I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching lately recently. My head was really f#@ked up since I heard, second-hand, that my birth mother never wanted to speak to me again. It cut me deep. It took me back to times where she’d dismissed me, my feelings, the things happening in my life. Once again I wasn’t good enough. It didn’t matter how many loans I paid off for her. How much shopping I bought for her. The job I had. The people I associated with, nothing was good enough.
I’ve looked at myself. I’ve sat and thought the world was better off without me. About how selfish that was to my son and my partner but I was hurting. I was hurting because I was cut out again. But I wasnt prepared to give up. Thats not who I am and I wouldn’t allow someone who’s seeming quite happy to cause another person, especially their own daughter, this kind of pain and torment the pleasure. So, soul-searching it is.
Healing is more than moving on from painful situations. It’s facing that anguish, pushing through and coming out the other side. Not always unblemished, but more knowledgeable than before and hopefully having treated yourself kinder than the situation that brought you here originally.
Being an avid gym goer, and one who was tiring of radio of playlists, I downloaded an audiobook. Whilst this book sat on my virtual shelf for a time I pushed myself that nothing would change if I didn’t at least face the aspects of my past causing me pain. A stepping stone to a better future. One where I don’t feel like another matriarchal abandonment is my fault.
The book was hard going at first. Triggering so much and yet having to listen whilst performing another task stopped me from turning off entirely. Eventually, a catharsis to a belief that actually, perhaps not only am I am the victim but I’m not going be defined by this. I was, I still am the child in this relationship (ish) and not the parent who saw fit to ignore horrendous panic attacks, ignore a desperate women in the midst of post natal depression and subsequent relationship breakdown. A parent who decided I was selfish immediately after the death of my father because I stood up to her bullying when she told me, in my exhausted state, how I shouldn’t have fallen asleep and spoken to her when I woke and that I was selfish. I am the victim. I am the neglected child. But I am the stronger of the family as I will not cower to the bullshit and bad mouth my mother as she is doing about me including to my own son.
I know I’m not alone in stating this, but I seriously detest New Year’s Eve especially as it also falls on my birthday. It has never been an affair I’ve fallen hard for, then missed because I’ve grown older. It’s always been a sad, tedious, boring, desperately trying to soldier through without killing someone or myself.
The fact that my family always used Christmas as a celebratory event but skimped on the date in question 6 days later always made me feel intensely special.
The date has been a get together for all of my friends – just never all together with me. I’ve truly never felt cherished or loved at this time. Never felt like the effort I would put into others birthdays was put into mine. Maybe my expectations are much higher or maybe it just fills me with dread when this time or year appears.
So I’ve told my partner, I’m spending 2019 alone. No company. No forced “fun”. No feeling like no one has made an effort when it’s the time of year everyone seems to go over the top. If no effort is going to be made, it’s going to be my way.
Actually, I’m going to find something to do. Something for others. Stop this bollocks of depression and feeling shit and help someone else who needs help and support.
Blurgh, I mean 2019 everyone!
I’m impatient. I don’t know if I’ve always been that way as I believe I can pinpoint the exact event where my lack of patience was at its most noticeable, to me at least.
Ok, so if you were to time travel to that time, zoom into the past with me, you’d see a little girl, just out of the infant’s and into the juniors, offered the exciting opportunity to get her ears pierced. I was BEYOND excited! I couldn’t stop talking about it, I couldn’t stop telling my family “I’m getting my ears pierced today!” I exclaimed.
I counted down minutes to an unspecified time I imagined. I never knew what time this mystical event would happen, I just knew it would. I’d been promised. Parents always keep their promises.
I must have talked this happening up so much people were becoming tired of my tirade, I was informed. Perhaps a family member complained. Perhaps it was all a pipe dream. I was told I’d talked too much about this. I wasn’t having the ears pierced after all. Talking or excitement equalled showing off and that, is unacceptable.
I pleaded. I promised to stop talking about it. I must have really annoyed people with my inane wittering. I was ashamed. I couldn’t face all these people, the same people who is excitedly talked with about the tremendous news of the piercing. But no, it wasn’t going to happen. I’d managed to spoil it all for myself and now, it wasn’t to be.
Today, I’m impatient. I’m waiting on call backs from important questions I will asked of others. I’m impatient waiting for items I’ve ordered. I’m impatient for a future I saw with my partner but we don’t talk about.
I wish I wasn’t, but too much to be impatient about you see.
Waking after a horrid dream is never a pleasant experience but add a dash of self loathing in once you’ve read a trigger article online and you truly have a recipe for a great start to your day.
The question now, the one which I ask as I hunt down my blog (since it’s been a while) is do I commit to writing my feelings and what prompted them? Is it cathartic? Indulgent? Will it produce further destructive thoughts and self deprecation? Probably, that’s what happens along with the lack of desire to look after one’s self; no shower, no make up, no respect (I’m not saying I need those to feel self respect but I know if I don’t do these the loathing will increase throughout the day).
The dream brought several people to my thoughts; mother, brother, ex. Even in the dreamed I cried. Even in the dream I was dressed inappropriately, dressing gown, whilst amongst a crowd of inert human beings. My brother told me he was gay. Not the reason I was upset, I was reaching out to him, wanting to connect and he left, no communication except when I wanted to make the effort and then at that point he was already moving away. My mother was upset, losing her boy, and countless people were reminiscing and sharing goodbyes, goodlucks, finger food and love as he left but not with me. My presence was incidental and not remarked upon. Only my ex noted my tear stained face and not with words, but for once a kind or empathetic look, nothing more.
This all compounded after reading a news article regarding adult survivors of childhood abuse. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/stories-43927947 It made me sick to my stomach.
I’m such a mess.
My father passed over 2 years ago now and we mostly had a civil adult relationship. There could have been less aggression, a little more openess. Grief wasn’t kind even though this was the beforehand experience. It stopped me wanting to live a more healthy life. I turned to the very thing that contributed to his demise (though not death), alcohol. But enough of that. It’s been awhile now and those murky depths of an alcoholic beverage and copious bottles have long since left my waking moments. No, it’s the continued ‘haunting’. My dad loved his music. It was our one real connection. ELO being a perfect example of the type I began to love after being introduced to at an early age however since his death the sounds only serve to remind me of the loss, the anger, the pain, the unrequited need for love.
I hate hearing what was once a cherished group and singer in a way I never thought possible. He speaks to me more in death than in life and that makes me so very, very sad.