Ongoing pressure in my chest is related to real physical problems, that of inflammation and some congestion. That is my diagnosis. Add to that the real risk of a heart attack related to family history, along with the terror of my body doing things I don’t understand and all symptoms worsen. But another element tinkles like a soft bell in the background of a busy mind: Family of Origin.
It still hurts that Seth was brash with his words. Tears fell yesterday as his words came back hauntingly, “None of us will read it!” referring to my book. That hurts, and in ways that go deep, way back to the beginning, the beginning of birth into a family of 8 children, separating us completely, finally.
That pressure in my chest has lifted, though negative unkind thoughts about myself tighten it. But the hospital visit helped alleviate fears of immanent death. I’m not ready to die. I have much to do, much growth at the precipice inside where I hesitate to take the leap, but am so close…so very close. Pressure relates to ‘family of origin’, or lack of it, another diagnosis. I feel I’m moving through something pivotal.
I have felt the need to play the role of being the pretend sister. I was expected to act as if nothing traumatic or life threatening had happened to me. I am pulling off those thick heavy ropes that have bound and chained me. I can breathe.
I played the role because I needed the connection, no matter how false it was. Now I prefer solitude rather than lies, lies that I suffered for others comfort, certainly not mine. As I go forward, it’s scary. How can I feel so good, be OK, while on my own? As if I have no birth family?
I needed what little connection there was so desperately. I felt a cloying aloneness which scraped and clawed so deeply it made me run. It made me someone I was not in order to not be abandoned.
As I claim myself it scares me. Be boxed in with what is the same or jump?