Worth Reading

Just another good article: The Secret Language of Narcissists: How Abusers Manipulate Their Victims

In The Papers Again...

Today's article  So the PFA-ex made the paper again.   This time "jailed on $250,000 bail on charges of attempted homicide, a first-degree felony; aggravated assault with extreme indifference to human life, a first-degree felony; aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, a second-degree felony; simple assault, a second-degree misdemeanor; and recklessly endangering another person, a second-degree misdemeanor...  Troopers interviewed _________ at 3:10 a.m. Wednesday. _________ initially denied having any problem with _________, but then told police the man was an 'asshole' and a 'menace to the neighborhood' and that the police haven’t done anything, court records read.  _______ then told troopers, 'Since you guys couldn’t handle the problem, I went down to the victim’s residence and confronted him,' court records read."

Because that is what normal people do, right?  Have an issue with a neighbor?  Don't like them?  Pump them full of lead--because that's what "good guys" do.  According to Facebook Comments , anyhow...

"There is no excuse for shooting a person but there is something very suspicious here. Why did the so called victim taunt the other guy...knowing he had a gun???? How long has each individual lived there????"  My translation:  There is no excuse, but well, maybe there was...  This may have been okay because he taunted a guy knowing he was armed... "So called-victim"--being shot numerous times in their own yard and they are the "so called victim"?  WHAT??? As if there is some question as to whether they are a victim or not?  Really???  And who cares how long they lived there?  What difference does that make?  Does that somehow imply that being shot numerous times in his own yard was okay?  What am I missing here?

"There is more to the story. ..what I know of Keith, he is a good guy...must been something serious going on."  My translation:  This was definitely okay because ____ is a good guy...  You do not go onto someone else's property, shoot them a bunch of times, go back home like nothing happened, and still get called a "good guy"--that is not how it works.  If that is a good guy, I would really hate to meet someone that may not be.

"Sad but when you plead for help and nothing gets done bad things can happen!!"  My translation:  Well, the police wouldn't do anything, what did they expect?  Boys will be boys...  So this is the fault of the police?  They did go investigate and found no issue.  What else were they supposed to do?  So that makes everything okay since the police "did nothing"?

"There's always more to a story then what's reported!!!"  My translation: This was probably okay because the news may be hiding something...  And that makes shooting someone okay, why???

"I know Keith his [sic] a great guy would do anything for anybody that he knows."  My translation: This was definitely okay because _________ is a good guy.  I bet the victim's family agrees 100%.   Actually, as the PFA-ex, I may argue this statement, as well...

"Sorry. There is something more to this story. Taunting a guy with a gun never turns out good."  My translation: This was probably okay since he knew the guy was armed.  Isn't that asking for it?  Didn't he get what he deserved?  What difference does "more to the story" make?  Is that an acceptable reason to have your neighbor come onto your property and shoot you?  

The comments further go on giving the victim's family a hard time because his seventeen-year-old son was outside investigating the shots and dogs barking with him:  "Who brings their son out to check 'shots heard'.   How old is this son? Is he part of law enforcement? Maybe a member of the military? HOW OLD IS YOU NEPHEW?"  Umm, who checks these things out with their household members?  Maybe, normal people who are not expecting to be shot?

My questions: Why are people supporting this action? Why is this family being targeted? Haven't they been through enough? Am I the only one that sees there is a clear victim, here? A victim that was on his own property and had a neighbor show up in the dark with a gun and shoot him in front of his child. I do not care what the rest of the story is or how "good of a guy" other people think he is--that really isn't okay. Am I the only one that sees this? There is no justifying going onto someone else's property and shooting them. I am sorry, but that entire family is grieving, in shock, and should be offered the support of the community. Instead, they seem to be on trial and are being expected to defend themselves further. What am I missing here? Where is the community outreach, the offers to start fundraisers for the victims to cover hospitalization, travel, future surgeries, and other expenses because their neighbor decided he has the right to decide to shoot one of their loved ones? What if this was YOU or YOUR family? Would it still be okay? This family is going through enough right now, they are suffering enough without all of that added crazy.

I don't know the victim or their family, but I am sorry that they are going through this.  What they are going through right now is horrible and there is no excusable reason for any of it. My thoughts regarding these other people--the online trolls? They weren't there, they do not understand what that family is going through, nor is it any of their business. This family just had their world turned upside down and should not have to explain themselves to anyone--for any reason. They have just experienced a horrible, traumatic experience and really don't need that on top of it. Last I checked, we do not live in a vigilante justice system--no more excuses...

The Blades They Use

What It Means When a Narcissist Says "I Love You"

This was a powerful read for me. The one that really got me: "I love that you keep telling me how much I hurt you, not knowing that, to me, this is like a free marketing report, which lets me know how effective my tactics have been to keep you in pain..." That may best sum it all up, in my eyes. 

I never really thought about how (or why) he knew which buttons to push, how to hurt me the most--when in reality, there was a running mental tab all along. By the end of that two year reign, he could lay it all out and collapse me to my knees. It is mind-boggling when you stop to think that the pain is intentional and meant to crush your soul. I do see that now; at the time, I simply could not comprehend such intentional cruelty.

My dad always tried to do it, too--his big one was hurting me with my mom--finally, I reached a point where I was able to calmly say : "I am sorry you feel that way about her" and ignore his jabs--leading him to red-faced, eye bulging rage that he could not illicit a response from me. His anger that I refused to be baited...

The PFA-ex went to great lengths to tell me how he went to my mom's grave, talked to her, prayed, and knew that she wanted us to stay together--that she wanted me to go back to him. What a bunch of B.S. In all of the time that we were together, he refused to ever even get out of the vehicle and support me through the moments at her graveside--he was always a complete bastard on those days. But at the time it was a knife twist. And he knew it...

It is truly a despicable human that would intentionally cut you with the blade of grief for their own gain and manipulation. It is truly a despicable human that would intentionally cut you with ANY blade for their own gain and manipulation. I am sorry that others have lived through it, too, There is a definite beauty is knowing that I am now free and they can never touch me again...

Appearances

This past Friday, I had lunch with a paternal aunt that I hadn't seen in years.  Truthfully, I can't remember the last time that we had the opportunity to spend actual quality time together--my teenage years?  Possibly.  Between being separated by physical miles and each having our own lives, we simply drifted apart and lost touch with each other.

She was married to her second husband over the past fourteen years and has been separated from him for about six months.  She expressed how the first seven years were the best years of her life and how it was the first time that she truly felt loved in a relationship and now understood the statement regarding being married to your best friend.  She expressed that they had both made mistakes in the years following that led to their current situation, but that she still loved him and that they had almost a decade of wonderful years together.

What surprised me about all of this was the rest of the family's reactions, especially her adult children's reactions.  I saw my aunt and step-uncle together during those first years and I never doubted her happiness.  She seemed to be deeply in love and truly happy for the first time.  It showed on her face, the way that she carried herself, in her actions, and in her words.  However, it seems that I was one of the few that saw this or believed that she was actually happy.  

When my aunt was with her first husband, the father of her children, she always dressed to the hilt, perfect make-up, perfect hair--she always presented herself well and was up-to-date with the latest fashions and styles.  She explained that this was largely due to her own insecurities and his comments regarding how important it was to him to be seen with beautiful women, which sadly, were not always her.

With her second husband, she was able to dress as she wished and in whatever manner was most comfortable--he didn't care if she wore make-up or not, so often she chose not to.  As she explained it, he loved her for who she was and it didn't matter to him what the rest of the world thought--as long as she was comfortable and happy.  Her family and children however, saw this as her "going downhill" and refusing to take care of herself.  They missed that she was happy and focused instead on her former "made-up" appearance verses her new "naked self".

I understand this on several levels, she became a different woman than they remembered her as.  She was no longer rushed, no longer frantic regarding her appearance, she was more relaxed.  Sometimes these abrupt changes appear to others as though something is wrong with us, when in reality we have finally embraced who we are and are more comfortable with presenting the real us to the world.  Her adult children saw this as her new husband changing her into something unfamiliar and the change concerned them.  As a result, they struggled with truly seeing her happiness and made assumptions that these changes were a reflection of her inner self and that she had quit caring about herself and her outward appearance--also common symptoms of depression.  

I should note here that these are her opinions as to why her children didn't care for her second husband and thought that he was bad for her--I haven't actually asked them and probably will not.  Her interpretation is enough and provide the basis for my focus, today.  I am not stating that there was anything wrong with the reaction that others had to the new her, either--just simply that the automatic assumption was that there was "something wrong" with who she was becoming.  

The observation that I am making is how difficult it can be for the world to accept when we abruptly change our outer appearance, especially drastic changes.  People are comfortable with the known; change is always suspect.  It is normal for others to make assumptions regarding these personal changes, whether they are based upon fact or reality is another question, altogether.  

Consider this, when someone suddenly either gains or loses a significant amount of weight, the difference can be unsettling when you next run into them, expecting them to appear as you are used to seeing them--sometimes you don't even recognize them.  I have encountered several friends after they had lost one hundred, two hundred pounds--quite simply, I had no idea who they were until they reintroduced themselves.  We have a certain expectation regarding appearances and sometimes even the years can change a person so drastically that we don't recognize them later.  It is simply a fact of life.  We hold a mental picture and when that mental picture no longer matches the person in front of us, it can be unsettling.  Our natural reaction is to wonder inwardly, why?  What made them change?

In my aunt's opinion, the reason that our family and her children did not care for her second husband was due to them blaming him for these changes within her and suspecting the worst.  I cannot say; I always liked him and was grateful that he seemingly made her happy.  I was also quick to challenge negative comments the family would make about him, so they eventually quit making such comments in front of me.  I only have her opinion and thoughts regarding the matter.

Overall though, I related greatly to her story.  When I was with the PFA-ex, he constantly badgered me about my appearance.  I didn't wear enough make up, I didn't show enough cleavage, I didn't dress sexy enough--these were serious issues in his eyes and the cause of many arguments.  I did try to please him, so I often attempted to appear as he wished me to be seen, regardless of the fact that it really wasn't who I am, on any level.  I saw it as a simple way to please him and not much different than a costume, it was easily taken back off when the day was through.  

However, when that relationship ended so poorly and put me in such distress, one of the first things that I did was throw out all of that make-up.  It wasn't even a question of "I may want to wear this and look nice for some future event"--it was straight out anger at what it represented and how much I had let myself be changed.  It was almost an act of rebellion throwing it away and with that came the strong affirmation that if folks needed me to wear a mask to like me, I don't need them in my life.  I was adamant that I would never allow myself to be a slave to my appearance again, for any reason.

I realize that not all of you know what I look like in real life.  I am very blonde, very pale, my skin is often blotchy and easily irritated.  I had always worn make-up any time leaving the house--from around thirteen on, I just always wore make-up.  Maybe not the great amounts that Mr. Vain wanted, but I always wore concealer, facial powder, and mascara, at the very least.  

I remember one day, around 2006, showing up to work without make-up due to running late and the question everyone threw at me: "Are you sick? You don't look good."  They weren't used to seeing my non-existent eyelashes (they are blonde and really not visible without mascara); my splotchy skin, and general pallor.   It simply wasn't how they were used to me appearing, the naked face under the mask.  If you have watched the before and after make-up tutorials or witnessed the differences between celebrities "caught without make-up" verses what the public normally sees, you know that make-up can make a huge difference in a person's appearance.

However, after I left the PFA-ex, I lost the desire to appear as anything other than exactly how I am.  It wasn't depression or "not caring about myself"--it was simply the realization that I have no desire to appear as anything other than myself and that if that didn't please others, I truly did not care.  My goal was no longer to make others comfortable by conforming behind a mask, but to let the world see me as I truly am; pale skin, blemishes, and all.  Why should I alter who and what I am?  I no longer saw a reason to hide my true face.  My motto quickly became "Love me as I am or get the heck out of my life."  It was that simple.  It was also a quick way to weed out any men that would have similar desires as the PFA-ex did--men more focused upon the external appearance of their partners than who the person actually was as a human.

Looking back, I can see how this probably concerned others.  Additionally, between 2008 and 2010, I had lost a total of seventy pounds, due to depression when I was living with him and his constant badgering about my weight.  My physical appearance had changed greatly.  Add to this, the world was now, for the first time ever, seeing my naked face daily--a pale, splotchy, eyelashless face that I know took many by surprise.  

Add in an angry ex-sister-law and my stepmother who had never liked me and is a gossip hound to boot, not only eating up the PFA-ex's stories, but adding their own spins to it, I can see now how things transpired as they did.  My paternal family has always thought the worst of me, I was always the black sheep.  When my cousin twice left her husband, it automatically became my fault--of course not through any fault of the marriage itself--but I guess that is what I get for letting my house be the "cover" when she was actually staying with her new beaus.  I have decades of similar stories, but they are neither here nor there, at the moment.  

The simple truth is, my paternal family expects the worst of me and it doesn't take much to head that direction.  It has always been that way and I cannot deny that in my teenage years especially, I enjoyed feeding into their beliefs.  It was easier and more fun than trying to get them to see who I really was, when they were so bent upon believing the worst.  And how very heartbreaking when no matter who you are or what you do right, they do not see it.  Eventually, self-preservation will either make you walk away or add to the illusion.  For many years, I enjoyed not only allowing their expectations to seem correct but to feed them--the worst and most evil-looking clothing I could find?  Wearing it to Grandma's house.  The most disturbing band logos imaginable?  On my shirt when our father would pick us up.  I was going to get lectured, belittled, and cut down regardless of what I wore or did--I just chose to make it easier and picked which areas I allowed them to target.

I am still like this in a lot of ways.  If I know that someone believes ridiculous rumors about me, I am apt to play into those assumptions around them for my own amusement.  It may not be very mature, but my inner prankster has never been able to resist the entertainment value of it.  It is not much different than when I was in my early twenties and running into a young lady that had been bad-mouthing me and calling me a "Satan-loving lesbian" behind my back.  My response upon next seeing her out was to wink and blow her a kiss.  It has been my experience that confronting such people never accomplishes anything.  People will believe what they want, either way and most people, oddly enough, want to believe the worst.  I tried the route of attempting to rationalize and change opinions early on in life--it didn't take long for me to realize that it simply gave them more fuel for their fires and made me look pathetic.  Why bother?  

So yes, I am responsible for a lot of that negative image that my paternal family holds of me.  My thought has always been that it was their own fault for never really getting to know me but by instead choosing to judge me based upon my outer shell.  Who needs constant judgment and to constantly strive to hold up some superficial image?  Not to mention, this was my family.  I believed even then, as a child, that they were supposed to love me unconditionally.  That they did not, but instead regularly cast me in a negative light; eventually I reached a point where I quit trying and just made it my own personal joke.  It hurt much less at the end of the day.

At any rate, by the time that I had left my PFA-ex, I was seventy pounds lighter, displaying the face of pallor, and I was ecstatic.  I had escaped him.  I was home.  I was free of his chains.  I had my life back.  When I was with him, I wasn't sure that any of those things would ever happen again.  The year that I lived with him was spent crying uncontrollably, miserable, depressed--I was a shell.  I was barely surviving.  I wanted to die.  Living with him was daily Hell and I hated the position that I had placed myself in.  By the time, I left and returned to my own home, the tears had already been shed.  I mourned the dissolving of that relationship as I lived it.  I loved him so much, but after I moved in with him and by the time that I discovered who he actually was, it was too late.  

But I hid that.  I hid my embarrassment, my bad choice--few people knew what I was really living through while I was with him.  Who wants to admit that they are a huge idiot and that their wonderful soulmate just became a sadistic bastard and now, to boot, they are trapped living in a nightmare of their own creation?  I didn't.  I was supposed to be smarter than that.  How could I let myself fall for such a ruse?  I felt stupid, in addition to the daily mental abuse and terror that I was now living through.  So yes, I grieved very hard after moving in with him.  By the time I escaped, I was past that part of it, even though few understood my reaction.

Apparently, the normal thing to do when a relationship dissolves is to wallow in misery and cry anytime other folks bring it up.  Me?  I clearly was not having the expected reaction.  I was excited to be on my own again.  I was free.  I was so grateful that I could spend time with my friends and family again--he had kept me so isolated, other than time with his family and his own friends.  I practically bounced when I walked after leaving.  It was like discovering that an incurable disease that was supposed to kill you in less than six months had suddenly vanished and been healed.  I guess until you live in an abusive relationship and believe that you will not survive, it is difficult to understand when your life is handed back to you intact and whole again.  

So yes, looking back and seeing myself as they did, I can see now how things transpired as they did. Seventy pounds lighter, naked face looks like hell compared to the made-up face they were used to, bouncy and happy when they expected tears and depression?  Yes, I can see how his tales that I "must" be abusing drugs because why else would I leave such a wonderful and supportive partner as he was?  How could that realistically happen when just a year before that I was so happy, so in love and so sure that he was the man that I would marry?  Yes, I see now how easily they were led.

Factor in that none of them knew the real me, that none of them have any clue who I really am--it does all make sense.  I did try to explain, but as usual, my words fell upon deaf ears.  No, I see it now.

When my father came snooping at my house, Saturday April 10, 2010--my vehicle at the garage, him believing that I was working, and that he could just search my property without me knowing (he was in his state vehicle and uniform)--as he walked up the hill and low and behold, there I am in the yard doing yard work and catching him off-guard--yes, I can see it.  Me with my allergies raging, no make-up on, also having spent time in the sun--him having been told by my ex, by my then sister-in-law, and by his own wife that drugs had to be the answer... Yes, I see it.

His accusations that I was on meth and that I had all of the signs?  I bet it did appear that way.  Seventy pound weight loss, excessive pallor, blotchy skin, excessively happy (when he felt I should be miserable)?  Yes, I can see it.  But I still struggle with his refusal to see everything that I pointed out, showing that I was not doing anything wrong, that I was trying very hard to escape from an ex that still wasn't letting me go, that I could use his help in that matter--but he refused to listen.  It still boiled down to his refusal to see me.  THAT has always been the problem, his refusal to see me.  To see me, clearly.  To hear me.  To know me.  To let go of judgments and expectations and simply open his eyes.  That is not an easy thing for many folks, I am realizing.

He still doesn't understand his absence in my life.  I don't believe that he ever will.  Most days I can walk away and not think about it.  He never was a great father to begin with and his actions that day, combined with the ones that followed on the day that I was granted my PFA, were pretty par for the course.  My decision to walk away and not permit him back into my life was truly the result of thirty-six years of his refusal to see me clearly; his regular insistence upon expecting the worst of me.  Thirty-six years of being made into a scapegoat because that was the easiest solution.  Thirty-six years of attempting to control a child you never had a hand in raising, but attempted to intimidate instead, will eventually backfire.  My decision to walk away was not due to my inability to forgive several colossal mistakes on his part--but then again, he still refuses to acknowledge that he has ever made any mistakes, ever.  That certainly doesn't help our current standoff, either.

I can acknowledge that perhaps he truly believed that he was acting in my best interest.  I understand that part of being in law enforcement is seeing the ugly underbelly of society day-in and day-out to the point that it taints your vision.  I understand that mentality, combined with his low expectations of me; being on drugs made sense to him.  I can accept that as a parent, if he thought I was abusing meth, he would feel the need to step in and intervene.  But when you learn that you were so wrong and so grievously hurt someone both physically and emotionally--you don't continue with the charade.  Not if you wish to keep them in your life.  But that would also have required admission on his part that yes, he was wrong.   But I guess admitting ignorance may be even more challenging than expecting someone to open their eyes and clearly see what is directly in front of them.

People see what they want to see.  People see what they expect to see.  I wanted to believe that the PFA-ex was the person that he made himself out to be--so that was what I saw.  I missed the red flags or did not think they were as big as they actually were, until it was too late.  My sister-in-law and stepmother wanted my changes to be due to awful causes and gossip worthy--because it made for better tales to pass along and it helped make me into the villain that they had been telling people all along that I was.  If I was actually the victim, it would have taken the wind out of their sails and backfired for them.  My father?  He simply has never been able to see me as my own person, as someone that he could appreciate if he truly took the time to meet and get to know me.  My father has always viewed me as a disobedient child, a human that reflects on him negatively in all ways, but one that he has never been able to successfully mold into his own image or maybe he actually fears that I am all of the dark parts of him rolled into one horrible person?  I cannot truly say.

When my father showed up unexpectedly, six years ago, today, I was surprised and excited that my father had actually taken the initiative to come visit me.  I happily showed him my yard, my house, my life.  I thought that he was finally taking the time to get to know me, to see how I spend my days, to see my life--but he wasn't really seeing.  He was scouring, snooping, trying to find some sign of wrong-doing because that is all my life has ever been in his eyes.  A mistake.  From conception to present day--a mistake, one that he has admitted he would flush down the toilet if he could.  Six years ago, today, was the last time that I welcomed him into my life and was excited to see him.  Six years ago, it ended with him shaking me, accusing me of being on meth, and the realization that he is incapable of seeing me or my life.  Six years ago, today, was when I officially gave up hope upon a having a healthy relationship with my father.  Six years ago, he was told to leave with the words that until he was willing to actually see me, hear me, and be a positive influence, he was not invited back into my world.

I wonder how many more lifetimes it will take before he sees?  Will he ever?

Digging In...

"You can't really ask for what you can't imagine.  

You can't ask for what you don't know.  

That was my world.  

It was what I knew." 

~Neil Gaiman~ 

(as told by Amanda Palmer in The Art of Asking)

As I am reading The Art of Asking, I find myself falling more and more in love with AFP.  It truly is a wonderful book--I love her story, I love the way she lays it out, I love how open she is in sharing who she is and where she has been.  And as with any good book, I find hidden truths within myself.  I have laughed, cried, and related deeply to many pieces of this book.  

I asked for this one for Christmas, not sure what to expect.  At one point, I took it back off of my Christmas list because it was pricey at the time.  Christmas morning, I was tickled to discover it tucked in among the other gifts.  What I didn't know was how much I needed this book.  What I didn't know was that I would want everyone else important in my life to read it, as well.  

Most of us struggle with asking for what we need in life--financially, physically, emotionally.  Some of us are so blessed backwards, we don't even know what exactly it is that we need; we just know that something is missing.  Or maybe that a whole lot of things are missing.  Maybe we seek these things out hoping that our friends and partners will intuitively know what we need and will provide it.  

How can we expect others to meet our needs when we ourselves aren't even able to identify what it is that we are searching for?  And the harshest reality, if we can't find it within--it sure as hell isn't going to appear to us from elsewhere.  But this isn't that story--we have all heard that one time and time again, we know that one well.  But how do we know exactly what it is that we need?

Neil is answering Amanda's question in the beginning quote.  She wants to know whether he asked for comfort, when hurt as a child.  His simple answer, he didn't know to ask because quite simply, he knew no other way.  He didn't know that he was missing anything because this was simply as it had always been.  You can't ask for something that you have never seen and if you do not know it exists.

His lack of response, when she was hurting, confused her--feeling like rejection when she was already wounded.  Yet he simply had no idea of her expectations.  He was acting as he believed he was meant to.  He behaved as he had been raised to--to be quiet, to stand back, to leave the person alone.  She interpreted it as abandonment; he interpreted it as what you are supposed to do.

How often do we expect the people in our lives to just know what we need?  To know when they have hurt us?  For them to understand precisely why we are angry?  Do we quit speaking to others believing that they know why?  That they should know why we are hurt, angry, wounded, broken--and if they don't, we are better off without them anyhow--aren't we???

The human existence is so fraught with misunderstanding, communication breakdowns, disagreements, and the inability to see things from the perspective of others.  Add in pride.  Add in stubbornness.  Add in fear.  Add in false beliefs, ignorance, and the inability to apologize.  Humans are pretty ridiculous, at times.  All of us.  It is what we excel at.

There is not a single human alive that can deny having ever misunderstood (or been misunderstood by) someone they loved and had it lead to utter hell for both individuals involved.  This is who we are.  Interacting with others is hard work.  Understanding each other is even more difficult.  We can think that we have clearly gotten our point across, only to discover that it utterly failed.

Friendships end.  Relationships screech to a halt.  Loved ones leave.  Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.  Sometimes we are filled with regret; sometimes with relief.  But at the root of it all?  Pain.  A big chunk of that pain?  Misunderstandings.  Miscommunication.  Not asking for what we needed.  Not knowing what we needed.  You can't ask, if you don't know.

Having not a clue, because we had never been show how.  How to what?  How to communicate?  How to communicate effectively.  How to listen.  How to hear.  It is often said that we listen only in order to respond.  We half-listen, while preparing our response.  We listen with the intent of being heard, while we forget to hear what is actually being spoken.

People yell to be heard.  People scream to be heard.  When this fails, people speak with fists.  But the root is the same.  Wanting to be understood.  Wanting to connect.  Which would you truly prefer, the clinking of glasses as you cheer the one who "gets you" or would you prefer the smashing of glasses as you rage at the one who doesn't?  Depends on the day for some, I guess.

We need to learn how to search inside ourselves and ask what we need.  How to search within and discover what we want.  Beyond those base needs--what is underneath those?  We really aren't as complicated as we like to think that we are.  It doesn't need to be as challenging as we have made it.  But again, some side tangent happened with my message.  How did I land here?

"You can't really ask for what you can't imagine.  

You can't ask for what you don't know.  

That was my world.  

It was what I knew." 

~Neil Gaiman~ 

(as told by Amanda Palmer in The Art of Asking)

Ah, yes.  I meant to be here...

When we are children, we know only what we are born into.  We do not know right from wrong.  We do not understand concepts such as stealing, that others feel pain--we are our only world.  Our parents are our world.  Our siblings, our family--these are all that exist.  The concepts outside of our own body and our own home are, in essence, foreign countries.

We are all taught differently.  Not all of us begin with loving homes.  Not all of us are granted safety, security, and a sense of being loved.  Not all of feel that we are special to our parents--we aren't all raised believeing that we are little princesses or princes.  Some of us are raised to belive that we are monsters.  We are raised to believe that it is our fault.

What is our fault?  Everything.  Maybe it is our fault that he hits her.  Maybe it is our fault that she cries.  Perhaps it is our fault that the grass grows too high and that it is all sloping downward.  Perhaps it is our fault when the cat does the things that cats do.  Whatever it is, you can be assured, it was your fault.  Whatever it is, you are the reason that things are not good.

Because you aren't good.  You are bad.  Everything that you do is bad.  Somehow, yes, you are at fault.  A monster.  It is difficult to fear the monster under the bed when the monster lives in you.  Eventually this turns into anger.  Because you still crave their love--you want to be good--but you aren't.  You aren't lovable.  You are the monster.  It is your fault.

You see the world through frightened eyes because you know that you are the monster.  And as you grow, you find yourself in the land of princesses, princes... and you.  You know that you do not belong.  You know that you make things bad.  You stay quiet.  You learn to be invisible.  You pray to be even more invisible.  Being seen means being a target.  Being a target is bad.

Whether it is the grown ones that see you, whether it is the small ones that see you--being the target is no fun.  Monsters can only be targets.  When it is your fault, you expect to be the target.  These are the laws of the land.  These are the rules that you were taught when others were being told how wonderful and precious they are--how special they are.  Your rules were different.

Yes, this is where I landed.  That was my world.  That was what I knew.  How does it all fit together?  It does.  Of that, I am sure.  Relationships are hard.  Communicating sucks.  We don't all have equal footing.  Your experience differs from mine, which differs from hers, which differs from his.  We all have unique experiences and we can never fully understand what another has lived through.

Be gentle.  Strive to understand.  Forgive.  Forgive those that hurt you most because they were hurting, too.  Whether you were the monster, the target, or the special one--be gentle.  We are all struggling.  We all have wounds.  Seek to understand.  Seek to see their side of it.  Seek to hear.  Listen to hear with all of your heart, not with your own words.

We all want to be understood.  We all want to be loved.  Some of us struggle greatly with these concepts.  I am not sure if it is worse discovering that childhood was a lie and that you, too, deserve love or if it is worse to be raised as a prince or princess only to discover that the rest of the world thinks you are an asshole.  I think I will take my beginnings, to be honest.

Life is hard.  Relationships are harder.  Some you will be better off without--that is okay, too.  Have the wisdom to know which ones and let them go without looking back.  Work for the ones that matter.  We really are all working toward the same goals in the end--learn to see yourself in others.  Allow them to see you, too.  It really never was meant to be this challenging.

"You can't really ask for what you can't imagine.  

You can't ask for what you don't know.  

That was my world.  

It was what I knew." 

~Neil Gaiman~ 

(as told by Amanda Palmer in The Art of Asking)

New Thoughts

I am still planning to maintain this blog.  I know that the past year saw much neglect and very few postings, but honestly, I see this as progress.  This blog was created to assist me with surviving one of the greatest heartbreaks in my life--betrayals from most of my family, many of my friends, and essentially, feeling abandoned by the people that mattered most to me in life.  I needed an outlet for that pain, a way to explore it safely, and a way to make sense of it while healing from it.  I think that I have done that for the most part.  That will always be a dark chapter in my life, but I think that I have moved on enough, for now, that I am ready to begin a new chapter.

There have been several ideas rolling around in my head regarding which direction this blog should now take.  Even though I haven't posted much recently--there are still seventy drafts waiting for me to finish them.  There are 150 finished and shared posts, total--but those other seventy posts are also pertinent to the story and may get finished and added, or they may remain in virtual limbo.  Many of them are hidden from public view because they are even more personal than what I shared publicly.  Some of them were written in so much anger that I didn't wish to put that negativity into the world.  Some would be too hurtful, and even detrimental to others, for me to share.  For now, they are buried and maybe that is for the best.  I am unsure at this time. Time alone will provide that answer.

The truth of the matter is, daily, I am writing in my head.  Daily, I have something that I want to transform into written word and share.  The direction of these thoughts don't readily fit into any of my current blogs and I contemplated beginning yet another, but I wasn't really ready to let this one just "die", either.  Of my blogs, this one is primarily about healing, making sense of the cards that I have been dealt in life, and also, with examining how I chose to play those cards.  To me, this is part of internal and spiritual growth--I have always been an introvert and sometimes putting those internal thoughts into a visible format helps me to process them better.  Generally, when I begin a post, I have an idea in mind, but by the end, I discover that there was actually something else that I needed to address within that I was unaware of.  That is the beauty of writing; it often takes on a life of its own and we are blessed with new, unexpected insights.  That is one of my favorite parts of journaling--simply seeing where the words land and what picture is created in the end.  It is more therapeutic than most people realize and I can honestly say that journaling has been key in my own survival.  I have maintained journals all of my life and often suggest them to my clients; they are a wonderful tool for healing and can be one of the best personal therapists available.

On another note, today is also the 23rd anniversary on my mother's murder.  These past months were more challenging than I expected--starting in November, I really struggled and the holidays were exceedingly difficult.  For anyone that has struggled with great grief, you know that it always remains a part of who you are--it just changes in how you respond, how you survive.  Today, I am actually doing well mentally--however, physical pain has trapped me in bed--which completely changed all of the plans that I had for today.  Sometimes that happens.  I had plans of creating and making art, in different forms.  Instead, I am here, writing--which I can do from bed.  When chronic pain is a part of your life, sometimes plans made simply have to be abandoned and changed.  The easiest way to maintain sanity, when coming to terms with the fact that you are sometimes a prisoner in a body that hurts, is to simply allow mental flexibility.  That was my choice, today.  I will not be creating with my hands in the manner that I hoped and looked forward to, but I can still create and will do so through my words.  My creative outlets are my sanity.  It is that simple.  Writing is another form of healing.

The direction I think I may let this blog now take is in more of a "letter format."  This part may be short-lived or it may take on an entirely new direction--I have no way of knowing.  If it is short-lived and quickly fizzles out, I will worry about it then.  For now, I still have many, many letters that have been written in my head over the years.  Letters that may have saved relationships; letters that may have quietly ended some of them.  Letters that I still examine in my head and fine tune twenty years later, even though not a word has ever been shared on paper.  Letters that can never be sent for one reason or another.  But yet these are letters that clearly still exist within me and as I have discovered in my years of writing, until I create them and unleash them in written form, they will roll around in my head and maintain a loud voice of their own.  Like the rest of my writing, it is time to purge myself of them and be free.  Some of these letters have already been started within those seventy aforementioned drafts--some have just been shouting in my head.  Over the past month, these letters have taken on more intensity and have argued that they need to be shared somewhere, anywhere, just unleash them.  

Like my other posts here, these letters are extremely personal, contain a lot of pain, and like the posts here would fall on deaf ears or the ears simply no longer exist to fall upon.  They are letters to those that have passed to the other side; letters to those that will never again be a part of my life; letters that if I shared them would be mocked, made into a joke, or further misunderstood.  They are letters that as much as my brain wishes to share them--it just truly can't.  I am sharing them here with some hesitation.  I know that some of them would be painful or still misunderstood by the parties that they are intended for.  I know that it may be unfair to share them here, publicly, where they may be stumbled upon and be hurtful.  That isn't my intent, either.  I write and share because I must.  This blog has never been about accusing or pointing fingers--it has always been about release and personal healing.  This part of the journey is no different.  I suspect that this part of the blog will be short-lived and I hope that it may be done gently and with open eyes.  But my heart tells me this is where I need to go next, and it won this round.  So the next book begins...

A Different Turn

I realize that I haven't posted much over the past year.  Overall, while the events that led to this blog were horribly painful and I still bear scars (physically and mentally), I feel much of that chapter has come to a close.  My father is still out of my life; which has led to much growth and finally finding happiness in my life.  Perhaps I would have found it even if he had remained in my life, but I don't think so.  I think much of what has led to my eventual happiness was being able to tune out the internal voice that he gave to me.  While he remained in my life, he was able to reinforce that negative voice and watch over it, ensuring its growth and power.  I have since learned to stomp out those negative thoughts and to replace them with gentler ones.  It is not an easy process and requires completely changing your entire thought process--which having had it for nearly forty years, at that point in time, was no easy feat.  I am not willing to allow him back in, as I previously always seemed to do.  Somehow, I thought that my happiness rode upon his love and approval, which I kept begging for and striving for--always leading to heartbreak.

Accepting that I would never make my father see me for who I truly am; accepting that his love and approval would never be obtained; and most importantly, that my happiness did not ride on any of these factors--I was able to move on.  He still doesn't understand why I left.  He doesn't understand why I cannot see things through his eyes and that is okay.  We have thirty-six years of misunderstanding, hurts, and not being compatible.  I have come to terms with this and accept this.  I have my life; he has his.  He feels that he loves me and does accept me as I am--but that I am just a bitter and hateful person.  Again, I feel that he has never taken the time to know me or how I see the world--that is okay.  I no longer need him to in order to be happy.  I am grateful for this.  I still love him as my father--I accept that he loves me, in his way and by his own terms--but that for now, our book comes to a close.   There are many unfinished blog postings over the past years--I may go back and finish them, adding them in as I go--I have yet to decide.  For now, I think the past postings are essentially "Book One".   I am ready to move onto "Book Two."  So for now, I am considering this post the closing of this chapter of my life.  Moving on now...