FRIENDS

Tinted, like looking at the world with dark glasses. When the growth of a personality is embedded with feelings of ‘badness,’ feeling abnormal, even dirty, it separates a being from others in so many ways… emotionally, spiritually, and intimately. Closeness is feared.

Anxiety arises. Any interaction with another human makes it pop like hot mercury. Though much of that has lessened, anxiety and the customary feeling of wrongness, or badness, are still issues dealt with daily. 

Living in a bubble is not my desire, but my needs require an environment that includes a great deal of solitude that is steadily familiar. Upsets in equilibrium interfere with my health setting off a reaction that is out of my control. But outings are still pleasurable.

A friendly gathering offered a place to really talk. Later at home the harsh voice began banging, “You monopolized the conversation. Can’t you see what they have been going through?”

Then a softer voice quietly budged in, “Give yourself a break. It’s OK to share. It doesn’t mean you aren’t aware of their struggles or pain, or that you don’t care. Let yourself off the hook. Think of the supportive things that were said, like, you are a good friend. Remember that?”

Remember that.

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SUNSHINE

The sun came out, yet cold. A long repose by the creek in the morning’s warm rays soothed achy legs, and my ragged mind too often on a tangent wild. A heart that aches looking back at what could have been, at brothers loved who made mistakes that I still suffer from. The ache that also caused them, that need not to have been.

The noon whistle blew in the distance as time went by. Something splashed in the creek as bird melodies wrapped me in song. After a thorough rest in nature’s sauna it was time for a leisurely stroll back to the house.

The rushing sound made me stop to look up at why. There was breeze, no wind, yet it sounded windy. Aha, the leaves are growing, and that is the whistling of currents through them. After days of rain this pause in nature was so needed as each muscle relaxed, and my restless mind calmed.

The Child

Too easily she is tossed aside, that child in me, forgotten, abused and alone. There she hovers quietly afraid because I forget her too… don’t want to be her.

Wrapping my arms around my core, as a friend reminds me, “take care of her,” warmer feelings arise to envelope me.

Treating myself as I was treated, ignored and tortured, because to a child abused sexually it is torture committed with brutality, even if no force is used, because the cajoling, syrupy, sweet words take all that is innocent…

There she is abandoned and alone unless I accept her, and all her fears, take her to play, keep her safe, and remember she is always there needing comfort and love.

 

GROWTH

photo by Patricia

My head knows what my heart does not. When a child is sexually abused by loved ones, her world turns and does not recover. My head knows the blame is not mine, but the soul, my core, became damaged in ways that won’t be undone.

People my age die. It is not uncommon. The growth so far may have to be. That is the way for everyone. We keep growing until we die. And mine is enough. I cannot have what I would have, but I can have now with hope.

 

Learning Love

It’s been a long time, almost 60 years of treating myself like my brothers treated me. Hating me like they did. Suppressing all that is me for the rest of the family’s comfort, and in doing so mistreating myself every day of my life since the age of eight.

Always running from what is, and the truth, whether it is overeating, shopping, keeping overly busy to make up for being born ‘bad,’ all the many war tools to keep the truth in even from myself, has done so much damage to my mind, body and soul.

And much cannot be undone. Part of me moved forward like a warrior. Other parts bled, couldn’t keep up, won’t heal and need managing with care, love and a great deal of attention. It is time to start treating myself with all the love possible, not how ‘they’ treated me.

You are never too old to make dreams come true, have a goal, reach it, and to make the magic of finding your true nature. At the end of the day when darkness implodes with negatives catapulting into me, it is time to employ defensive measures to counteract the part of me who learned to survive by making me the ‘bad’ one.  Stay connected, feel my body, be in it, don’t escape, it is OK. Learn to be loving, not hateful.

Dig Deep My Love

So much talk about being in my body, making friends with both my body and psyche… Really, I am very disconnected. It isn’t something to add to the list of what to bang myself over the head with, though the ‘critic’ is ready, always ready, always LOUD, and always upon me to crush the life out of me.

It is another loss to grieve, and to be oh so gentle with. Of course I don’t want to be in my body. This body betrayed me by responding to some of the evilness done to me by a brother whose attacks went on for more than a year, more like two.

Though violence occurred only the first time, all the attacks after were still violent because I did not want them, or want any part of them finding it all vile and disgusting. But there was no one to tell who would listen. My mother put it back on me, my other brother went about his life as if I never told him.

Yet my body did respond to some of it. Bodies are made that way. But it left me hating myself and my body for life. Another life sentence for the child sexually abused.

This needs healing, forgiving, love and understanding. It won’t be showering down from above, but has to come from me, a place most of the time dry, cold and abandoned. How does love grow in the frosty dark? How does love grow in soil that was never nourished?

These are not easy quests, one has to dig deep in the soil until finding warmth and a place to grow. At age 66 I am still digging.

Humpty Dumpty

photo by Patricia

Waking an hour early, restless, my mind too awake to allow for more sleep, I rise, closing the half-opened window which allows just enough fresh air for comfort during the night. Clicking on the heat in the dark hall-way, disappointed that my rat brain woke me, plodding to the kitchen grinding coffee beans, a flicker of deep red is noticed through the stained glass above the sink; the moon, a crisp fat finger nail moon burning red through the pane.

Too glorious a night not to take a look, I pad out to the patio with camera in hand. While stars flicker, a few birds tweet good morning while waking from their nest. Missing yesterday’s chance at an impromptu visit because I didn’t want to ask my son to stop when he called to say hello caused a hollowness inside me that won’t go away.

I don’t want to be a pest or press him when he has so much on his plate. The sun had come out on a bright, cold sunny afternoon. But the opportunity came and went, and then it was too late. Instead they rode in the car with him while doing errands, but could have been here playing with Samuel and me, even if only for a short while.

It seems a little thing, but it is enough to keep me awake when my eyes open. A missed chance gone. I don’t shake things off like that well. The best remedy is to invite them all over with the surety of a visit to be counted on for next weekend.

Telling myself how tiny a problem this is, applying lashing after lashing while lying there trying to sleep, such as how can you let this interfere with sleep, is no help, and doesn’t put me back to sleep. Beating myself up for not doing something, not saying something, not being assertive for my needs, not, not, not…well, who can sleep with that kind of thrashing?

The fractured me is constantly being put back together, like Humpty Dumpty, breaking all over again each day, each night, each morning.