Still, I'm having issues with my hormone cycle and my buried emotional states or EP's being triggered. I woke up altered, my perceptions altered, feeling like a different person, with different feelings/emotions/personality, yet knowing I have a job to do. I resented having to do it. I got ready to work on pure resentment and anger. I think I must have felt this way a good deal of my childhood, and I recall specifically one morning my father got me ready for school, pulling my hair into a ponytail, and how much I hated him and didn't want him touching me. I seethed. Quietly seethed.
Lately, I realize that a large part of wanting to move far away is my own fear of this dreadful anger. There are parts of my personality that are violent and stuck on rage.
Once I was driving and, always, I hoped to avoid running into my parents, both of whom I contain raw, unfinished business with. I saw a woman who appeared to be my mother, riding a white bike, which my mother has, near enough to her home to be within biking distance, is she were ambitious. The woman looked very tired, which my mom would be had she gone that far from home.
We're talking about a woman who let her children be sexually abused, who didn't believe them, who threatened them when they talked, and who actually drown them for telling a neighbor. She also nearly shot my father while hunting, by accident. She let my sister fall down a flight of stairs (baby gate's are TOO EXPENSIVE) and who didn't buy us coats or gloves in winter (again, children are just too expensive).
So yesterday, the memory of the dead, yellow bird (didn't get to say goodbye, didn't see the body) confession came to mind, and I suddenly saw myself holding a baseball bat and smashing the back of her head with it for killing the damn bird. It was the last straw.
I was shocked that my mind altered the memory of hearing about the dead bird by inserting me killing my mom, or at least smashing her skull, with a bat. I feel the need to write this down. I'm so upset by the anger I contain, and its random emanations.
I am afraid of the violence that lives in me, the pure hatred and how it coexists with mercy and compassion. When a child loves it parents, and is so cruelly abused by them over so long a time, this is the result. Something finally snaps.
I think of the time I found fake pearls on the ground, and was proud to show my mother what I found. She bragged often about her luck in finding things of value.
She said they were fake, so I should not be proud. She snatched the necklace out of my hands and said "these are too nice for you!" And I never saw them again. She never wore them. But I was not to have any happiness.
This is a snapshot of the whole life, my whole life. It was always only about removing my chance at happiness, even in small things. That couldn't be tolerated. When we went to go do a snow day, I wasn't to be given gloves. I was to have cold hands. It was her greatest entertainment to watch me shiver and cry. It made her laugh. I was the court fool. I am so angry to have been the whipping post for these two evil people; I am so angry that I cannot be happy now, that their abuse lives on in me, and that I cannot shake it off. I lie in bed, and I relive the abuse, feel the anger, upon waking, or upon falling asleep. In dreams. Still very trapped in it.
They felt disgust, and they unleashed their disgust into me. And I feel disgust with my own feelings. My own self. I must have turned my hatred for them inward long ago, to try to still be a good person. And now what? There are just not enough teardrops to cry it all out of me. There are not enough hours to spend in sorrow. Even if I wallowed forever, the pain just keeps going and going, a sustainable source of emotional energy if ever there were one. So I just try to push it down another day.
But the other day, I was able to cry the cry of the unloved child, to feel this sting and let it go. It felt good to cry and let the pain of being unloved by the parents be soothed. I am feeling that this pain will last forever. I am feeling that this is my life. Life is suffering. Life is what happens when you find something beautiful, and you feel elated only to have someone snatch it from you. I see this happening to people everywhere: to my friend whose baby was stillborn, to my friends who lost their health or their job. To the friends with children on drugs. For all of us, This happens everyday in so many ways to everyone. Intentional or not, life is not ever going to be easy, has its hardships. And some of those, like C PTSD, just play like a theme song always in the background. Even on a good day, there is a sad song playing across generations, of sadness, hero and villain and strangers all have sadness, but the key difference in the attitude toward others.
