Re-visiting this blog renders feelings of guilt - something i haven't kept up on that i really felt i should. Something that would be productive,if only for me- and positive, again- only for me. So i begin by apologizing to myself for not being diligent in upholding the promises i make to myself- this blog being only one failed promise in a long line of well meaning intentions.
The problem: How much telling is too much? Why is it okay to write about these things but not THESE things? Who says? Ultimately who cares? Aside from the person or two or three that may identify themselves here either correctly or incorrectly, no one will care and yet some may be mildly entertained. Or maybe even knowing it is not them of which i speak, they will identify the sameness that sticks to all of us.
You may not have walked a mile in my shoes but i'm sure you've taken some of the same steps. Not the exact same as her over there, or him in here, but the same somewhere. Because like the saying goes, we are all more alike than we are different. In other words your heartbreak, my heartbreak? Not original. Not even a little. It's all been done before so THEREFOR why can we not speak of things that seem like "too much information" or "over sharing". Why must we only share smiling pictures and joyful events on social media or be considered an attention whore, or drama queen? It's all the same bullshit when it comes down to it. Knowing i will survive as many before me have almost makes it an adventure. Similiar to walking on coals when you don't truly believe your feet wont burn and SURPRISE- your feet got burned. Does anyone need understanding or empathy getting through the good times? doubtful, as there are usually plenty of people wiling to share in the festivities. When your heart is dark people scatter and i think it's because they are afraid its catching. They don't want your darkness to make them remember their own. Because we all have it in us. Only fools think otherwise.
I'm going to try something different. I'm not going to dull it down or leave out the grit because it makes someone else more comfortable with my experience... Because i've been going through some shit and here feels safe, like a place to unload (or as its popular now to say "unpack") it. Let's refer to it as a record of my growth from caring about others more than myself, to caring about myself enough to care more about others.
Yeah that. I want so badly to be able to talk to that one person who will weed out the emotions and care enough about me to hear my fears and say "me too. you aren't alone. I'm in it with you" and i think that maybe that is some ridiculous 70's music lyrics or 80's movie because that's not real life. Maybe for some but are they being real? Is it really possible?
i have not yet had the privilege of being truly accepted with all my faults and imperfections- that unconditional love that comes first from parents - nope. From a mother? um, nope. Parents are people first and they make mistakes but there are those that never bond, never fall in love with their children. My mother had me when she was 19 years old and "had" to get married to a mean man who was my sperm doner. All i remember of him is that he made my mother cry a lot, and he liked to hit. I was forced to go with him on a few visitations which have left me forever with the fear of heights, (jump i'll catch you) and the memory of having to bring coffee cans filled with pennies to my mother (child support) and on another occasion a check written on toilet paper, also child support. I remember this because I made my mother cry when i gave it to her. My father was a class. act. and therein began my relationships with men. But now i want to talk about my mother.....first. yes, please imagine a heavy disgusted sigh because the only reason i'm opening this box of memories is because my therapist has suggested to me that my little bubble needs to be burst where my feelings about good old mom are concerned.
Therapy seems to think my life has been so busy with all the living i've been trying to keep up with, that i've lied to myself about being okay and having moved on with all the mother issues. I personally called it making peace and not losing any more sleep over being completely and utterly abandoned by my mother at the age of 16 (well to be honest at birth although she was physically present) Therapy believes that because my children have flown the coop, my job is relatively secure and peaceful, and my living conditions are stable that time has chosen to bite me in the ass rather than reward me with peace. Kind of like getting sick on vacation.
So i'm going to begin writing a lot of things that will probably make me sick and might finally be purged. I honestly don't know what the point of rehashing the past is, considering it's not going to be changed and certainly not fixed. How much making peace with it do i need to do? I've had all of the feelings already. Doing it again makes very little sense to me but i like my therapist so i'm going to try it her way and try not to complain about it.
My mantra has always been "don't go back". Once i've moved along i do it with a vengeance. But fuck it. I'm game. It's not like i'm being asked to go back to an ex. Because that's where i draw the line, even if others don't. If you have given birth to me, and had some responsibility in the making of my DNA and odd quirks, you may treat me poorly and i will work through it over and over and over again because it seem like the respectful thing to do. There will definitely be too much information and there will be the implied eye rolls and heavy sighs.
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