Yesterday was Thanksgiving. A beautiful day. Spent with my beautiful daughters and wonderful husband. Of coarse I cuddled with Krew and played with Madden. Who by the way could not get enough of Grandma. He would wander away for a bit to play with cousins, and soon be tugging on my pant leg and motioning me an invitation to join them in his room.
This day was also spent with a heavy heart. With recent declaration of needing some space and time away from my parents, my thoughts were constantly being drawn to this decision.
Oh how I long for a story book family. One that begins with once upon a time.... and ends with forever and always, or for all of eternity, or happily ever after. Perhaps I have this, and I just am so caught up in the middle of the story that I cannot see it for what it is.
I must find a way to separate my existence with the experiences I have had. I am more than a survivor of child abuse, I am more than the experiences I have had on this earth. I existed before this time, and I will exists after.
Could it be possible that one of my most valuable experiences on this earth would be to be a survivor of child abuse? Are there only some lessons that I would learn if only for this experience?
How is it, that this experience could be some powerful that it could occupy so much of what I do, what I think and how I act? Do others have such experiences? Or, perhaps; I am making this a bigger deal than it is? Am I seeking attention by making this such a big deal? Has this become my perpetual wound, that as soon as it starts to heal, I pick the scab off?
I think things like this constantly. My mind runs rampant with this poison. Questioning everything about everything. Not able to trust even the simplest of thoughts, of decisions, of actions. What is the motive? What will I get out of this or that?
I feel guilty for leaving my parents. For moving on without them. Less than a month, and I am wondering what I have done. Have I hurt them? Have I done this in a effort to protect myself, but really knowing how badly it would hurt them?
I hear stories about my Dad being depressed and upset. Secretly does it satisfy me? How do I feel about this? How should I feel about this? What could I get out of this? If I play things correctly, what would my gain be? And then Mom. What about Mom? Is she capable of even knowing how she feels? Does it matter to me? Should it matter to me?
Amy is upset, but stepping up. Which makes me glad. Glad that she is taking a turn. Maybe this time is for her, for her to grow. Hell! Why would I even think that this is my "job" to teach her something.
I literally cannot turn this dialogue off in my head. It goes non stop. I pray for quietness to overcome me. It does for moments. But as soon as I recognize the silence, I put the thoughts right back into high gear.
Am I more than this experience. I believe I am, if I can conquer the tug of war.
