So I'm kind of embarrassed about my post, "mother
fucking fuck fuck, revisited" (part 114). I knew I was throwing a hissy
fit when I was writing it, and I knew I might regret posting it, but at the
time I was very much feeling what I was writing, so I was like "fuck
it."
I actually even considered taking that post down. I don't
think I come across as very sane and reasonable person, either, and that is I guess
why I am embarrassed about it - that and the note of desperation.
So there was this one critique of my book that said the main
character was someone waiting to be rescued; I find that kind of derogatory
toward the character (or anyone who is sitting around, waiting to be rescued),
but it is not inaccurate. I got to go to art school for one quarter about 15
years ago (and I LOVED it), and one of the teachers said I reminded her of
Blance Deveroux, always relying on the kindness of strangers. And then I was at
therapy today, and we were talking about how that blog post (part 114) was a
very literal expression of how frustrating - and futile - it can be waiting for
someone to rescue you.
So am I someone who is waiting to be rescued? I mean, I feel
like that rings pretty true in some ways.
When I was writing that post, I wrote about wanting someone
to see the value in me and recognize that I could make them a lot of money
(you, know, because of how boring I'm not), and buy my book and give me enough
money to get the fuck out of this shit-hole town. As I wrote those words about
seeing the value in me, I felt like I sounded pathetic, like a child trying to
get their parents' favor (hmmm, I wonder
where that analogy came from), but failing.
I posted it anyway, and now I'm kind of embarrassed.
However, I feel very good at the fact that I have been
putting all of ME out there - every unattractive quality - without ruminating
too much. Because as much as it would be super-fucking-awesome for someone to
come along and say, "hey I want to buy your book for the exact amount it
will take you to get out of this shithole town, and also I was thinking maybe I
could give you a substantial advance on your next book," it's not what
this is about.
What this IS about is what is REAL, and REAL is not necessarily
an attractive shade on me all the time, so….
Anyway.
The whole rescuing thing, and that last post, and how it all
alludes to my state of mind since I was a child has been a lot to think about. I
really do feel that someone "waiting to be rescued" is weak. I'm not
sure where I get that from. I mean "waiting to be rescued" could also
be seen as incredibly resilient and filled with unwavering tenacity and faith. Whatever,
I've been analyzing it all day and it's getting old. My conclusion is that
yeah, it is definitely something that can be applied to me, and I am going to
decline to make a final determination on whether or not is an admirable trait.
On a completely different note…um, I TOTALLY outed my mom
yesterday. I've been very strongly alluding to what she has specifically done
to me, but yesterday was the first time I full out said it.
It SUH-UH-UH-KED. It was terrifying. It launched me into a
dissociative state that I haven't experienced in a long time. I have been
reliving that time, when I was 14, when she did that to me. I've been reliving
the next door neighbor molesting me when I was 5. I've been reliving looking
into the eyes of the sadistic rapist across the street when he was trying to
kill me (which really actually was much scarier than all those times my dad
tried to kill me…I mean, if there a scale of fear on that level).
I've been imagining my brother showing up at my house and
yelling at me and telling me what a horrible and disloyal and evil little bitch
I am, and how I am exactly like our father, and how he is so disgusted that
he's never going to have anything to do with me again, but he's still going to
make me pay for this horrible injustice against our mother. I've been imagining
my sister doing kind of the same thing, but in a really controlled and calm
way, and without using any bad words, and telling me that she will be praying
for my mortal soul. They probably also would both reference the bible or god or
whatever, and spear me through the chest with it.
You know what is so awesome? I don't believe in that bible
or that god, and they can spear me with whatever they want, because I can take
pretend spears to the chest all day long. Bitch.
At therapy today, my therapist said we could do some things
to help me grounded again, and I told her I did not want to be grounded, that I
was very comfortable in the dissociated state I was in. It was kind of weird
being that aware of being that dissociated, but it still felt like nothing at
all, and particularly not like the consequences of outing my mom about the
sexual abuse.
I am coming out of it now, though, and I am finding I don't
feel very scared. One of the things I've been most surprised about is how
scared I am of my brother coming down here and confronting me. My sister would
be almost as scary as that. I haven't been so concerned about my mom showing
up, but if she did, it would be a straight-to-911 situation, because she would
have to be completely out of her fucking mind to show up at my house, and I'm
still full up on crazy from that bitch, and I'm not interested in getting any
more from her.
But being scared of my brother and sister: I have always had
this tremendous guilt about scaring them when we were growing up. I yelled a
lot, there were physical altercations, hair pulling, face scratching; once my
sister and I hung our brother up by the seat of his pajama pants by hooking the
waistband onto a stubby branch sticking out of a tree in the front yard. I have
carried a lot of guilt about how horrible I was, and over the past couple of
years, they had taken to occasionally reminding me of that.
Maybe that is why I have been feeling scared that they would
confront me - because I hurt them in the past, and they probably feel I am
still hurting them now, and I am feeling shame about it.
I think I am officially over the shame of all of the horrible
things I did to my brother and sister when I was a child growing up in a world
of impending doom, though.
I am very happy to find that just writing about my brother
and sister has taken away that fear of them, and I am even happier to find that
as I have been getting more grounded over the day, I have not been subjected to
the doom and damnation that I had always believed would come to me if I told on
my mom. I'm actually feeling pretty good and brave about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment