Being Impressionable Leaves Its Mark

I've learned something amazing about myself and, I think, people in general.  I've noticed that certain people bring out certain responses and behaviors in me.  Now, this may sound like, "Well, duh?", but, I mean REALLY bring it out of me.  For the good AND for the bad.  I've also learned that I'm easily effected by others.  I'm super sensitive to "vibes" and to others moods, behaviors and subtle body language.  I've learned that I have to FIGHT to remain true to myself, at times.  A fight that I was too tired, scared and weak to keep up, for a really long time.  I've learned that there are certain people whom I just can NOT be around.  Not because they're bad people, but, rather, they just bring out the worst in me. I've also learned that there are certain people who really bring the true "me" out to shine.  I've RE-learned that there are people in the world who will accept me for me.  No questions asked.  No accommodations have to be made.  They don't have to "tolerate" me.   Or vice-versa.

I've found that I didn't even realize how "impressionable" I really am, always have been, if I were being honest with myself.  It's as if I was completely willing to abandon myself in order to 'fit in' or be accepted.  Huh?  I've never had that problem before.  I've always been popular and well liked and easy going and really, truly, had several people in my life who I was close to.  Then. . . .it all changed.  I changed.  I twisted myself into a pretzel.  I can't really explain why, clearly.  I'm still working on that part.  Regardless, of the deeper why, the "how" of it, is also surprising to me.  I started becoming less kind.  More harsh.  I started agreeing with things that I knew to be crap or worse yet, crappY.  I allowed myself to nearly disappear.  I starting caring more about things that I never had cared about before and started caring less about things that HAD meant the world to me.  I got lost.  I started losing friends.  My family didn't recognize me.  People were like, "Um, who the hell have YOU become?"  I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't care, at the time, that these people thought I was a total bitch.  Well, that's NOT true.  I cared.  I've always cared.  I was just putting on a really good show of NOT CARING.  I was tying my damnedest to not care.  I, of course, failed miserably and cried on my dear husbands shoulder, too many times to count.  At the time, I couldn't understand why the people who had known me the longest were pulling away from me.  Now, I know.  I changed.  COMPLETELY.  I became a stranger to them.  And to myself. 

Now then, how do I reach out to them again and make them see that 1) I'm back---the REAL me and 2) that I was truly under some strange influence at the time----unbeknownst to me and 3) they can trust in me, like they always could before.  How do I reassure them that I'm back to my genuine self?  How do you rebuild a bridge after you're the one that burned it down?  After all, I never really left.  I was merely hiding behind a curtain of fear and identity crisis.  I was allowing the worst of me to be brought out.  By circumstance and surroundings.  By trying so damn hard to appease and to "not rock the boat".  Alas, I did just that and far, far worse. On the flip side, though, why didn't any of them come to me and TELL me what they were feeling?  Why were there so many secrets?  So many things said behind my back?  It's a double edged sword here.  I mean, I completely understand that I changed, but, as a true friend, aren't you supposed to speak up and reach out to those that you love?  Aren't we all responsible for our relationships?  I battle with the notion that I was so easily cast aside, perhaps I never held any value to them at all.  I'm struggling to know what the right thing to do is.  I've tried to reach out, a bit, over the last year or two and things haven't gone as well as I would have like.  Do I just give up?  Do I let "sleeping dogs lie"?  Should I just live---in the moment---and be thankful for the friends I have NOW and let the "old ones" live in my memory? 

In the end, I've found a peace in being myself that I didn't even know I had lost.  I've found a calmness in my life, a balance.  I don't feel a constant anxiety; again, that I was totally unaware existed at the time. I can BREATHE easier.  I've stepped back from the woman that I was and stepped INTO the woman I was always meant to be.  Back into myself.  Back into a woman that I recognize, the woman I've always been, on the inside. I've stopped letting others effect me so much.  I've started to realize that they're walking their path and I'm walking mine.  Sometimes, those paths are right next to each other and sometimes they diverge and start moving in opposite directions.  When that happens, I have to make a choice.  A choice as to whether or not I want to keep them in my life; a choice as to whether or not it's even healthy, for either of us, to try to keep an eye on each other, whilst we're walking away.  Sometimes, the answer has been yes.  Yes, to keeping a safe distance while remaining there for them.  Other times, the clear and resounding answer has been NO.  This, of course, is the slipperier slope.  The more dangerous territory.  How do you walk away from someone that you love?  Respect?  Even cherish?  I know the answer now, now that I've done it the wrong way (of course).  I know now that you simply walk away.  Wish them well on their journey and let it go.  You grieve for the loss.  Hell, you cry your damn eyes out about it!  But, you don't look back.  You don't lash out.  You don't wish that things had been different, because, well, they aren't.  They never will be.  You walk away with grace.  You walk away allowing them to be graceful, too.  Sometimes, the greatest gift we could ever give, is silence.  Pure.  Simple.  Silence.

I'm sorry that I learned this a bit too late.  I'm thankful that I learned it at all, though.  I know that from now on, I'll be able to handle this situation with more dignity.  Not that I don't feel like I can hold my head up high, now.  I do.  I know that the decisions that I made were the best ones I could at the time.  After all, when you know better, you do better.  Right?  It's very hard not to let pain and hurt leak out of you, when you feel so damaged and ignored.  It's hard to not want to strike back when you feel like you're the one who's been attacked time and time again.  But, I know, for me, that that's not who I want to be; not who I am at my core.  There are many years of abuse and pain and neglect that have piled upon my shoulders.  Maybe some of those are there because I allowed them to be placed there.  I now know that I will NOT allow anyone else to hurt me.  I will not tolerate anyone who feels the need to change me or belittle me because of my beliefs.  I am 100% comfortable in my own skin.  I believe that, sometimes, you have to shatter who you were to become who you're supposed to be.  A caterpillar doesn't become a butterfly without tearing itself apart first.

Take a deep breath............................It's just another day in Perfect!!!!!!!!!

It's the Little Things.......

My husband and I went to go look at cars yesterday.  Fun, right?  Not.  You know that that kind of a thing is SUPPOSED to be fun.  Sounds fun.  Might end up getting you a FUN car, but, the process itself.  No where near fun.  We went with a plan.  A first for us.  We had discussed ahead of time what we were looking for, what we required, what we would NOT accept, etc.  We knew that this would be my car.  My husband has a company truck and honestly, the only time that we all ride together somewhere is when we go out to eat, go to a party, you know social stuff.  For the most part, I drive the car to and from the grocery store, the mall, the bank and drive my girls to and from the school, church and sleepovers.  I don't really need a minivan anymore.  Sniff, sniff......long gone are the days when my girls need to watch a movie to even drive across town because they're bored after 3 minutes. 

So, we're pretty successful at the first dealership.  We tell the guy straight away that we want 1) a lease for under $300 a month, 2) we may or may NOT be trading in our old car, because a friend of ours might be interested in buying it and 3) we want something nice, you know leather seats, push buttons that do fun things.  Like my minivan.  I have a really, really nice minivan.  It does way more than your usual car does.  It's like its own little house on wheels.  Love, love, love the minivan.  Don't, however, love that it takes $65 to fill it up, at the store where I get ten cents a gallon discount and the thing isn't really even on "E" yet.  Not one bit.  So, the first vulture, I mean car salesman, approaches us and we tell him straight away what we want, don't want, we don't want to waste a bunch of his or our time, I really just need to 'sit" inside the car to know if it's "a fit" or not.  Truly, I'm buying a feeling, not acceleration.  He gets it.  We spent a little while there. . . . thank you very much. . . .we're out the door.  Perfect.

Then. . . .we go to the next dealership.   Hmph.  Here's where the "Seriously.  What were we even thinking?" comes into play.  I mean, did we really think that it was going to go that smoothly the whole day?  We had every intention of making it through every car dealership on "CAR ROW" and back home in time for dinner and Saturday evening Easter service at the church.  Can you say. . . .wrong!!!  We walk up, I would say that we walked in, but, you know that you never even get INTO the dealership before the sharks descend.   Max walks up to us and says "Hello."  Now, not that I care a whole bunch, but I always seem to get car salesmen who aren't from the US.  There's always a bit of a language issue.  Not truly a "barrier" but, there are just some things that the guys says that I honestly have no idea what mean.  Hmmm.  Probably not good, but, then again, what do you do?  I mean, I can't exactly say..."Um, no.  We want someone else."  You get what you get and you don't throw a fit, right?  (That's what I tell my kids all the time.)  So, Max walks up and does the whole normal what can I help you with, blah, blah, blah.  Things progress.  Farther than we wanted.  I end up test driving a car.  No.  Two cars.  I had no intention of doing that.  This guy is good. 

Long story, long, he gets us to the point of "crunching numbers".  You know. . ..the part that takes all damn day and never really gets anywhere.  We finally get to the point where we decide, "Um, yeah.  We wanna go home now."  and these two fools won't let us leave.  (Of course, the general manager has come into the cubicle to "close the deal".)  We start going back and forth, back and forth.  It's a painful tennis match of words that just isn't going to end well.  Here's the glorious "little thing" that my husband did for me.  He was on my side. 

Nothing more than that.  He just stood up for me.  He didn't let these two men push me around.  He realized that I was sacrificing too much with the "potential car" and didn't want me to settle.  He wants me to have the best of everything.  (His exact words....can I get a heavy sigh, ladies??  A fast beating heart?)  He loves me.  In that moment, I felt more loved and protected by him then I've felt in a long time.  It was subtle.  He wasn't loud or rude or a jerk.  He was just mine.  My wonderful husband.  He refused to let me be bullied.  He refused to let me be hurt, in any way.  I nearly cried at the simple alliance between us.  It was palpable to me.   The whole room was outside of my perception.  I couldn't hear anyone but him.  I couldn't see anyone but him.  I just wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him all over his face.  I felt all warm inside.  Kind of like my guts had turned to warm caramel. 

It's amazing to me how loved I felt in that moment.  How loved I still feel just thinking about it.  He doesn't even understand what he did.  I keep thanking him and loving on him and hugging him and feeling like warm caramel and he thinks I'm crazy.  That's okay.  I don't mind.  He's mine.  He loves me.  He'll protect me.  It's the little things that make or break a marriage.  I've been with this man for 15 years (tomorrow) and he still never ceases to surprise me.  To fascinate me.  To become a new man, in my eyes.  So, even though I didn't get a "new car", I got something so much more valuable; so rare and irreplaceable, I'll take it whenever I can find it.  I got comfort.  I got security.  I felt safe.  I felt loved.  I felt treasured and adored.  All because we DIDN'T buy a car. . . . .

Take a deep breath. . . . .  ..it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!

Childhood "magic"...........

I like Harry Potter.  I like The Twilight Series.  I prefer kids movies over those filled with action and violence.  Yes, I realize that I'm nearly forty and that this seems like I'm being childish to some of you.  I, emphatically disagree.  What I think it is, perhaps what I KNOW it is, is my desire for a simpler time.  Less stress, more magic.

I love to watch the rain fall, listen to the thunder roll and wait for the lightning to strike.  I still count the seconds in between.  I love the smell of rain.  The clean, fresh, damp smell of the Earth being bathed in love.  I see the miracle of it.  I'm impressed by the rain.

I love the quiet.  I like to be here alone, during the day and just be.  No television.  No radio.  No drama.  No talking.  Just peace and quiet.  It's a profoundly important part of my day.  If you don't spend much time in total silence, I highly recommend it.  It's good for the soul.

I love the way the grass "knows" to turn green every spring, that the trees "know" it safe to sprout new leaves.  I love that the flowers that have disappeared over the winter, push their tiny heads up through the dirt, to greet the sun, head on.  I see the magic and mystery in it, the beauty and vitality that is all around me.

I don't mind that I'm seen as childish.  It's okay.  Honestly, I feel kind of sorry for those people who have "moved past all that crap" and don't get to clearly see the magic that's surrounds them everyday.  Snowflakes, butterflies, lady bugs, rain drops, rainbows, the full moon, fog, a sun set and a sun rise, the bunnies that emerge just in time for the warm sun and rain showers, the feel of the first sunburn of the season, the smell of grills heating up waiting for hot dogs, hamburgers, a steak or some chicken, the sizzle when the meat hits the grill.  It's all magical.  It all matters.  It's all related.  Sometimes, I think that maybe, I feel so overwhelmed because I really do "see it" all; whereas other "adults" seem to have tuned all these things out.  Perhaps, I would have more patience, more energy, less stress, if I wasn't so hyper-aware of everything going on around me.  I'm not sure that I know how to just "turn it off".  I'm not sure that I want to.   I like that when my nine year old notices something, I know that I noticed it, too.  I like that the magic of the world hasn't escaped my notice.

In the same way I "see" all the world around me, I feel it, too.  I think that the way in which I'm most "child like" is in how easily my feelings get hurt.  This I am working on.  I realize that I need to grow a thicker skin.  I need to NOT let things hurt me or upset me so quickly.  Yet, they do.  I am getting better at hiding it from the outside world.  Stuffing those feelings down deep; like a real "grown-up' does.  But......is that what the goal really should be?  Should we all just stuff and stuff and stuff?  Or worse yet, should we just harden our hearts to the outside world?  Not trust?  Not love?  Not risk getting hurt?  Does that make us better or smarter than our younger counterparts?   Or do they, the children, have it right?  I'm not sure.  I do feel like all that we need to know to get through life, successfully, we really did learn in kindergarten.  1) Share. 2) Be nice to people, even if they're not nice to you.  3) Afternoon naps rock!  4) Wash your hands after you wipe something, sneeze or cough.  5) Take your time, with your work.  Don't rush through it.  6) Listen to your friends and they'll listen to you.  Don't interrupt.  7) Always tell the truth.  8)  Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, in order to learn the most.   Seems simple enough, right?   But, let's really look at the list.  How many of us can say that we do all of these things?  Hell, how many of us can say that we do half of these things?

Perhaps, there's something to being "childish"?  To seeing the magic that the world has to offer, to liking childish things, to being nice and polite, to being willing to share.  I don't mind saying that I cried when we first made it to Disney World.  Partly for my children and partly for myself.  I cried when I saw "Toy Story 3".  Yes.  Yes, I did. I cried when all the friends held hands and smiled at each other, knowing that they were about to be burned "alive".  It gives me goose bumps now, a lump in my throat.  It means something to me.  My daughters cried, too.  I like it that way.  I want them to see that I have feelings and that I care about things, even animated characters.  I want them to have feelings.  I don't want them to stuff, stuff, stuff it away.

So, yeah.....I like Harry Potter and The Twilight Series.  My favorite movies are made my Pixar.  Violence makes my tummy hurt.  And you know what????.......... I like it that way.

Take a deep breath........................it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!

I Wonder (POEM)

I wonder what it's like to be you.  I wonder what it's like to not worry about what people think.  I wonder what it's like to be able to shut down that part of your brain that tells you you're doing it wrong.  I wonder what it's like to live in peace; away from the loud voices on the tape that keeps playing in my head--telling me I'm not enough.  I can't imagine how it must feel to be perfect -- everything to everyone you meet. 

I wonder what happened to you that you're so cold and calloused.  I try to pick through the perfectness of your life to find the thorn in your paw; surely no one would be so cruel for naught.  I try to put myself into your shoes and see the world through your eyes; yet---I find that I can not.  I can't imagine what your view must be, up on high, looking down at everyone else---far beneath you.  I find it dizzying at best.

I wonder when karma will kick in.  I've been told that "what goes around, comes around", yet, I've never experienced that, myself.  I've watched you succeed against all probability and reason.  I've watched you win by playing dirty.  I've witnessed your darkest colors and noticed that the world sees only the brightest, most beautiful hues instead.  I've fallen at your feet and begged you for mercy, only to find a silence so deeply profound that I was deafened by it. 

I wonder when I will give up the fight.  I pray each day that the right will find its way into the sunshine, no longer hidden in some deep dark cave---only to be disappointed again.  Do I have unending strength and tenacity? When will I decide that enough is enough and force your hand?  To be free from such an evil imprisonment frightens me --- I've lived there for so long now, I'm not sure that I would know what to do with my freedom, if presented with the keys.  I wonder if I'll be able to walk free, among you and go unnoticed by the world, or will my pallor give me away.  Ever more showing that I've lived in a shadow for far, far too long.

What would the air smell like?  Is it sweet -- full of heady perfume, or is it just crisp and clean and free from all that is tainted and dirty of the world.  I wonder what it's like to breathe it in ----  deeply, to own that air, to feel that you deserve to be breathing it, to feel unashamed, to feel free.  I wonder what walking a little bit taller would feel like.  I wonder how laying down this boulder will feel.  Will I utter relief, immediately?  Will it take some time for my muscles to adjust to their new role....just holding ME up, for a change.  I need you to understand that in order to lift me up you don't need to tear yourself down, merely remove the boulder from your own back, too.  The load has been heavy.  Cumbersome. Exhausting.  For both of us.

I truly do......wonder....... 

It's Not About You (POEM)

When I break down,
It's not about you.

You need to learn that the me in me,
Has nothing to do with the you in you.

When I get angry enough to shout,
It's not about you.

Separate yourself,
Cut the ties that bind.

When I feel vulnerable and alone,
It's not about you.

Is being "right" more important then being heard?
Or is speaking your truth more important than anything?

When I want to jump for joy,
It's not about you.

You can't have it both ways,
Either I'm too much me or I'm too much you.

When I write a nasty blog,
It's not about you.

You're so vain,
You probably think that this is about you.

When I have a great day,
It's not about you.


I have enough emotion in me to keep me going for years,
Please STOP giving me "new" material!

When I want to run away,
It's not about you.

Someday, maybe, perhaps, possibly,
You'll realize----it's NOT ABOUT YOU!!!

When I'm failing miserably,
It's not about you.

If I thought that it were possible for you to jump off your high horse,
I might offer you a hand down.

When I'm succeeding in every way possible,
It's not about you.

If you could take a breath and stop talking,
maybe you'd hear what I'm not saying.

When I'm suffering and in pain,
It's not about you.

If you really know me, as you claim to,
You'd know that choosing to leave you alone, has caused me tremendous pain.

When I'm strong enough to leave,
It's all about you.

Psycho Babble Bull$h!t....the Brainwashing of America

I hate duplicity.  With a passion, I hate it.  I've read my fair share of "self help" books; hell, I even had aspirations of becoming a therapist, once upon a time.  However.  I'm pretty damn sick and tired of all this psycho babble double talk.

Case in point, when you dare to remember and then FEEL something from your past, the very well intentioned people of the world, come out of the wood works, to tell you to "let the past go" and "you can't live in the past".  Blah, blah, fucking blah.  Then, when you go about your "normal life" and act as if NOTHING ever happened to you, you get accused of "pretending" or of "keeping secrets" or of "not being genuine".  Huh?  Wait just a minute!  You can't have it both ways. . . .can you?

Oh the psychologists of the world do.  Believe me, I've spent my fair share (and then some) of time in therapy, both court ordered and voluntary.  (The court ordered was back when I turned in my step-father for his sexual abuse towards me.  They needed to "see my frame of mind", I suppose.  Whatever.)  At any rate, the thing that always struck me was this, the damn therapist can't seem to make up their mind(s).  If I sit down and they fire their million and one intrusive questions at me and answer them calmly and without a huge emotional display then, clearly, I have dissociative disorder. Surely, I should be crying and pitching a royal fit.  Then, two weeks later, if I happen to cry, they tell me that I need move on and process this pain better.  Um, okay.  Then two weeks LATER, when I'm good and not remotely emotional I get told how "concerned" they are that I'm compartmentalizing my issues and that I need to deal with them face on and open up.  What.  The.  Fuck?  Make up your freaking mind, please!

We've all been fed this load of CRAP about, "that which does not kill you makes you stronger" and "let it go" and then we're told to "be real" and "allow yourself to feel the pain" and "you're allowed to have a bad day, it's okay" and then "you need to be positive all the time, you know that you reap what you sow" and my favorite, "what goes around comes around, they'll get what's coming to them in the end, you don't need to worry about it."  Can I just say. . . .huh?  Am I supposed to be little Mary Sunshine or am I supposed to have PTSD or am I supposed to be perfectly sane in spite of my past or do I "have the right to be crazy" or should I sit back and wait for "fate/karma/God" to pay those who've hurt me a visit or am I allowed to have a break down now and again and then pick myself back up, in my OWN time frame or am I just supposed to act whatever damn way YOU tell me to?  I mean, it's maddening, isn't it?

I've been told to "think myself thin, or happy, or wealthy" or whatever the "books" trying to sell me.  I've thought about it.  A lot.  Nothing's happened yet.  I've been told that a higher power will "fix everything".  I'm still waiting.  Little to nothing has been "fixed".  I've been told to just "let it go and move on and things will get better".  I've done that.  For decades and as far as I can tell all that that's done for me is let this wound fester and become infected.  I spent so much damn time making sure that EVERYONE around me didn't have to deal with my issues and pain and ugliness and did SUCH a good job at it, that I've completely disappeared in my own life.  In essence, I feel like a fake.  I hate fakes.  A dear friend of mine told me yesterday, in the midst of my break down, that "it wasn't a huge shock to her how truly damaged and broken I am, rather, how hard I try to "pretend" to be perfect.."  W. O. W.  She's right.  Indeed.  But, damn it.  This is what I've been told to do.  Move on.  Pretend it away.  In truth, there is NO other way to "let it go".  We're all asked to "pretend" our shit away, aren't we?  I mean, unless you suffer from true and complete amnesia, I'm not sure how people can even expect you to "let it go".  Our brains don't work that way.  We learn from our past experiences, by design. 

Dr. Phil is famous for his "no nonsense" approach to dime store therapy.  He spends about five minutes with people and thinks that he has you all figured out.  Well, in truth, he didn't even spend THAT much time with us, and yet, he offered his "professional advice" to save my marriage.  Really?  This is what we've become in America.  Solve all your problems in a hour or less.  Wrap it a bow and mail it off to Antarctica and forget all about it, because if you even have the audacity to have a "flash back" or a moment of pain due to a past hurt, well, hell. . . .you're a failure.  Yet, my "past abuse" has been blamed for countless medical conditions, pains, depression, etc. by the medical community.  They--- the well schooled doctors--- have told me everything from "You really just feel like you deserve to be sick, because you were abused" to "Well, I believe that you're pain is real, BUT, I believe that's been exaggerated in your brain, due to PTSD.  Your body holds on to pain in all forms, even memories and that, in fact, makes physical pain worse."   So, wait.  I'm not allowed to acknowledge anything bad from my past, yet y'all want to blame EVERYTHING  my body feels on it.  Then, if I decide to NOT tell a doctor about my abuse, then they get my records from another doctor and go nuts.  "Why didn't you share this with me?  I don't think that I can be your doctor if you're not 100% honest with me."   Just shoot me, please?

There's really no way to win here.  Either you're living in the past or your denying it.  Well, which is it people?  Shouldn't we all be allowed to have momentary break downs, break throughs, build ups, successes and failures?  Aren't we all human?  Don't we all have baggage?  Aren't we all the walking wounded?  Don't we each have our own story?  Isn't that story the ONLY thing that makes you who you are today?  I would NOT be all the wonderful things that I am WITHOUT my past pains.  I also, would NOT be any of the crazy, stupid, messed up things that I am.  You can't take the sweet without getting some of the bitter, too.  I just wish that instead of the world trying to push all the ugliness back inside you ---- because really, it's about them at that point, THEY feel uncomfortable ---- that they could just hear you.  See you.  Appreciate your similarities and love your differences.  If every experience is a lesson to be learned, then learn it people.  Learn that which is right in front of you. . . .live and let live, I'm not you, you're not me, I love you regardless of what you've been through or NOT been through, I love you for what you believe and what you don't believe, I love that you have a higher power and I'm secure without one, I don't need you to find me, I'm not lost, I'm not damaged goods to be repaired by you or anyone else for that matter, I'm doing the best that I can, you do the best that you can, too and we're all good, my story isn't your story, I would never assume that I know YOUR story, don't assume that you know mine, I won't label you, please don't label me, even if you've lived a good portion of my life around me --- count on the fact that you don't truly know what it's like to walk in my shoes and hey, I won't try to cram my feet into yours either.

Take deep breath.............it's just another day in Perfect!!!!

An Unfortunate Eruption of Pain

I'm feeling it today, boy.  I just sent my daughter off to school after having a meltdown of Biblical proportions.  What did I learn from this tragedy?  I stuff too much.  I've never told anyone TOO many things about my past.  I've never been properly "taken care of". . .and I'm mad as hell about it.  I've also realized that I'm a completely horrible Mother.  In no way, did my daughter deserve what I dumped on her, nor did she ever need to know what my life looked like at her age.  That's my cross to bear, not hers.  Alas, I've made it hers, haven't I?  I painted an image of my past that, although, painfully true, is honestly too ugly for her to handle.  How could I do this?  I.  Have.  No.  Idea.

I try, extremely hard, to not let on to others, especially my loved ones how horrible things really were in my childhood home.  Now, I know that y'all are gonna be like "What?  You tell US everything!".  Um, NOT! I truly do tend to candy coat things, even here.  I find it very difficult to be completely honest about how truly bad, bad was.  Most of the time, I can move through the world just fine.  I can get up each morning and plug in and work my work and do my chores and love my children and cook and clean and chat with my girl friends and check in with my sisters and reach out to my cousin, all without jadedness or pain or jealousy.  Ah, jealousy.  That's the root of it, isn't it?  In actual fact, I am jealous of my daughter.  I'm angry at her that she has such a much better life than I did and yet, she doesn't really appreciate it.  Well, duh?  She's fucking thirteen?

But. . . .Is that really the truth of it?  Can no thirteen year old appreciate their life?  I did.  Even with how ugly it was; hell, maybe BECAUSE it was so ugly.  I realized that what little I did have, was precious.  It meant something.  I would cling on to any kindness like it was a life vest in the middle of a stormy sea.  So, what I really should feel is relief, not jealousy.  I SHOULD feel relieved that she's spoiled rotten.  I SHOULD see it for what it is.  . . .she's confident that she'll be loved no matter what, she secure in her place in our family, she trusts me.  Amazing.

Yet, here I sit, jealous as hell.  Green with it, people.  I don't know what it's like to have a Mother or a Father that ACTUALLY love you, unconditionally.  Hell, at all.  I've been molested, beaten, attacked, neglected and flat out ignored, put down, made to feel like I was nothing more than a burden and reminded that my father was "the devil himself", thus, I'm the spawn of Satan.  Very nice.  I've been cleaning peoples houses, cooking peoples meals and taking care of children since I was ten.  I was doing laundry, buying my own winter coat (which I still own, by the way), cooking dinner for the whole family every night and taking care of babies when I was twelve.  I was also a good student, who never talked back or was disrespectful.  I walked the straight and narrow folks.  Literally.  Why?  I wonder what it is in my basic internal make-up that doesn't even ALLOW me to stand up for myself.  That part of me that must be stunted or down right broken?  Yet, when it does seem to kick in, I handle it all wrong and lash out at MY own innocent child?  What on Earth is the matter with me?

I don't want a hug.  From anyone.  I've gotten to the point where people trying to comfort me, is so uncomfortable that it nearly HURTS me.  Brilliant.  I'm in desperate need of love, comfort and care and yet if someone offers it to me, I can't even accept it.  Perfect.  I'm much more comfortable with being abandoned.  Unwanted.  Undesired.  Easier for me.  Bizarre.  I can understand why people leave me.  I can understand why I'm nothing more than. . . .whatever people think I am.  They're right.  I'm broken.  It's painfully obvious to most people.  Even though, I try EXTREMELY hard, to insure that it doesn't leak through, I suppose that it's kind of like a trash bag. . .it can hold the inner trash, yet somehow the smell still leaks out.  Let me tell you ---- the smell was pretty ripe in my kitchen this morning!

My daughter did a horrible job cleaning the kitchen.  Honestly, at least she made an attempt.  When her father isn't home, she doesn't even do that.  Overall, I should have been thrilled.  I, clearly, wasn't.  I told her that if "I had left the kitchen like this, I would have been beaten out of bed."  She looked at me and blinked.  "What does that even mean?" she asked.  In true horrible mother form, I told her.  I told her how my mother and step father would hit me in the face and grab my hair and yank me out of bed when I didn't meet they're expectations.  I could have gone on and on about the times that my step father lashed out at me because I was "talking to other boys" or didn't comply with some horrible request.  How my mother would beat me when I did anything wrong, if she even THOUGHT that I had lied to her, or when I spilled flour on the floor on accident one morning, or when I knocked a plant over when I was mopping the floor.  Thankfully, I stopped when I did.  She seemed shocked.  Like she was looking at a bad car accident.  What did I do?

So, what brought this on?  Where did I dig up this old pain?  It's funny.  I think it was just the perfect storm, swirling around and gaining strength over a period of time.  I felt it bubbling underneath, but, couldn't stop the churning.  I've had conversations about my childhood recently; I watched a show or two that "dug" some stuff up: my husband's been gone: my daughters are going through puberty.  Just normal everyday things for most people.  Yet, I could feel something stirring.  Some old wound starting to ache and burn.  I should have seen it coming.  By this time in my life I should be able to stop this feeling in it's tracks.  I usually do.  I'm sad to say that I feel no sense of relief.  I can still feel it, in there, deep down, screaming to get out.  Even now. . . .there's so much more that I want to say, yet, I find myself "turning it down a notch" or twenty.  I don't want to seem like I'm begging for sympathy.  That's just not  --- IT, at all.  I think what I want; what I NEED, even, is understanding.  I just need people to understand why I am the way I am.  I want folks to forgive me for being overly sensitive, for always telling the truth, for being "too nice" and polite, for being OVERLY agreeable, for my seemingly inexplicable need to feel vindicated for my step fathers lies, my irrational desire to NOT be held or snuggled with, to want to sleep alone. I need understanding when all I want to do is run away from every single responsibility I have and yet don't have the strength to let one thing go.  I need to STOP feeling so damn guilty for even WANTING to step out of my role as wife and mother, for a minute.  I need to be forgiven for my weight.  I need to be allowed to break down every now and again, even if you don't know why.  I just need the people who love me to know, I am broken, but, I am also trying.  I'm trying to piece myself back together with whatever pieces I can find.  I will fall down.  A lot.  I will "leak out the smell", every now and again.  Please forgive me.  Please know that I'm sorry if it hurts you to know what my reality was.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for it all.  I wish that I could take something STRONG and clean it all out of me.  Believe me, I do.  I am, who I am BECAUSE of what's happened to me.  Just like, you're who you are because of what's happened to you.  I generally LIKE who I am.  I generally LIKE who you are.  Even when the "leaks" happen.  I just wish that my "leak" wasn't such an unfortunate eruption of pain.  I wish that I hadn't let this garbage touch my sweet, sweet child.  I never wanted her to know where I came from.  ((((HEAVY SIGH)))))

Take a deep breath..........it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!