FREEDOM

best friend

I walk the meadow head down, feeling the battle of winter against spring as brain chemicals begin their spin to more daylight. Breathe. Oh, that is luscious, earthy and clean, not like the dull browns and greys as my boots suck at the mud mixed with pale bland grass.

I look up, noticing the robin following me from branch to branch, stuck in my thoughts just as thoroughly as my boots stuck in the mud; a moment of joy realizing that robin is protecting a nest near-by, a spark of what’s to come once the grass greens, the feeling of wholeness that takes a back seat during the winter months; a feeling of presence, of aliveness.

Freedom is on my mind, or lack of it. I feel victim to my days not master of them. Even now, fifty years later, I am ensconced within my own world and feel defined by the invisible chains of childhood.

Never has there been a time when I said publicly, “My brothers raped me.I hate my brothers. I wish them dead.”

I use the word rape loosely. The time real rape occurred was so vicious it is blocked from my consciousness niggling on the periphery of memory, but all other memories are rapes too in that my body was taken, used and abused without my consent.

Honest expression of the horrors I suffered needed to occur when I was eight years old. And if the attacks had happened by a stranger on the street, it could have. Who wouldn’t feel that way? Feelings are not facts. Wishing someone dead doesn’t make them dead. But it does a lot to relieve the horror and pain done by the evil acts of others. A mother of character would have allowed such expression not quelled it, would have seen to it—would have protected me in the first place, not blamed me into silence and a life of shame. That is family?

The chains of childhood bind me. Chains of conspiracy. Chains of silence. Chains of keeping silent to protect the name of the ‘family.’ The word family disgusts me. I wasn’t in a family. I was in a group of people that acted out, and acted out on me.

Three out of four are dead. The eldest, who hurt me the most,  may outlive me and I don’t care. He’s done very well for himself, better than the rest at least financially. Not only does he own a place in Mexico by the sea, but is emotionally capable of getting there. I cannot fly unless drugged into oblivion. So I don’t. 

There is a part of me that feels safer with three dead. My mother would say, “You should be ashamed of yourself.” And, “That’s not nice.”

These are the drones of sentences she used early on to control me, to make me meek, to quell her daughter’s natural instinct to speak out against wrongs. They bind me still. So much so, I more often do not know how I really feel. It’s out on my walks or during meditation that I go beyond and below the early chastising to find and feel what is really there.

And yes, there is a part of me that  feels safer with them dead. I didn’t kill them. I stopped raging and hating. I hate what they did because I still suffer the effects and always will. They suffered too. 

As much as I hate what they did, I feel compassion. To act out as each did on their little sister meant they felt unloved attacking the only girl child who may have seemed loved. That’s my take on it. It wasn’t personal. Yet it was all personal for me. 

Freedom. I don’t usually know what it is because the chains of silence still bind me even long after my mother’s death, seven years now. She did her job well, silencing her daughter. I want to stand at the podium and say this happened to me. And maybe I will someday. Maybe that is my destiny if destiny is going to my center and leads me there. I feel compelled to move forward in whatever way feels right. Speaking out about the truth feels like where freedom lay dormant waiting. 

 

best friend2

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10 thoughts on “FREEDOM

  1. Hello! Sorry I don’t have time at the moment to leave a longer, more thought out reply – but, I just wanted to say that you have no idea how much I feel you with this blog post – I have felt/thought/experienced the same things so, it feels as if your words could be my own. The chains of shame and silence our mothers placed on us are so difficult to give back to them where they obviously belong. Unburdening myself of my family’s sins is intense work. Massive hugs to you today!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well, thank you I guess, though I’m sorry you feel similar intense feelings.
      I was a bit wary putting it out there, the wish of death of another. But if given the rightful freedom as a child to say that, I probably would have. All the cartoons of the time had the good characters kill off the bad ones. Good prevails. Not so with little girls sexually attacked by loved ones they trust.
      I have to wonder if my mother is the hardest to forgive.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I want their names plastered on billboards. Their faces flashing for the world to see. My mother and my stepfather. Both who get to walk in the world as if they are good and kind people instead of the monsters that they are.

    So I get this:
    “I want to stand at the podium and say this happened to me. And maybe I will someday. Maybe that is my destiny if destiny is going to my center and leads me there. I feel compelled to move forward in whatever way feels right. Speaking out about the truth feels like where freedom lay dormant waiting.”

    I am finding that my own freedom rests in the love and compassion I can hold myself in. And joy. I am learning that it is time to let in the joy and the happiness that I was so afraid to feel. Being happy made me unsafe. But that’s another story.

    Sending love. Strength. Courage and freedom to you!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I dreamt that you made me cake last night! (no kidding) A friend and myself were visiting you. Your kids were so happy, playing in the yard..which made you happy. And you were known as a great baker who just happened to have a thick gooey cake on hand with layers of filling between the cake layers. Now that’s joy in my book! Friends and cake!
      Quite odd since all I know about your baking skills is those gummies dipped in chocolate. : )
      I love to hear that you are learning how to let in the joy. Me too!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. This is remarkable. I love to bake! It makes me terribly happy and I’m really good at it too. If I may say so myself. 🙂 This is wonderful. I’d bake you a cake any day! In fact if anyone comes for a visit I usually end up baking for them because I cannot sit still and just chat. I need to move to feel comfortable. You made my heart happy.

        Liked by 2 people

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