December 12th, 1982 is the day it all started for me.
I don’t remember anything from that day; it was just the day it all started.
I was born and my genetic connection to the sickness was finalized.
My cells got their first taste of real-world oxygen. My lungs filled for the first time.
The chains of my life of servitude were not visible, but they were there.
Are the chains a natural birthright?
Did the chains get placed there by the life I was forced to live?
I always wondered and hopefully one day I’ll know.
My first memory is my Mother’s late-term miscarriage. I was about 2 and it was traumatizing. I have a long history of death surrounding me. With my first memory being a death, I’m not sure that I was given a good start.
I believe my Mother says my Father caused it. However, my mother is a compulsive liar, so I can never really be sure if that is true.
She has always been the victim. She will always be the victim.
Her story changes depending on who she wants to impress. Hopefully, she can eventually escape her unique infinite loop of pain.
I don’t know if she has light in there, but I hope beyond hope – that one day she can escape the loop. Though, I doubt she has the will power to get through.
I will always hope she will – I can only assume that is what love is. I don’t know a whole lot about love. I only have assumptions.
I’ve experienced the fluttery euphoria of feeling attraction – a biological need to mate. Once I made the attraction connection, I generally wonder what I am thinking.
Despite this, I remain loyal to my attraction years after it is healthy to do so. This aspect of myself and my repeated discovery of the same mate in different forms was what made me question my health.
I realized my sickness and bondage when I realized habitual compulsion. Whether I wanted or recognized it, I dated only addled, addicted partners. They are ALL addicted to something detrimental.
The object of their obsession isn’t always a drug, its sometimes it was an act in addition to a substance.
I have only theorized it was because it gave me the opportunity to “be of service” which is what I was raised to be. I have only known how to be a self-sufficient island.
I pull in the broken, beaten, sick and thrown away and try to save them all. My self-esteem depends entirely on being of service. I am good at discovering what a person needs and providing that.
The only problem with that is: I don’t have anything to give but service.
Everything is locked inside. I don’t have real feelings, and even if I did, I wouldn’t let myself feel them. Feelings are scary.
I often think of my mother when feelings come into play.
I remember how many times she froze when I needed help. When I was really hurt, she would freeze. When sexual issues happened, she would freeze. Once, even though I am ashamed to admit it, I snuck out in my teenage years and was assaulted. I needed a ride home and she gave it to me but froze again.
I realized recently, she has been a bigger problem for my growth than I was willing to admit. I always had her around lying and blaming my Father.
My father was sexually abusive and verbally abusive. Occasionally when he would “go insane” he would be violently abusive. However, my Mother was aggressively abusive.
She would lash out and attack. Her aim was only to hurt. She would yell scream and punish – ensuring that the punishment caused hurt. I have always been kind of afraid of angry yelling as it accelerates – and now I know it was my mother – not my father.
My father was mostly patient. My father only lashed out in mental illness and generally was an asshole. However, my mother lashed out and appeared to enjoy causing hurt.
Her conversation is still done in a way that makes me cringe. I have recently cut her out, but I can still see the expressions and grin as she recognizes suffering.
I still want to know if her joy in other people’s pain is from her hurt – or if she just enjoys it. Everyone has suffered more than you. Everyone experienced more. Your pain and suffering are trivial and useless, get over it.
She LOVES to bring people down to her level.
She hasn’t yelled at me for a long time. She has only guilted and shamed and insulted. Her verbal attacks and angry hurting mechanisms are disabled now.
It was hard learning and accepting SHE was just as big of a problem.
I typically gave her the benefit of the doubt.
“She’s a victim” “She is a liar”.
I gave her slack. However, I now know she assembled the room of her demise, and she wanted everyone else in there too, but most escaped her.
You reap what you sow – but it is still hard to watch a thirsty horse die of thirst over water.
I will leave my feelings about her there.
I will be accepting of whatever happens and know I can’t save her.
I will allow my feelings and thoughts about her to be valid and not pushed away.
I will allow her to get what she deserves.
I will push through this to save Jeanie if I can.
Jeanie needs saving and she helped imprison this poor girl.
Slowly, I am breaking my chains and getting closer to comforting that girl.
I hope I make it through the sludge and the reinforced fortress she’s trapped in.
Comentários