not be a burden, to keep things to myself.  It's just easier for everybody that way.