I M Perfect lady

Tag: anger

  • Unravel

    In the past few months my teeth have been falling apart, broken teeth, fillings falling out and just this past Monday a root canal, all signs that my eating machine was breaking down.

    At one point I had 6 teeth with issues, both sides of my mouth and top and bottom, which created new challenges in eating, I could no longer just eat, I had to be aware of what and how.

    How interesting that I became aware of this Pac Man like eating machine only when it broke.

    And it took 7 broken teeth to get my attention and one root canal, but I am seeing it now. It slowed me down the only way it could by busting the Pac Man…the eating machine.

    When the eating machine was broken I saw my eating in slow motion.

    The frenzy pace was brought into focus…I became aware of how much I was unaware.

    How incredible is it that the Pac Man is the control center of eating instead of it being a team of mind, body and soul…this cavity of teeth and tongue is the ruler and the rest of me a victim of its poorly developed palate?

    Changing the palate to fit the fitness of my body is my latest adventure, to begin eating from the body and using the teeth instead of the teeth using me.

    I am sure in an uncontrollable environment, we control what we can, and eating uncontrollably gave us control, as well as the feeling of being satisfied in an unsatisfied world.

    What also linger at the fringes of my out of control eating are recollections of me being out alone with my father. I don’t recall anything but us eating alone. I was young, I was special I was out on a date. Yet, knowing he is a pedophile, this isn’t a nice scene…however the food was normal or more normal than what happened before or after…was I bought by a malt, was that my price? Did my life become normal again with food? It is funny how I can’t recall the abuse, but I can recall the food and can picture the restaurants and booths and even the swirling stools…

    Each part of my world is complicated with abuse.

    How I used food to normalize or control myself is the mystery I will unravel.

  • Trajectory of my life.

    Going to sleep last night with tears drying on my cheeks, after feeling the feelings of being a child with no one at your back, to feel the absence of protection of safety, and feeling the feeling of free falling with screams and no landing, I awoke to wondering who has my back now.

    I understood that most of my over dramatic ways is due to the fact that I have been unhealed, and that I have been healing as I walk with my daughter in what I call abuse, and how as I watch others respond, I am again plunged back 45 years and get to see and feel the dynamics of my own childhood.

    The present day actions are bringing forth my unexpressed feelings and giving me the chance to voice them now, letting my little girl say what she needed to say, feel what she needed to feel.

    Yet, my thought as I went to sleep last night, was who has my back now?

    Who is supporting me, who is standing with me and walking my walk?

    Am I living with people who are for me or against me?

    Frightened I felt alone again, almost childlike yet with adult options.

    I can flee; I can go where no one can hurt me.

    Confused about leaving or staying, I fell asleep.

    This morning I began writing and became more confused, so I went to my room with the heater running for yoga, and was hit directly that here, this is the warm caring I need, and then quickly felt that, I am the one I am waiting for.

    I am the one who cares for me, who will bring me to places that I need to be, allow me to speak when I need to speak…

    I am my own mother, I love and care for me.

    I have my back.

    While inside I felt the desperate need of wanting to be cared for, it would actually be relying on others for my needs, wanting them to take care of me, to be a child again.

    Wanting to feel like a child being taken care of is going backwards, reverting to childhood…

    It is my job to heal me, to feel and separate the emotions from childhood and those from today, to not mix my anger towards my mother with my husband, to keep the plays in their own era.

    The degree of separation is huge.

    Knowing that I can set the stage, make my life comfortable, that I am strong enough to watch my own back, and have the courage to speak my words, always, is huge. That I can withstand deep sadness, grief and sorrow, that I can still find my inner balance and core, that I can muddle through until clarity can be found, that I am healing and dealing and being who I am coming from whence I came.

    A woman whose childhood left scars she now has to deal with along with the raising her children, even when they dovetail, and I am asked to flow between child and mother, the wounded and the healer, the caretaker and the needy, I make it, I deal, I survive the ride down the rapids of emotions and character changes.

    What a dance, to be playing all parts, and feeling their psychological damage and or healing, repairing as I go…while growing new emotional strength leaves me exhausted and exhilarated.

    My inner body feels like it has been churned up and shot through with huge holes, bruised and achy in the feelings that run through me.

    I feel inside like I ran back-to-back marathons and carried my daughters and generations with me, that I was solving the puzzles and correcting movements, re-writing my life’s script.

    And in doing so, will change the trajectory of my life.

  • Being Irresponsible With Me.

    My failure to respond for me has led me to live a life that mirrored what others wanted of me, and each time I responded for another I walked away from me.

     

    Being irresponsible for my own self, while being overly responsible for others, is living outside of my self.

     

    I respond and move in harmony and accordance to how the other feels, not how I feel.

     

    If my movements brought sadness, I adjusted my movements, if it brought anger, I changed course. 

     

    My whole life as far back as I can remember was lived in accordance to the wishes and desires of another, a term I used was…”I was a whore for love and peace”

     

    What this means is my feelings were never in the picture, I had to grin and bear it, put my feelings and emotions aside and focus on another.

     

    And somehow I must have been rewarded for whoring this way.

     

    Perhaps being a good girl, for not making waves, for keeping peace…or as I now know, keeping sweet.

     

    Even keeping me sweet, or viewed as sweet for not resisting, for always responding to their wishes, for being the best people pleaser (or whore).

     

    My respond for me button lost its connection; I became disconnected to my feelings and was more connected to how another feels.

     

    The tragedy in all of this is while I was out there whoring for love and peace, with a broken respond for me button, I didn’t feel me.

     

    I didn’t feel.

     

    I didn’t feel that I had the right to speak up, to stop, to not do…I had to.

     

    I had to in order to be loved.

    I had to in order for peace.

    I had to in order to keep me sweet.

     

    I am shocked that it was to keep me sweet and not seen as the villain here.

     

    Yet I felt it.  What a traitor am I to think of my self!

     

    How selfish and cold to not continue responding as they need me to respond.  How dare I disconnect from the outside and reconnect to the inside.

     

    How dare I stop being a whore for their use!

     

    While celebrating on the inside I feel the wrath on the outside, but understandably so.

     

    I stopped using my body for their feelings.

     

    I stopped being irresponsible with me.

     

  • Upon His Knee.

    It would be nice if it were all lies, just a made up story, a figment of my imagination, as an email suggests.

     

    ‘you are FEEDING your anger with LIES. Just to carry on the hated/evil.’

     

    The lie I told was that my mother stayed in the same house as my father while in Texas, I guess I was wrong.  She was in the same neighborhood, just not the same house.

     

    I don’t know if she spent time with him or seen him or anything, all I knew is her destination was the same as his.  Okay, I get it ….  I was wrong.

     

    I was wrong about that.

     

    Yet what they fail to realize is that I am not looking to be fed, nor am I creating lies to fuel an evil to carry it on, the evil is being carried along by them, not me.

     

    The wonderful technology of Facebook reveals to me in pictures that don’t lie.

     

    My father is posing with his granddaughter, grandson and newest little great granddaughter, with captions of ‘grandpa’.

     

    The sender of the email is standing at his side.

     

    What they fail to notice is that THEY are the ones who allow another little girl in his presence.

     

    I am not the one who is allowing this, but the one who is trying to tell them not to trust this old grandpa man.

     

    I sent an email to the lady of the house where my father lives, informing her that I will be contacting the Family Independence Agency in their town letting them know, a child is in danger.

     

    The family can’t see the danger and while they are blind to it, the danger continues on to another generation, the third. 

     

    I thought they knew who they had in their homes, the picture tells me they have no idea.

     

    They think I am the one, who keeps this sordid tale alive, that I am the creator of this sad little tune, but little do they know; they are the ones who sing the chorus line.

     

    They think I drum up new little lies to keep their world a mess, while they are looking at me, HE is looking at his newest littlest victim, waiting for her to ripen to the perfect little age.

     

    My anger, my hate, my evil they believe I carry is the opposite.  I care enough to try and wake them up.

     

    Hate me, be angry with me, and lose your respect for me that is fine, I will do my best to keep his hands off another little girl.

     

    The picture is the picture of denial.

    Denial is seeing a grandpa where a pedophile stands.

     

    He looks the same.

    Harmless.

    Old.

    Familiar.

    Himself.

     

    What I needed the most way back when, was someone to alert the family, someone to protect me from this man.  I can now be that person to the newest little girl to join our family tree.

     

    I will be the one who tries to stop the spread of his disease from touching her.

     

    Perhaps her grandmother will now take heed, pay attention when it is her first grandchild who sits upon HIS knee.

     

  • In Charge Of Me!

    What a great realization that their mess is their mess, their enlightenment is their enlightenment, their life is theirs, to put into prospective what is rightfully my own.

     

    Imagine living with a bunch of lives within you, to be so connected that their poor choice feels like your poor choice!

     

    Last night I read again from The Presence Process and the following paragraphs caught my attention.

     

    “We can discover the identity of the negative emotion beneath the charge that we are carrying by stopping habits and/or addictions.  The emotions that consequently erupt will reveal the nature and the intensity of the negative emotional charge that unconsciously drives our self-medicating behavior.  All addictions are self-medication, and all are passed on through vibrational, emotional, mental and physical imprinting.  Effectively decreasing our negative emotional charge is the only causative treatment for addiction that has any real and lasting effect.  The outer physical self-medicating habit is an effect of an inner emotional condition, so quitting our self-medicating behaviors without releasing the attached charge accomplishes nothing real.  It is ineffectual.  All that will occur is that our self-medication will be transferred from one behavior pattern to another.

     

    The extent of the negative emotional charge is what separates a person who is “in charge” of his or her life from a person who is “carrying a charge” through his or her life.  When a person enters our sphere of awareness, it is not immediately apparent whether they are in charge or carrying a charge.  However, observing their behaviors over a period of time will tell all.  Everyone who is carrying a substantial negative emotional charge will exhibit physical, mental and emotional drama sooner or later.  It will manifest automatically in their outer life experiences.  They will also have to lace their life with self-medication behaviors; they will have to establish their means of sedation and control through habits and addictions.  Society’s acceptance of alcohol and cigarettes enables us to self-medicate openly without feeling awkward about our inability to integrate our uncomfortable inner emotional condition.”

                    Michael Brown

     

    I way love how we either are In Charge or Carrying a Charge.

     

    It is my experience that I felt that it was me that ignited the charge, that I was able to send fireworks flying upon a word or deed I did.

     

    Instead it is my understanding that we walk around fully loaded, or fully in charge.

     

    It is amazing that self-medications are to keep the charge from exploding and going off, and what we need most is to get to the bottom of the charge.

     

    To explore the stockpile of explosives we are carrying around, to see what unexpressed or unfelt emotions are riding shotgun in our lives.

     

    This is so freeing to me that the explosive charge is not mine to explore in others, the only place I can have lasting peace is to express and feel all that I stored within me.

     

    I love how the more in charge you are, the less of a charge you carry.

     

    You know how it is when you feel that someone has buttons to push everywhere, that it seems you are in front of a live wire, or an explosive device but are not sure what will send it flying, now I know that it isn’t so much what I say, but what kind of inner charge they are ignoring.

     

    He gave examples of this inner fire.

    “In the heat of the moment.”

    “Hot under the collar”

    “Going to blow my top”

    “Letting off steam”

    “Losing my cool”

    “I’m in hot water now.”

     

    Isn’t it amazing how we say such wise things, but really don’t understand the totality of what we are saying!

     

    To be in charge, to face our lives without the past voltage of negative energies is a huge accomplishment, and I feel it takes going into the fire of past hurts, pains and discomforts to take the charge out of them.

     

    To express our feelings which we were unable to do back then, we get to go back and drag them up, and be with them awhile, to finally lay them to rest.

     

    Until all that is left is an empty bullet shell, an incident we fully expressed.

     

    If we don’t, we are like hidden land mines and others pay the price, our shrapnel flies everywhere injuring everyone in its wake, when they happen to say or do the wrong thing that sets us off.

     

    This gives me such comfort to know I am not in charge of your charge; I am only in charge of me!

     

  • Will they walk on by, again.

    My brother and I began our blogs together on Easter Sunday, just a few months back.

     

    Immediately it grew into a space that became sacred.  It held our secrets, our truths and our fears with respect and dignity. 

     

    Our words lie here innocently, linked together, holding each other, intertwined together wrapping themselves with emotions of fear, love, triumph and failure, tangled with questions and mental thoughts, messy and unwinding until breaking free in understanding.

     

    I knew it wasn’t a locked place, or one that wasn’t open to anyone’s eyes, in fact I thought perhaps just one person could better understand themselves by reading about me, yet open means anyone can wander in.

     

    Yesterday my brother shares with me, he sent one of my sisters to his blog.  In his blog, and my blog is mentioned, so in fact he shared ‘our’ blogs with her.

     

    He opened the door of our sacred place, beckoning them inside to gaze about, into the rooms of our souls.

     

    Part of me welcomes them in, and a bigger part of me has me ducking in the back, hoping they come and leave quickly.

     

    My last encounter with this sister, was a four-page letter she wrote to me, dated February 19, 2007. 

     

    In the letter she accurately states that it had been 5 years since we seen each other and two since we had spoken.  We can now add another 2 ½ years to those numbers. 

     

    She is finally breaking her silence to pretty much tell me off.  “I was quiet long enough.  You have had many opportunities to inflict your pain on others and I HAVE HAD ENOUGH,” she writes.

     

    She sees me as the one inflicting pain.  Her screams come through the pages, the direct hits are slaps and her defense is for the rest of the family.

     

    Granted this letter was written two and a half years ago, so time could have softened her stance against me, yet what I recall most of that letter was the volume of anger, the intense hatred towards me and the loving defense for my father and mother.

     

    This is why most children never speak of the crimes against them.  I became a bigger monster than he!

     

    In this letter she claims she is not in denial for she has my father in her home. (below is an excerpt)

     

      “I have dealt with his probation officer and counselor.  He resides in my home.  He leaves the yard 4 times a month; his name/picture and my address are on the offenders list for protection of ALL others.  My son knows the truth, and my husband knows the truth, as well as his family and my friends.  DO NOT EVER dare say that I am in denial.  I care for him DESPITE all the horrific offenses he has committed in his lifetime.  He will die with me and you NEVER have to see him again.  I chose to forgive for MY SAKE and yet you judge…….What accountability do you take as a daughter?  How come you didn’t know the truth?  Why as one of the oldest did you not protect us?  Why JUST blame mom?  Why when I told you all about my friend did you not tell me she was right?  Why would you want me to continue to be a victim all those years of carrying that pain?  Who are you to tell mom that everything she did/gave in her life was “nothing”?  Sister, if you can truthfully answer all of these questions than you and I would have something to talk about. 

    I am NOT blaming you for anything but the constant drive to tear our family down and apart.  I know that we are not perfect and that we ALL have dysfunctions and so do all other families.  What point are you making that we don’t already know?  Who are you to say what is right or wrong for others?  You have every right to disagree, but why the toxic/hateful approach?  You ACTUALLY believe that not acknowledging our family makes you a BIGGER person?

    If our brother is really suicidal and you are the CLOSEST person to him, why can’t you help him?  Why can’t you heal the wounds of others if you have the knowledge to do so?  Why are you so determined to persuade others of your rightness…….

     

    And so the letter goes.

     

    So how do I welcome her in?  Who is she today?  What changes have occurred in her life, is she the same? 

     

    I do know that she and my mother are still in a relationship, for my mother’s last return address came from her town. 

     

    Isn’t it odd that I just write about denial and in pops my sister?  She believes that loving, dealing and being with a pedophile is not denial.  She calls that love and forgiveness.

     

    It almost seems absurd to not see what she is doing wrong, yet it is near impossible.

     

    I am blamed for tearing down and apart our family, and for not protecting the children that came behind me.  I am to blame.

     

    I am to blame for it all.

     

    Isn’t it wild how easy it is to blame the wrong one.

     

    The child gets blame, shamed and guilt for all things.

     

    Did she write her father a letter blaming him for destroying the lives of many?  Did she write her mother a letter blaming her for being in denial?  Did she?

     

    Instead I felt like I was the whipping pole that all used for the cause of our families troubles.  I was the cause, the problem and the reason, just me.

     

    And now she will walk into the blog and read my view?  Will she see it as excuses, flimsy reasons, delusional mutterings, and mental ramblings of a crazy sister?

     

    The juxtaposition between the two of us is incredible.

    If I had to have someone from the ‘other side’ read my blog, it would be her. 

     

    Imagine that she feels victimized by me, that I have inflicted my pain on others.

     

    My pain literally did affect others, my pain did drive me to take the stand I took, my pain did lead me away from a family of my childhood, my pain was the impetus in all my actions! 

     

    My pain in my early years blinded me, and for that reason alone, I was unable to stop a monster.

     

    She blames me for no action in the past and then the actions of today.  There is no winning spot with her.

     

    She is the voice of that side, the anger of that side, she is the one who labeled what I felt from them.

     

    Their energy wasn’t warm, it wasn’t fuzzy and there was no sign of understanding, empathy or caring.

     

    If they can’t see me, they can’t see one other little girl who was molested by him.  Maybe their denial is in whether they can see the damaged girl.

     

    Will my blog open eyes, will it shatter the denial of me, what will the response be.

     

    I am almost flinching from the second blow to come, to feel once again the rage and hatred to me.  Will it hurt as much this time?  Will I be stronger and better equipped?  What will this stir up? 

     

    Maybe a greater part of me fears they will not read.

    They will not bother.  Will that hurt more?

    My soul lays open, will they walk on by, again.