I am going to be ok… I have been working so hard and making so much progress. I am excited about my future for the first time in as long as I can remember. I feel so full of hope and promise. I feel like I’m getting the hang of things. I know what I want and I know what I need to do with my life. It’s a nice feeling – I know I don’t have everything together – but I know I will be happy one day. Strange, this feeling of hope. I think I’ll just enjoy it for once.
I feel like I am in the fight of my life. I am up against so much. Not only am I still coming to terms with my past abuse, I am trying to break my present cycle of self-abuse. I was feeling all proud of myself thinking I had come so far… and to be fair I have made a lot of progress – but I have a daunting amount of work ahead of me. I am nearly crippled by this. I don’t know how to be real. I am really good at faking it. I look great on paper – happily married, good career, room for growth and promotion in my field, 2 college degrees, a savings account, pets, friends… We own our home and cook meals way more than we eat out… we hike when we can on weekends and try to play tennis once a month… The reality is we don’t have it together. I don’t have it together. I don’t even know where “it” is to get it together. I have no idea where to start. I’m reading books, doing my devotions, listening to Christian music, going to therapy and yet “it” eludes me.
I don’t want to go through the motions, I want to live. I am fighting to live – to breathe – to have a thought or opinion I don’t feel I have to apologize for. I am sick to death of being sorry all the time! What am I sorry for, existing? breathing? being? I have no idea… I just feel perpetually apologetic and frankly pathetic! This is not me… every fiber of my being screams and rails against this shell of a person I have become. I have to defeat her. She may have served a purpose at one time but those days are long gone and now instead of helping me she is slowly undermining me – turning me into a mindless, whimpering drone. I am not this woman. I am passionate and alive. I am angry and strong and am not going to put up with this any more! I am fierce and loving and loyal and I get what I want because I fight for it. I am not this mousey, lay down and die disguise I have been wearing… I am not this afraid to look you in the eyes broken down woman who I have been pretending to be lately.
I am putting on my armor – I am sharpening my weapons – I am stoking this furnace and I will burn off this shell in a wash of heat and light and hope. I will find myself again and I will not be burdened by all of this fear any longer. I deserve better. I am worth fighting for and if any one is going to fight for me I had better start the battle. I am loved, I am fiercely guarded, I am cherished, I am Captivating. I will defeat these shackles and melt away these chains and I will rise up. I am an amazing woman. I am strong. You haven’t seen anything yet.
Little girl, pigtails and blue-jeans
all muddy and smiling so big!
I love to watch you fling out your arms
and twirl in the sunshine. You see
the world through uniqe eyes that
accept with blind faith the beauty
and wildness of the world was created for you.
You know instinctively that joy is
your reason for being. You take delight
everywhere you find it and accept
without question that happiness is yours.
Perhaps I will come twirl with you today –
and you can show me the world through your eyes.
Father’s Day came and went this year like every year before it – full of conflicting emotions and empty of truth. What has ‘father’ meant to me? Why should I celebrate a day for him? I’m so confused. ‘Father’ has been ‘tyrant’, ‘teacher’, diciplinarian’, ‘grouch’,’hateful’…’father’ has also been ‘fun’, ‘companion’, ‘playmate’ and ‘preacher’. The trouble for me is there are too many faces, none of them consistant… few of them friendly. One good day is supposed to erase months of yelling, insults, fear and humiliation. One day spent laughing together is supposed to make me forget being ruled with an iron fist and a sarcastic sneer. Daddy, I forgive you… I just can’t be the sacrificial lamb anymore… you may find me more lion than you remember me…
Fear blossoms in my chest
a familiar rose – black instead of red.
Each petal a knife.
I cannot shake this chill
this fingernails on a chalkboard
vibration in my bones.
I feel the knife twist deeper and
cannot even bring myself
to gasp in pain.
I am beyond surprise;
beyond shock. I am simply
accustomed.
Your eyes smile as you lick my
blood from your blade
holding your knife in one hand
and your bible in another.
Scribe, pharisee, hypocrite!
Who has warned you to flee from the wrath to come?
I watch your Judas lips drip poison
and I smile in polite fascination
pretending to agree.
I nod in the right places,
I make eye contact, I hope
my disgust is well hidden.
I can’t seem to follow this thread
this back and forth
this friendly banter.
I am not sure how this is
supposed to work… this friendship
this conversation.
I am lost in a sea of political correctness
and cannot convey the thoughts
simmering beneath my surface.
I allow you to lie in my face
and thank you for your
endless unabashed betrayals.
I don’t know why I protect
you from me. I owe
you nothing. Nothing!
Yet you take from me…
day after day you diminish me –
rendering me irrelevant.
I will not die here – buried
under the avalanche of
your words…your indifference.
I will shake this off and
find re-birth in the flame
of your disapproval.
Fear is a funny thing…it creeps in and slowly takes over. I am consumed by fear lately and I don’t know what to do. My heart alternately races and pounds. I just want some quiet…some calm…some peace. I have had all I can take from my crazy job. My bosses just keep piling it on and piling it on… it’s like they want to see what our breaking point is going to be. If we get the work done by hook or by crook they just pile more on. If we don’t get our work done we get in trouble. If we ask for help or say we’re overwhelmed we are told we should practice better time management. It really is disappointing and frustrating and crazy-making. I used to love my job, now I am consumed with anxiety every day when getting ready for work. I just don’t know what to do. I am afraid of losing my job and I am afraid if I stay I will go crazy.
There’s something out there that is calling to me.
I hear the voice clearly – haunting – chilling-alluring.
I long to follow… but I am so afraid.
It whispers, teases, shouts – and still I stand-
frozen and impotent.
When I break free of this I will run blindly
into that tantalizing music of freedom
and find my laughter waiting for me there.
I am reading this book by Susan Forward called Toxic Parents (Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life). I am really enjoying it so far. I can see a little of my family in each chapter. I grew up alternately feeling invisible and feeling conspicuous. There was a part of me that longed to be seen, to be known and accepted… yet – there was another part of me that waned to hide, that wanted to blend into the background as to avoid pain. It was a mass of confusion. Having on the one hand parents who gave us gifts and spent time with us and took us on vacations… and on the other hand those same parents systematically broke us into pieces. My father would call me beautiful, then accuse me of being vain in virtually the same breath. My mother just stood by and did what-ever he wanted. My father would get angry with us and whip us and my mother would have us go apologize to the man. I never did understand what my crime was. All these years later I still feel pulled apart by it all. Will I ever be whole?
Fall always makes me think of home. I have so many good memories of this season… bonfires, roasting marshmallows, the smell of hay and sweet-feed in the barn mingled in with the smell of fresh milk after milking our cow…cool mornings being up before sunrise and looking up at the stars while tending to the animals… long evenings filled with family and music outside with lots of food and laughter and noise. These are the things I miss about my family…my old home. When I think of those cool nights when I would sneak out of the house and go for a walk by moon-light and listen to the call of the whippoorwills, I can’t remember why I was so unhappy there. It’s like these good memories crowd out all the bad ones and I feel stupid for being so miserable. Then I think about all the abuse, all the pain, the feeling that I was unseen, the feeling that I was property meant to serve a purpose in my home… and I remember. I remember how alone I always felt. I remember having to act like a pretty little happy robot just to survive. I remember how no negative emotion was allowed to show in my home. I remember being treated like a servant and not a daughter. I remember being screamed at and berated… I remember. Looking back all the things I loved most about my child-hood had nothing to do with the people and everything to do with the season, the activities, the animals, the sky… and I am determined to recapture that in my adulthood. I am determined to stop… to look around… to enjoy this beautiful world and to recapture my youth.
captivatingbitter 