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Awakening

Awakening: may refer to:

  • may refer to: Wakefulness, or the state of being conscious

She had been asleep her whole life. 42 years of walking through life with a veil over her head.  She was not a zombie, she was not flat and dry in her personality… no, she was more just oblivious to the reasons behind her bizarre outlook and actions.

Her awakening took place the moment she realized she was a victim of child abuse.  It happened with a swift and sudden yanking of the blindfold that had been so cleverly placed over her eyes by the one person she trusted the most, her mother.  When her mother died, the grip of the blindfold had slipped and the child within was able to come forward with indignant wrath and anger at being so hurt for so long.

The manipulation she had endured had manifested itself within the girl, to the point she just thought she was crazy, strange, unlovable, or even “not of this world”.  When in reality, she was just a product of tremendous pain and broken trust.

With the removal of this “veil” of protection, this sudden glaring reality, she worked to grapple with this new reality, but everything was twisted and her view of the past, present, and even the future was twisted and warped in such a way that everyday interactions with the most generic stressors… would send her reeling into herself and covering her eyes… trying to replace the veil so she could proceed to live in a somewhat normal way.

The awakening is painful and tragic in itself, so much so… that its just easier to ignore what has been revealed and block reality out in favor of the hazy, soft lies.

What was once awake… is now sleeping once again.

 

 

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Perception

Perception is something I have thought about a lot for the past few years. The act of perceiving… how two people can view the exact same situation in complete and totally original ways. How one sibling remembers a particular incident in childhood and the other sibling can see it as completely different.

I have often wondered what makes us see things the way we do. Is it personality and past experience? Is it chemical makeup in our brain? Is one person seeing trauma and the other person blocking it out?  How about how one views sins? Do we justify it in our brains? Or do we really not see them the same as other people?

I’ve had to weigh these questions in different times of my life, jobs, school, friends, home.  Critical thinking has never been a strong suit of mine, maybe because of the past child abuse I endured, Maybe because I really am not that smart but am very sensitive.

How about how one views something terrible?  How can I perceive it as terrible, scary, disgusting or offensive…. but yet someone I love very much can see it as sexy, erotic or even beautiful?

what about empathy? Where does that come into play? Do I have too much empathy and this other person have too little?

I recently saw something that has shaken me to the core of my being. But in trying to cope I have had to stretch beyond my comfort level of perception.  Is what I saw.. is it worth ruining the life of someone I love dearly? Do I allow this to ruin my life when I am simply an unwitting witness? Do I lock this information away because I am helpless or did I perceive it totally wrong?

I recently read an article where a daughter and to go over these same questions. The thing is, she was kept safe from the actual reality of the situation. She did not discover this crime or have to hide it away from everyone else. She was so much better off, and I wish, OH how I wish I could be her… but then again, I am also the perfect person for this discovery, I will protect the other person fiercely… but still have my own best interest at heart, and then, when the time has come… then I can move forward.

I have to compartmentalize.

I have to work through this thought pattern and make it go into perfect little cubicles ranging in order from least scary and traumatic to most awful lurking somewhere way back in the back darkest corner, not to be seen again until much, much later.

And, for now, that is how I will have to perceive this thing, in order to keep going.

 

 

 

 

 

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When your hero falls from grace
All your fairy tales are uncovered

Myths exposed and pain magnified
The greatest pain discovered

You told me to be strong but I’m confused to see you so weak
You said to never to give up and it hurts to see you welcoming me

When your hero falls so do the stars
When your hero falls so do the stars
And so does the perception of tomorrow

Without my hero there is only me alone
To deal with my sorrow, to deal with my sorrow

Your insistence to work and your soul is not happy at all
What do you expect it to do when your hero falls
So do the stars

See I know you’re wondering how do I carry on
You want to give up you feel there’s nobody to love
But if you look around there’s so many people have been what you been
Through
You gotta let go

you gotta be strong

When your hero falls

What am I supposed to do
When your hero falls

(When I’m looking to you yeah)
When your hero falls

(But you told me to be strong)
When your hero falls (

And to never give up
When your only hero falls

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stone

“Stone”

They say every sin will have a thousand eyes
To guilty fools with guilty minds
But I most be cruel to be kind
Deep within a my head of stone
Could I be – of stone – could I be – of stone – could I be

Oh how the birds forget to sing
Do they know where I have been?
Oh how I will leave you there again
Deep within my head of stone
Could I be – of stone – could I be – of stone – could I be

You are my only one
You are my only one
You are my lonely one
You are my only one

Oh for the trees did grow there, and the plants did spring
Oh for they know a lovers sin
Ain’t made of paper or of string
It’s cast into a head of stone
Could I be – of stone – could I be – of stone – could I be

 

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I am sick.  I have been sick off and on for a very long time. Not really the kind of sick that you can definitively define with a diagnosis and move on… but with the kind of unusual achiness and the uncomfortable pain and swelling and feeling like a very old woman kind of sick.

Upon facing my mortality recently… I started thinking of my story.  My life. The things that have happened to me and the things I have overcome.

I wonder how much of these stories I should write down, and how many of these stories I should take to the grave locked securely in my old woman heart, for nobody else to ever know.

I wonder if in the telling of these stories to the only people that would care to know or read them, my children, if in reading these things they would change their opinion of me?

I was not a good person for many of my young adult years. I now know it was a response and a coping in part to my past child abuse, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to see written out the brutal and ugly things I did.

I was not a very nice girl.

Mainly I wonder how much of this tell-all would really matter to my children? Do they really need to know about all the men I slept with? Or all the drinking and stealing I did to escape the pain?

Do they even need to hear about my past? Do they need to know the terrible things my mom did to me? My mom, their grandmother, that they loved very much and can’t remember ever seeing this behavior. Do I really need to change their opinion on one of the best grandmothers ever?

There was a quote in the movie Titanic, something about a woman’s heart being a garden of secrets… my heart is a parched land filled with rocks and cacti, do they really need to see this ugliness that I have kept hidden from them so very very well for so very very long?

I think its best to use this history as a plot for a book, or for blog posts that will go unseen by 99% of the world… I think my children should remain protected from who I really have been, from who I really am at times. I don’t want them to see me as anything but a good, kind, loving mom. Because that is who I am now… and that’s all that matters.

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I’m currently working with a councilor. I’m trying to piece together all the terrible things of my past that makes me who I am today. 

The hard part of this journey, is that I can only see her once a week… so the rest of the week I am in a constant state of anxiety about what to do, say, remember, don’t do…. etc.

It doesn’t help that I started the new year out completely drunk and running with wild turkeys in the pasture next to my SIL’s house 🤦‍♀️

So my anxiety is through the roof, I have a cold, and I realize I will have to account for these things in my next counseling session.

So… yippie, happy new year! Ugh

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“The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean —
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.”
— Robert Frost, “Devotion”img_0033

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