I have been pretty angry lately. Surprise, Surprise! (as my mother would say). I blame myself, but it is not all my fault. Now that my walls are down, I can see the pattern and begin to remember why things went down the way they did.
The smartest thing I ever did was accept reality in the early 2000. I had forgotten for a while at that time, that when you are forgiven and accepted you really are not and the game begins all over again. Needless to say, when one important relationship ended and I needed my family, they let me back in.
Being outside of acceptance of one's family, formerly known as being disowned has its ups and downs. In reality, it is a lose/lose if there are children or grandchildren involved, unless you are the beloved grandchild. The rest of the discarded are just that. Invisible, do not exist, outsiders.
So, I got sucked into daring to believe that things could be different. I live in a special kind of hell. I believe in the impossible. I believe in happily ever after and riding off into a perfect sunset on a beautiful white horse into a starry night. I live in reality, but believe in fairy tales.
I believe in family. Not the one I was born into. I knew that I was fucked when my dad departed, or shortly thereafter. I have always been an outsider. My Dad fed me a fairy tale that everything would be okay and we would be together someday. The first time I ran away to him I found out that was never going to happen. He bought me a cherry coke and called my Mom and sent me back to my real life.
I have repeatedly been disappointed by his actions as this hope and loss is a pattern with us. It sucks, especially as I grow older and he grows older. He feels guilty, thinks a trip to Florida, spend time together, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, car, none make his guilt go away. I reluctantly accept these gestures, knowing that the intentions are not good. When confirmation comes, I am not allowed to name it, and when I inevitably do, me being me, turn into the enemy, yet again, always.
I decided at a young age that the only way I was going to be a part of a family is to make my own family and treat them like human beings and love them and teach them and I was happy to wait and live on that dream. It was a nice dream. I never dreamed about a wedding, or my Dad walking me down a church filled with flowers, family and friends. I was not a typical little girl. I would have loved to have had that dream, or any dream at all. I live in the land of broken dreams, stomped down, smashed hopeless.
I wonder if I am on the brink of madness. I walked up to that line once. It was not pretty. Somehow, I didn't fall in. Losing faith in mankind has that effect on some people. I am lucky, I guess to be one of them a person who cares so much that events can (or did, or is once again in the process of) totally shatter my psyche.
This comes at a bad time. I have been weakened by my physical trauma on my body and am still coming to terms with that on a daily basis. One day at a time, hell, one second at a time at times. My ability to keep my status quo within my personal comfort range has been a myth for quite sometime now. I was trying to pinpoint just when the walls totally collapsed.
The wall always lands on me. I never see its toppeling until it is too late, and I am under the rubble. No one digs me out of this shattered mess. Everyone expects that once I dig all the bricks, mortar and rubble off of myself that I will be bright and eager and have dinner on the table, no complaints, complaints mean that you are not being nice, and why are you not being nice, I am nice you should be nice says the voice sitting next to me at the table. Good meal, nice job, thanks; as long as there are others around the table.
Perhaps it is just grief, I think to myself. Knowing, that it could be part of it. The repeated loss is like death, a revolving door of my soul dying. Sadly, my heart has stopped breaking. It didn't hurt like usual this time, instead it just broke apart in a flash of light within my chest. I remember walking into a rest area bathroom in some state somewhere and phoned someone who has a heart at 4:30 in the morning and cried like a baby for a few minutes before walking back to continue the next stretch of the endless drive.
I drove for hours, the night in front of me, the music blaring and the wind blasting in the window to aid in my journey. When I needed to rest I got yelled at so I just continued on. A faker and a liar pretending to sleep in the seat next to me. Co Pilot my ass. His guiding light - his stomach finally needed sustenance at 8 hours later so an icy meal in a cold restaurant was had.. The next 10 hours was a delight. An apology came, but really, what are words compared to the repeated behavior. Words are hollow and empty and meaningless when you have heard it, lived it all before. A lifetime of it. The rule is you are good if you accept and believe in my bullshit, the second you think for yourself, do for yourself or question me you are toast. The one thing my parents have in common it appears, aside from two adult children.
I watch a repeat of history past. My father adopting my mothers playbook, but different. I watch him target one of my children who is vulnerable. I do not like it. I cannot say a word or do anything. Liars always lie. My stomach turns in an uncomfortable way. Accusations fly. I do not question why. I know. I have lived through this once or twice or ten times now, but not in this way.
I can't seem to blame myself, or accept responsibility this time. Nor can I block it out and pretend it isn't happening as I have in the past. My defenses are down. No drama here, only slight panic at the situation. It is not my fault, but it is. It is in by the fact that I have made bad behavior acceptable. I have subconsciously allowed myself to be complicit with those involved.
Only myself, and the guy I pay to keep me sane understands what I am experiencing and why I am feeling the way I am. Anyone else involved wouldn't have the understanding or compassion or ability to accept responsibility (other than to know they are guilty deep in their hearts, hence the purchase of love and loyalty).
I can't be bought, love can't be bought. I can be tricked, I am gullible. I think gullibility comes from believing in people who tell you lies. I know none of those little tidbits like a passport, a trip to Italy, or an Art Show that was dangled in front of me will never materialize, unless I do it myself. That I let myself believe even for the short time that I did really believe, is a miracle. Just like I believed that what was a gift doesn't belong to me. Ask the guy who gave it.
Breaking my own rules. Damn it. I believed, I accepted, I had faith and hope and now I have only the reality and truth as it always has been. I was a smart girl once. I made rules to protect myself. I learned not to want, I learned to accept, I accepted my 'place' until I didn't/don't. Rules became structure, structure became balance, balance became order, order became calmness and peace.
My peace is gone, I am not calm, chaos rules? Unacceptable to me. So I condemn the behavior, say it outloud and I am the enemy. There is no war. But the troops rally on, hyping my response as dramatic and out of control. I try to laugh in the face of it. I tried to laugh in the face of it. I broke down and cried for the loss of that belief in false hope and empty words.
My girlfriend told me insanity was doing the same thing over and over hoping for a different result. I must be insane. My shrink assures me I am not. Daily reminders and recurrence of a lifetime of neglect and abuse has a tendency to trigger shit. My weakass self has or has not the ability to accept reality once and for all and figure out how to find my peace and restore my balance without the side effects, that is the goal.
I just hope I can not publicly melt down and make it out with what is left of my little family intact without being the villain, but I fear that ship has sailed.
Think I need some inspiration from my man, Bob Marley
https://youtu.be/zaGUr6wzyT8
Wish me luck!
The smartest thing I ever did was accept reality in the early 2000. I had forgotten for a while at that time, that when you are forgiven and accepted you really are not and the game begins all over again. Needless to say, when one important relationship ended and I needed my family, they let me back in.
Being outside of acceptance of one's family, formerly known as being disowned has its ups and downs. In reality, it is a lose/lose if there are children or grandchildren involved, unless you are the beloved grandchild. The rest of the discarded are just that. Invisible, do not exist, outsiders.
So, I got sucked into daring to believe that things could be different. I live in a special kind of hell. I believe in the impossible. I believe in happily ever after and riding off into a perfect sunset on a beautiful white horse into a starry night. I live in reality, but believe in fairy tales.
I believe in family. Not the one I was born into. I knew that I was fucked when my dad departed, or shortly thereafter. I have always been an outsider. My Dad fed me a fairy tale that everything would be okay and we would be together someday. The first time I ran away to him I found out that was never going to happen. He bought me a cherry coke and called my Mom and sent me back to my real life.
I have repeatedly been disappointed by his actions as this hope and loss is a pattern with us. It sucks, especially as I grow older and he grows older. He feels guilty, thinks a trip to Florida, spend time together, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, car, none make his guilt go away. I reluctantly accept these gestures, knowing that the intentions are not good. When confirmation comes, I am not allowed to name it, and when I inevitably do, me being me, turn into the enemy, yet again, always.
I decided at a young age that the only way I was going to be a part of a family is to make my own family and treat them like human beings and love them and teach them and I was happy to wait and live on that dream. It was a nice dream. I never dreamed about a wedding, or my Dad walking me down a church filled with flowers, family and friends. I was not a typical little girl. I would have loved to have had that dream, or any dream at all. I live in the land of broken dreams, stomped down, smashed hopeless.
I wonder if I am on the brink of madness. I walked up to that line once. It was not pretty. Somehow, I didn't fall in. Losing faith in mankind has that effect on some people. I am lucky, I guess to be one of them a person who cares so much that events can (or did, or is once again in the process of) totally shatter my psyche.
This comes at a bad time. I have been weakened by my physical trauma on my body and am still coming to terms with that on a daily basis. One day at a time, hell, one second at a time at times. My ability to keep my status quo within my personal comfort range has been a myth for quite sometime now. I was trying to pinpoint just when the walls totally collapsed.
The wall always lands on me. I never see its toppeling until it is too late, and I am under the rubble. No one digs me out of this shattered mess. Everyone expects that once I dig all the bricks, mortar and rubble off of myself that I will be bright and eager and have dinner on the table, no complaints, complaints mean that you are not being nice, and why are you not being nice, I am nice you should be nice says the voice sitting next to me at the table. Good meal, nice job, thanks; as long as there are others around the table.
Perhaps it is just grief, I think to myself. Knowing, that it could be part of it. The repeated loss is like death, a revolving door of my soul dying. Sadly, my heart has stopped breaking. It didn't hurt like usual this time, instead it just broke apart in a flash of light within my chest. I remember walking into a rest area bathroom in some state somewhere and phoned someone who has a heart at 4:30 in the morning and cried like a baby for a few minutes before walking back to continue the next stretch of the endless drive.
I drove for hours, the night in front of me, the music blaring and the wind blasting in the window to aid in my journey. When I needed to rest I got yelled at so I just continued on. A faker and a liar pretending to sleep in the seat next to me. Co Pilot my ass. His guiding light - his stomach finally needed sustenance at 8 hours later so an icy meal in a cold restaurant was had.. The next 10 hours was a delight. An apology came, but really, what are words compared to the repeated behavior. Words are hollow and empty and meaningless when you have heard it, lived it all before. A lifetime of it. The rule is you are good if you accept and believe in my bullshit, the second you think for yourself, do for yourself or question me you are toast. The one thing my parents have in common it appears, aside from two adult children.
I watch a repeat of history past. My father adopting my mothers playbook, but different. I watch him target one of my children who is vulnerable. I do not like it. I cannot say a word or do anything. Liars always lie. My stomach turns in an uncomfortable way. Accusations fly. I do not question why. I know. I have lived through this once or twice or ten times now, but not in this way.
I can't seem to blame myself, or accept responsibility this time. Nor can I block it out and pretend it isn't happening as I have in the past. My defenses are down. No drama here, only slight panic at the situation. It is not my fault, but it is. It is in by the fact that I have made bad behavior acceptable. I have subconsciously allowed myself to be complicit with those involved.
Only myself, and the guy I pay to keep me sane understands what I am experiencing and why I am feeling the way I am. Anyone else involved wouldn't have the understanding or compassion or ability to accept responsibility (other than to know they are guilty deep in their hearts, hence the purchase of love and loyalty).
I can't be bought, love can't be bought. I can be tricked, I am gullible. I think gullibility comes from believing in people who tell you lies. I know none of those little tidbits like a passport, a trip to Italy, or an Art Show that was dangled in front of me will never materialize, unless I do it myself. That I let myself believe even for the short time that I did really believe, is a miracle. Just like I believed that what was a gift doesn't belong to me. Ask the guy who gave it.
Breaking my own rules. Damn it. I believed, I accepted, I had faith and hope and now I have only the reality and truth as it always has been. I was a smart girl once. I made rules to protect myself. I learned not to want, I learned to accept, I accepted my 'place' until I didn't/don't. Rules became structure, structure became balance, balance became order, order became calmness and peace.
My peace is gone, I am not calm, chaos rules? Unacceptable to me. So I condemn the behavior, say it outloud and I am the enemy. There is no war. But the troops rally on, hyping my response as dramatic and out of control. I try to laugh in the face of it. I tried to laugh in the face of it. I broke down and cried for the loss of that belief in false hope and empty words.
My girlfriend told me insanity was doing the same thing over and over hoping for a different result. I must be insane. My shrink assures me I am not. Daily reminders and recurrence of a lifetime of neglect and abuse has a tendency to trigger shit. My weakass self has or has not the ability to accept reality once and for all and figure out how to find my peace and restore my balance without the side effects, that is the goal.
I just hope I can not publicly melt down and make it out with what is left of my little family intact without being the villain, but I fear that ship has sailed.
Think I need some inspiration from my man, Bob Marley
https://youtu.be/zaGUr6wzyT8
Wish me luck!
