I didn't want to admit to writing the posts I will include here, because part me want redemption. I don't want to be written off as someone who would have been better off not existing. I can't find the right words for the feeling. It's about being disdained for for how I am. (a lack of empathy).
My intent in writing is to be honest and I think there is a difference between blaming someone to their face and just feeling occasionally, knowing it is not true or honest that there valid blame, and deciding to be silent rather than trying to manipulate people with guilt for their help.
I can't guarantee the respect of anyone, but I want to be able to respect myself. I think I fear blurting out what I repress because I have no control of what I say. I can be inaccurate, and I have been.
My family found out I was molested because I was having a discussion with my youngest brother Rich about Bill Clinton and the intern relationship with Monica. He kept saying, Clinton was a molester and rapist. I and I argued that they were two adult and our government had no business prying into their relation which was engaged in freely by both parties. He kept repeating he was rapist and such over and over again. And he was inadvertently pushing buttons I did not know were being pushed. I told him he had no idea what rape was and he wouldn't back down. Even though I agreed it was a scummy behavior of Clinton's part. And I finally exploded saying something like,"You have idea what rape is, Raimond raped me when I was 11." I honestly didn't mean to say rape. I was caught in feeling of it truly felt like he raped my soul. He completely invaded me, even though my clothes stayed on. I shouted at him and my son was in hearing distance. I don't know which year this happened. Rich still lived with Bob and he was not yet married. My face was hot. I knew the error of what I said, but I didn't know how to fix it in that moment. I said nothing more. Later Rich called Rai and Rai called me.
I was in the wrong because I used the wrong word in the heat of the moment, and I apologized to Raid for that pointed out what the correct word was. I appeased him because he was concerned about what I might say to his children. I assured him I would never harm his children and that it was an accident that I blurted out to Rich "rape" verses "molested." The varied conversations that followed were all about making Rai comfortable with me. I am not the kind of person who is mean and would intentionally harm young children. So I got to feel violated and bullied all over again. And the only way to take a stand was to stick the truth in the faces of the family I loved who did not want to know it and I couldn't do it. To this day I never have.
I digressed a bit here. but the point is that I hold everything back because I am not a mean and evil person and I refuse to act that way even if the outcome would be in my best interest.
In my heart, I do not blame my children. Not in my heart. My children are adults but they are young. I had a friend in college who was suicidal. And she burdened me with her pain and I tried to listen but became too much and I pulled back. I was more than I could handle. I lacked the skills and I was depressed as well. I understand being too much for people.
In the April 17, 2008 entry, I wrote about Christmas with Christie. This was when David Fotland illegally canceled our agreement and I needed to respond. I wanted to ask Christie for help. I tried to convince her to stay, but I couldn't get the words out of my throat. They were stuck. The was the harm Rai did to me. She never knew how pivotal she could have been, and I had hoped that I rise above my inability to act before it was too late. I thought I could, but I never did.I had plenty of time when she visited but I let the months slip away. David owes me at least $50,000 probably more $75,000 by now. That's enough not only to pay off my tax bill, but also to pay off my mortgage and car. I can't fight. I imagine it but I don't.
I keep repeating this. But I do hope, that my children read this understanding that they are not to blame for how I am. And while their actions at times do make a difference or their inactions could have at times made a difference, they would never fix how I am. I don't think anything could do that. It is not their fault for how I am. They are not to blame and their involvement in my life has only brought out the best in me and given me the opportunity to rise above how I am for their benefit, because they matter to me. I am so grateful for that.
On April 9th and 17th I wrote:
04-09-08 7:00 pm
What is real? Is depression a disease? Legitimate. Not a weakness of character? If so, then how come we praise optimism? As though it is a choice? Isn’t it simply an outcome of the way you are built?
I am not suggesting it is wrong to value and appreciate and admire people who are happy, optimistic, or capable of rising above difficult circumstances outside their control. We tell people to surround themselves with people who are good for them – and I surely recommend discarding mean people. But who enjoys someone who is depressed. And don’t we also say it a good thing to reach out to depressed people? There’s a real contradiction in these two messages.
I find it odd that people prefer mean to depressed. Depressed is more difficult to be with for a lot of people. So much so that depressed are shunned. Mean and brutal people will choose for years, some their lifetime.
I understand the pain Christie, Kian, and my parents feel around me. But I don’t understand the choice to avoid it. It breaks my heart that I am not worth the time for a phone call or a visit. How can I truly believe I matter to anyone. Conceptually I matter to them. But not in reality – not in the actuality of actions. I am a good, kind person and I cannot understand why that is not enough. My head gets why. My heart does not comprehend it.
I also have compassion – I understand why pain is avoided. I live it. Depression is avoidance of the pain of living. I understand and feel for the difficulty, and I still wish it was different. I wish I was called, visited, and helped. I wish even more that I could lived better without it.
04-17-08 10:15 am
More than 2 weeks ago I realized that suicide wasn’t a viable option. It will never be a better option for Christie or Kian.
Since then I went though the clear thoughts of how last July 1st Christie’s choice to not come home with me to help out for one evening or even let me drive them to the airport in Boston really broke me, and it was worsened when she wouldn’t even stay two days at Christmas even for just her company. I fetl so stupid that I couldn’t put together a simple bill and response. I couldn’t get the words out of my throat so she never knew. And I am angry at my father especially for his role in orchestrating it and disappointed with everyone else involved and devastatingly hurt by it all.
But the truth is I never would have broke if I wasn’t already on the edge – if I already wasn’t barely trading water, fighting hard to live. I have always been broken, as far back as I can remember.
Christie didn’t help but she didn’t cause it either. I suppose sometimes it is a burden to have the opportunity to help someone.
My father has been consistent all my life and yet I never stop hoping he will different – like that tall man in a crowd of midgets eyes glued shut so as to be unnoticed.
All my life my father has loved me and wanted me to be different and he is proud he has never visited my home and never will.
So in the end it can only be true that my daughter didn’t break me, she was only there when it happen. My choice was to use her as a last thread, and that was so selfish and is so extremely unfair. To ask anyone to be your lifeline to life is so unfair, and the burden can only be unbearable.
No comments:
Post a Comment