The Sorrows are not the end.
It's been a tough week or so, flaring like crazy and purposefully not taking medications I had been on, like Gabapentin for nerve pain. It's a battle. These types of battles are exhausting. The flare has been bad, toe-curling at times, but I think I am coming to the tail end. I hope.
This is life with a chronic condition that keeps you pretty much homebound and isolated. It's frustrating.
I've been trying to write more because, I don't know why, but it feels right for me and always has. In spite of the fact that typos are aplenty and my fingers ache, I feel like I am honoring a part of me that has always been there, a little girl yearning to learn and sharing what she has.
Although I couldn't muster up the energy to do many posts, I did peck at the keyboard and utilized copy and paste for searches. I did research into John David Norman, Francis Shelden, and all the rest, including my own intersections. And it's heavy.
I've learned I've never been told the truth about anything in my world in my childhood, and I am speaking more about the child sexual assaults and other physical traumas I suffered. It's a long, dramatic story and has played out in the posts on this blog and then more silently in my heart and mind as I went down the path.
Decades ago, when gaslighting swirled all around me from every angle, along with other abuse and my health nose-diving, I was a very suicidal young person. The first time was a year or two prior to the attempt I told my mom about. I was maybe 11 or 12, then around 13/14. Then again around 22, after I was out of my childhood home and living in a DV relationship. It was either a short time before or after the first time I was choked. That time period is very hazy on the order of those events, a lot was happening. A natural occurrence of two extremely wounded people converging.
Those flashes came in hard this past week. All of them did. Survivors will understand, and I am sure the world stage is triggering many.
There is nothing that has happened in my life that didn't start with that first domino of CSA. That is something I am sure of, and this week has convinced me, bad and good. And yes... it's a stretch, but I can name some good. One of them is this is a topic I consider myself an expert on, unfortunately. If that makes any sense.
There is a reason we now understand Adverse Childhood Experiences and their impact on individuals and society.
That is one of the reasons I've tried to use my voice to highlight systems over individuals. When the systems are not there to help heal wounds and provide safety, the problem compounds and spreads. The dynamics spin harder and faster around every turn. The more they pile on, the worse the gaslighting, the more likely the target goes into hyper-survival mode. And that takes dissociation to make the next step to live, or else they will collapse and they know it. Survival in the moment, exactly what we are all not admitting we are either in the middle of right now or fear for tomorrow.
This shit has got to stop. People are pissed off at me for writing about what I have, and they've let me know in their own ways. I don't care. Blanketing the word LOVE is nice, but damnit, it's all the same players, system-wise, doing it.
It feels like a honeymoon period and not the good kind, more like the kind while you're carefully camouflaging your bruises so others will not know. I don't see dead people, I see drones, and sometimes dead people, but that's a topic for another day (sarcasm, kinda 😁). It's hard to stomach. I cannot be the only one feeling this way, am I?
We are here in this mess because of wealth, power, and greed. We are here because segments of our society, each feeling they know best and their greater good is the only greater good.
I am laying in this bed, in a hell of a lot of pain-physically and emotionally-knowing that when the flare is over I am still pretty much homebound due to circumstances, pain, and mobility issues. And wondering why I am not suicidal like when I was a kid. I mean, the light at the end of the tunnel isn't shiny. But there is something in me absolutely not willing to allow this bullshit to end my life. I've crawled too long to give up now.
I have anger-oh boy. I have regrets, a ton. But I guess there is a glimmer in my heart that the little girl I once was and that young woman couldn't find, and I do not know why.
Do y'all feel it too?
As corny as this may sound to some, I do think about The Sacred, Mother Mary, during times like this, and The Scarlet, both more alike than different. How did they hold on? What kept them going? It's the same thing as a woman carrying her child and running from human coyotes and border patrol. It's the same thing that makes a Ukrainian wife stay in a battle-torn area to support the troops in any way possible. It's why we smile when a child smiles at us, no matter who gave birth to them. No matter what our lives have been, we've all been touched by innocence. It's what has propelled me on this blog and when I could in life, knowing that every child should remember being innocent, pure light, Love.
The things I've discovered down this road make my stomach churn. Vile is the only word I have to describe it all.
Yeah, I am ready for innocence, light.
Mother Mary, hear our tears. Our Children are Not for Sale.
It's been a while since I've written a long journal-type post, and I am sure some reading will not understand, but I do.
I guess it's time.
Be well...💜🌹💜🌹💜🌹
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