Introspection
My father left when I was six years old. I remember coming home with my mother and brothers after a weekend away and finding him gone and all of his stuff as well.
At least, I think I remember. Flash bulb memories (where you were when JFK was shot, when Diana died, 9/11, etc.) are not as reliable as we like to think. And I was little. In fact, I didn't even know I was six until Teacher told me a few years ago. Then I found out it was June 1, my mother's birthday. If I was six, it means it was her 40th birthday. Grand present that, finding your husband gone and having three children under the age of ten to care for on your own.
We moved to Delaware some time after, though I don't know when. I know I attended third grade at Warner Elementary but there was surely time between my being 6 1/2 and third grade. We lived with my grandparents at first, I'm not sure how long although I do know we lived there for third grade. Ammy and Pop in their room, Teacher and Oldest Brother sharing a pull out sofa in another room, my mother and I sharing a bed in the third room. I had a box of barbies under my nightstand and a coat rack with my clothing at the side of the bed. Teacher and I would play Batman after school.
I was bullied every day on the bus in third grade. I would beg my mother to just drive me but she couldn't because Oldest Brother was going to Skyline and that was a dangerous school with really bad stuff happening on the bus. She had to drive him. She couldn't drive us both. I did go to the principal's office at least once. But I was told that if I didn't have names they couldn't help me. This was maybe 1989, before bullying was treated the way it is today. I ended up switching schools for fourth grade and that was that.
I wasn't OK. Of course I wasn't. I was confused and scared. Everything was different. We weren't in Pennsylvania anymore, where I'd grown up. I didn't know anyone and I didn't have any friends. My eldest brother became really nasty and Teacher would, when he had the chance, gang up against me. I was confused and I didn't feel secure or safe so it was scary as a child. But I didn't know what it was I felt and by the time I reached out for help I was too afraid to speak. Instead, I wrote letters to my mother, which I'd put in her car. I remember she came to my room one night and asked me why I didn't think she loved me. I was too scared too be honest so I said something like "I don't know." She told me that I was being ridiculous and how did she think it made her feel to say such things?
I know what she meant now. I know that she was trying to tell me that it was ridiculous that someone wouldn't love me. But I was little. I heard that I was stupid for how I felt and selfish for talking about it.
I used to complain to my mother about Oldest Brother. He was mean. He hit us. He stole from us. She couldn't be home with us all the time because of work and so she told us to ignore him. If he came into the room and started, go to another room. If he followed us, go to our rooms.
She was impotent to do anything so she was telling us to do what we could. But I was little. I heard "deal with it on your own. Oldest Brother is who he is and it's your problem, not his. Hide and take care of yourself because I can't."
Things like that happened a lot when I was little. No parent is perfect under the best of circumstances and I really don't fault my mother. I don't know what I'd have done if I were in her shoes. But regardless of intent experiences like that did form me in major ways. I learned that I was inherently worth less than other people, including bullies. My feelings were stupid and I was selfish to burden others with them because they had their own problems, all more important than my own. I was to shut up and be a good little girl and my job was to take care of other people. And myself. Always take care of myself because no one else would do it.
Reason for Introspection
All of that is untrue. The actions happened as they did but a little girl's brain is really not to be trusted. I mapped things wrong and internalized things. No one was telling me I didn't matter or that I was stupid, selfish. It just translated that way to a scared, confused, lost little girl. And the few times I reached out in later years, I was rejected. So I stopped trying, which is why I have so much trouble being honest about my feelings. There are only so many times a girl can be told "no, actually, you don't matter" before she can't take it any more.
But I made a decision when I moved to Texas that I was going to start fixing things, working through all this mess. I tell myself more often these days that I do matter and that I deserve as much as the next person. It's hard and I often find myself thinking through really bad times, crying, and feeling pathetic. But I'm trying. I don't want to keep floating through life carrying around this horrible weight. I think that is why I'm a crier, the sort that cries when nervous or scared, happy, frustrated, angry, whatever. Because I have carried around this odd pain for so long, afraid that others would see me and see whatever it was that made me so inherently awful, and that they'd taunt me with it.
I don't trust very easily. I can trust a boyfriend not to cheat on me but I can't trust him to not reject me if I open up. The closest I've come is with Tits, who has never once turned her back on me or made me feel less than when I've told her things. She's reciprocated that trust and I met her at the right time. If one person can be accepting and not make me feel horrible for feeling the need of reassurance, then maybe I'm the one with the problem of not accepting myself.
This has fucked shit up with Murdoch. I don't know what we are now. We texted the other day and we both said we'd like to give it another chance but he's stopped responding. I've been honest with him and so the ball is in his court.
But I'm not too worried. He's a nice guy and I like him but if it doesn't work out that's fine. I've done my part and I've let him know I'm willing to do the work. If he can't or won't, that's fine. It is neither a reflection of my worth nor of his value of goodness. Sometimes things just don't work out. The damning part about pride is that most of us have it no matter what and even the smallest rejection is painful. That's what it will feel like if my relationship fails but I feel better equipped to handle it.
It's scary and painful and unfun to do this sort of work. I've been working on my emotional and mental well being for months and it fucking sucks. A lot. But I know it is important and I honestly do believe that I'll be better for it once I make my way through. I've typed all of this up without shedding a tear, which means I've already made progress. I do a lot of this sort of thinking on my way home and end up crying because I'm sad for the scared and confused little girl that I was. I'm sad for myself for having lived the way I have for so long. But then I get to a point where I just accept it and understand and try to move forward. When I can talk about it, even to myself, without crying, I know I'm doing better.
One day I will be waving and not drowing.
My father left when I was six years old. I remember coming home with my mother and brothers after a weekend away and finding him gone and all of his stuff as well.
At least, I think I remember. Flash bulb memories (where you were when JFK was shot, when Diana died, 9/11, etc.) are not as reliable as we like to think. And I was little. In fact, I didn't even know I was six until Teacher told me a few years ago. Then I found out it was June 1, my mother's birthday. If I was six, it means it was her 40th birthday. Grand present that, finding your husband gone and having three children under the age of ten to care for on your own.
We moved to Delaware some time after, though I don't know when. I know I attended third grade at Warner Elementary but there was surely time between my being 6 1/2 and third grade. We lived with my grandparents at first, I'm not sure how long although I do know we lived there for third grade. Ammy and Pop in their room, Teacher and Oldest Brother sharing a pull out sofa in another room, my mother and I sharing a bed in the third room. I had a box of barbies under my nightstand and a coat rack with my clothing at the side of the bed. Teacher and I would play Batman after school.
I was bullied every day on the bus in third grade. I would beg my mother to just drive me but she couldn't because Oldest Brother was going to Skyline and that was a dangerous school with really bad stuff happening on the bus. She had to drive him. She couldn't drive us both. I did go to the principal's office at least once. But I was told that if I didn't have names they couldn't help me. This was maybe 1989, before bullying was treated the way it is today. I ended up switching schools for fourth grade and that was that.
I wasn't OK. Of course I wasn't. I was confused and scared. Everything was different. We weren't in Pennsylvania anymore, where I'd grown up. I didn't know anyone and I didn't have any friends. My eldest brother became really nasty and Teacher would, when he had the chance, gang up against me. I was confused and I didn't feel secure or safe so it was scary as a child. But I didn't know what it was I felt and by the time I reached out for help I was too afraid to speak. Instead, I wrote letters to my mother, which I'd put in her car. I remember she came to my room one night and asked me why I didn't think she loved me. I was too scared too be honest so I said something like "I don't know." She told me that I was being ridiculous and how did she think it made her feel to say such things?
I know what she meant now. I know that she was trying to tell me that it was ridiculous that someone wouldn't love me. But I was little. I heard that I was stupid for how I felt and selfish for talking about it.
I used to complain to my mother about Oldest Brother. He was mean. He hit us. He stole from us. She couldn't be home with us all the time because of work and so she told us to ignore him. If he came into the room and started, go to another room. If he followed us, go to our rooms.
She was impotent to do anything so she was telling us to do what we could. But I was little. I heard "deal with it on your own. Oldest Brother is who he is and it's your problem, not his. Hide and take care of yourself because I can't."
Things like that happened a lot when I was little. No parent is perfect under the best of circumstances and I really don't fault my mother. I don't know what I'd have done if I were in her shoes. But regardless of intent experiences like that did form me in major ways. I learned that I was inherently worth less than other people, including bullies. My feelings were stupid and I was selfish to burden others with them because they had their own problems, all more important than my own. I was to shut up and be a good little girl and my job was to take care of other people. And myself. Always take care of myself because no one else would do it.
Reason for Introspection
All of that is untrue. The actions happened as they did but a little girl's brain is really not to be trusted. I mapped things wrong and internalized things. No one was telling me I didn't matter or that I was stupid, selfish. It just translated that way to a scared, confused, lost little girl. And the few times I reached out in later years, I was rejected. So I stopped trying, which is why I have so much trouble being honest about my feelings. There are only so many times a girl can be told "no, actually, you don't matter" before she can't take it any more.
But I made a decision when I moved to Texas that I was going to start fixing things, working through all this mess. I tell myself more often these days that I do matter and that I deserve as much as the next person. It's hard and I often find myself thinking through really bad times, crying, and feeling pathetic. But I'm trying. I don't want to keep floating through life carrying around this horrible weight. I think that is why I'm a crier, the sort that cries when nervous or scared, happy, frustrated, angry, whatever. Because I have carried around this odd pain for so long, afraid that others would see me and see whatever it was that made me so inherently awful, and that they'd taunt me with it.
I don't trust very easily. I can trust a boyfriend not to cheat on me but I can't trust him to not reject me if I open up. The closest I've come is with Tits, who has never once turned her back on me or made me feel less than when I've told her things. She's reciprocated that trust and I met her at the right time. If one person can be accepting and not make me feel horrible for feeling the need of reassurance, then maybe I'm the one with the problem of not accepting myself.
This has fucked shit up with Murdoch. I don't know what we are now. We texted the other day and we both said we'd like to give it another chance but he's stopped responding. I've been honest with him and so the ball is in his court.
But I'm not too worried. He's a nice guy and I like him but if it doesn't work out that's fine. I've done my part and I've let him know I'm willing to do the work. If he can't or won't, that's fine. It is neither a reflection of my worth nor of his value of goodness. Sometimes things just don't work out. The damning part about pride is that most of us have it no matter what and even the smallest rejection is painful. That's what it will feel like if my relationship fails but I feel better equipped to handle it.
It's scary and painful and unfun to do this sort of work. I've been working on my emotional and mental well being for months and it fucking sucks. A lot. But I know it is important and I honestly do believe that I'll be better for it once I make my way through. I've typed all of this up without shedding a tear, which means I've already made progress. I do a lot of this sort of thinking on my way home and end up crying because I'm sad for the scared and confused little girl that I was. I'm sad for myself for having lived the way I have for so long. But then I get to a point where I just accept it and understand and try to move forward. When I can talk about it, even to myself, without crying, I know I'm doing better.
One day I will be waving and not drowing.
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