1.9.12

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I wish I had been a more defiant child.

That's it.

That's all I would change.

But I was not defiant.

I was afraid.


I am compelled now to confront my family, namely my mother, as gently as possible, with no desire to cause her pain, but I know it would hurt her.

She's seventy-two.

She's had a hard enough life.

Orphaned at age seven.

Abused by her guardian.

Abused by two alcoholic husbands.


I have questions.

She has the answers.

This is not about curiosity.

It's about clarity.

It's about healing.

My questions are not "why?"

They are only "do you remember this?" and "how old was I then?"

I know how old I was when I experienced my first acute stress response.

I do not know how old I was when I first dissociated.

I want to know.


She may feel I am malicious, but I am not. I am no more malicious toward her than she ever was toward me, or anyone.

She did what she believed she had to do.

I believe I have to do this.


I could be written off and written out.

Am I okay with that?


Yes.

Yes, I believe I'm okay with that.

2 comments:

Hawaiianmark said...

I really love whwn you write. I dont know what it is but I feel that kindred spirt shitski when you bare all. I cant relate to your trials; but in a sense I do. Its like I feel that something when the worst is occuring at an alarm and yet i can help. i wish the hands of hope grace your face.

Me Ke Aloha Pumehana

Angeline Larimer said...

Any answers?