Opening the floodgates to be found.

A childhood encompassed with competing for the attention of one man; my father, her husband and she was a fierce adversary yet it's my late father's quiet scorn for his having to deal with the emotional remnants of a turbulent day after his day in service of provision for the family I dread the most still. Work that, conveniently or not I shall never know, took him away from home for periods, as a child, felt like there might one day be no return. Faced with constant fears of abandonment, punishment, crushing guilt inducing accusations confusing any sense of who I was, I never knew which way to jump. One day a certain action would be overlooked, another admonished and another ridiculed, made light of for her entertainment. There was no way upon waking of knowing which way she'd turn at the drop of a hat but somewhere inside I learned to move fast, sense subtle cues, smell the recognisable warnings of her monthly cycle, the smell of a woman that remains nauseating to me. The clammy paste scent of fear burnt flesh became familiar too as my body already sensitive to stresses rubbed up against in refusal to breathe. With boundaries so blurred, I know not whose skin was hot from the fire, hers mine or anothers. Her terror became my living nightmare. My honed attunement, perhaps a reflection of her lack of connection became her resentment. Yesterday I unwittingly listened to the last few recorded messages she left over four years ago, the last time I heard her voice, and was surprised how much I was unaffected by her spiteful tone. Originally, when she left them I was shaken, trembled with shocked childlike torment that she could hold such hateful thoughts about her own daughter. Why shocked I don't know, she's always been this way with me in private at least. Her public persona took on the role of a proud mother as I did well in school and later my family, ignoring how she relished the drama of my propensity to attract destructive relationships. She'd label them the episode she was witnessing as if watching on TV. Dismissive mostly of how she undermined my ability to raise my children, one of which she stole as her own. I have no anger left toward her, I feel very little and think even less of her as each year passes. It's as if my past was a long ago forgotten life but of course, it is far from lost, seared into my brain are connections that won't let go, not from her so much as one could easily assume but immense sadness I've held onto in the dark where my dad was supposed to be to pull me back into the light, guarding me against the torrent of abuse that never ended, just walked away from. That is the abyss I have feared stepping into my whole adult life as if once fallen I could never leave, disappeared from sight, alone and frightened. Teetering on the edge, I can no more release those tears than I can tell him how much I love him still as his ashes have years gone into the air and sea. I instead cry in frustration at the love of a man I may never receive. This is my self fulfilling prophecy.

Oh, I know and understand the logic and reason of it all and don't blame anyone but knowledge is not wisdom and wisdom does not facilitate emotional release. Rationalising is merely another form of avoidance. A safe environment can provide and this is what I seek to create, more constructively these days I'm glad to acknowledge overdue progress. It's time to change the course of my story, to turn the page. It's time to trust this life I both love and hate.