My Corner of the World

As crazy as it sounds, the rose bushes in my front yard are already getting ready to bloom. This has been such a mild winter (so far!), with just one little bout of snowfall. I'm already looking forward to spring, even if it's followed by my least favorite season.

Today I have no plans other than my usual housecleaning. I'm entering my poem, The Color of Bones, in a contest, in keeping with my desire to make more of an effort with my writing. I may paint a cabinet in the living room the same color (sage) I used on my kitchen recently. Tim left his Playstation 3 here last weekend; I'm going to try to stay away from it. Way too addicting!

Just about everyone in my family's been sick recently. Izzy has 2 ear infections, Maddy had a RSV flare up. My youngest son is fighting a horrible cold, and so is Sissyface and another son. I'm fortunate to not have succumbed to the bug that's going around. My Chronic Fatigue is pretty bad right now though, so I guess I can join the "feeling rotten" club.

Yesterday I gave my landlady two cotton wash rags I'd made. I thought she was going to kiss me, she was so excited to receive them. Funny how sometimes it's the smaller gestures which really make someone's day. As I handed her the wash rags she exclaimed, "Oh, no one ever gives me anything!"

My oldest granddaughter is about to turn 15. Tim wants her to spend the night here this weekend. I'm going to get her a cake--oh, it's been so long since I've gotten to spend any time with her.

That wraps it up for now, just a lot of little stuff of which my days are made. I'm not dealing with DID issues right now, I'm simply getting through my days and enjoying their gentle unwinding. There aren't any major issues for me to face. When I need to I will, but until then this is me puttering around, enjoying the absence, for now, of any major drama in my world.

How Much is That Doggie in the Window?

The last several days have felt surreal, probably mostly due to the fact that Maddy's family recently got a dog. Since I have a dog phobia, and babysit the kids twice a week, this isn't a good thing for me. I knew they were thinking of getting one, but no one told me in advance, when I went to babysit a few days ago, that there was this new addition to the family. I can't really fault them; my phobia is not one I'm proud of and so I don't talk about it much. Most of my family doesn't even know it exists.

Life has a way of springing challenges on me when I least expect them. I don't expect to go along my merry way without having to adapt or make concessions somewhere along the road. How then do I accept this latest challenge without offending anyone, or making myself miserable? Well, if need be I can babysit the kids at my place one day a week. The other day is so early in the morning--and the kids are always still sleeping--that this wouldn't be a practical solution.

What gives me hope is that if the dog begins to jump on me, my son or daughter-inlaw instantly make her leave me alone. I did break down and tell my son about my phobia. As with most dog lovers, he didn't get it. He didn't shame me, but it was clear that my dog phobia mystified him. That's okay, in a way it mystifies me too. What's important is that he takes it seriously enough to keep their dog off of me, and he's doing that. Maddy and Anna both love their new pet. I really wouldn't care to be the reason they couldn't have a dog--and so I stumble along as best I can, trying to be tactful and considerate of the pride they're all taking in their beloved dog.

Back when I lived with my granddaughter Izzy's family, she used to ask me infrequently why I don't like dogs. (I know the question was prompted by her knowledge that because of me she couldn't get a puppy.) What a corner to be backed into! Because, I longed to explain, when I was about your age someone gave me the cutest little puppy, and my step dad tormented and abused it so much that I had to give it back. I haven't been able to like dogs ever since. Because that was such a turbulent year of my life, full of one trauma after another, that witnessing the abuse of my puppy was one thing too many. How do you tell that to a child? Well I didn't. I said something lame about how everyone is different, some people are cat lovers, some are dog lovers, some people don't like any kind of animals. And some people hate broccoli.

Maybe it's time you got over your phobia, my son told me the other day. Maybe that's why we ended up getting a dog, so that you could do so. I know he was trying to help, but still I wanted to smack him. Instantly my mind was filled with all kinds of defensive responses: it's not for you to decide when I should get over something! You've no idea what's behind my phobia! You didn't have an abusive childhood, so how can you understand?

I'm so glad that most of what goes on in my mind never gets articulated. I kept my cool, knowing that my son would not deliberately say or do anything to wound me. I'm wary around his dog, keeping a safe distance. Who knows, maybe this really will be the time that I begin to work through this issue and go through some healing. But if so, it won't be because I'm being forced into it.

Beezer

This is a sketch of Beezer, one of my personalities, standing by my old fort in my childhood back yard. (Sorry it's kind of hard to see, I did it in pencil.) When I began sketching I didn't have anything in particular in mind. I don't even know how I knew who this was, but I did instantly.

Beezer, I've come to understand, was one of my parts created to play the role of a normal child. She did a pretty good job of it too. I'm beginning to wonder though (with all the sadness welling up inside) if it hasn't become too much for her to keep playing this role. Now that there is no longer the need to pretend to be an ordinary child, is it fair to keep leaning on her and expecting her to carry on the burden of presenting a normal self to the world?

What's Wrong With Me

What is wrong with me these days? I ask myself this often, wondering and being slightly aghast at the tears which flow too freely. I'm not a crier. I'm just not. The last time I remember feeling this sad and weepy for no good reason was a week before Tim's accident. I'm not the least bit superstitious; I don't believe that something horrible is going to happen because I'm once again feeling this way. But what, then?

A few evenings ago Sissyface and I had a long phone conversation about her dad (our abuser.) I've been doing quite a bit of writing on my memoir, dealing with the season of my childhood when I went through major abuse. Does any of this account for the feeling that I will never not be sad, and that I just want everything to go away?

Right now I'm feeling just as I did as a child when my entire world collapsed. I can at least identify that much. But I don't know what is causing those feelings to resurface. Haven't I tamped them down often enough over the decades? They should have died off by now. I don't indulge them, I don't coddle them and treat them like my little pets. I don't parade them in front of others, showing off my grief and shame in order to get attention. The fact is, the fact is I'm rather ashamed of my grief and shame. I'm ashamed of them so why would I want others to see them?

I never know for sure how things impact me. For instance, the old childhood friend I recently reconnected with, the one who has some of the poems I wrote as a child. We're going to be reuniting soon, and this is a good thing. Our friendship has picked up where it left off. No, that's not quite right; it's picked it from when we were kids. Some of my best childhood moments were spent with this person. I can't wait to see her, to spend time with someone who knew me back when I was a kid pretending to be normal. And I ask myself if connecting with her has in some way stirred up anxiety within my system of alters. I don't feel connected with this sadness so maybe it's not even mine, but I don't know how to get to the bottom of this and figure out who it belongs to.

What's wrong with me lately? I really wish I had the answer to that one. Even if it wasn't something solvable, I'd just like to know.

Letter to My Future Self

Dear Beauty (10 years from now),

Congratulations! You've enjoyed 10 years smoke-free, an anniversary well worth remembering and celebrating. There is much to celebrate as you look back on your eventful life.

From the scared, abused little girl who used to cry herself to sleep every night, you've emerged into an emotionally stable adult who has succeeded in putting much of the past behind her. You will never be totally free of the traumas and woundings which so enslaved you most of your life--but you've experienced a degree of freedom which allows you to live in the here and now without constantly shifting back into the emotional quicksand of your past.

You've watched your grandkids grow and mature; you've even held your first great-grandbaby in your arms, marveling at the wonder of doing so. How odd to think that as a teenager you so longed to commit suicide. You can't imagine now feeling that desperate and hollow, though you feel a pang of sadness for your 15 year old self. How is it that you've made it all the way into old age? Love has been the mitigating factor in your survival: love for your children and grandkids and friends, and their steadfast love for you.

Braving the necessary work it takes to engage in the healing process, you've found the freedom to speak more and more of your truth. This you've done by blogging and writing poetry, and the memoir you had published several years ago. Nothing you've attempted in coming to terms with your childhood has been easy, but there have been many rewards. Perhaps the best reward is the letters you've received in response to your memoir. These are from women in all walks of life (and some men too) who have lived through the same kind of abuses you wrote about, and have found within your story a spark of hope and inspiration.

You are discovering that, as plodding as the healing journey has been, all along you've been building up a wealth of good memories to feast on in your twilight years. These have a powerful counter affect on the demeaning, shameful memories of your childhood redheaded self. You've taken what was distorted and evil in your life and turned it into blessings for you, and many others. The God you put your faith in so many decades ago has made this transformation possible.

You have many good years ahead of you. You will see your great-grandchildren grow and thrive, untouched by the abuses you know by heart. You will continue making a steady way for yourself not by cursing the darkness but by lighting a candle of hope. New friends (and old ones you've lost touch with) will enter your life, sharing their individual tales, victories and wisdom. You will learn all over again that though life is fraught with mystery (and sometimes pain and heartbreak), it is well worth the living.

You will get beyond your present day little troubles, hitting your stride as you enter into your sixth decade of living. Always a late bloomer, you will find yourself amused that it's taken you this long to get in step with your truest self. But you will--not without struggles or self-doubts, but perhaps in spite of them.

You've chisled out your own destiny, or fate, not content to remain the victim forever, and in this there is strength unlimited.