Here i go Again

Well, today has been a pretty bad day. I fell into a depression on Mother's Day and haven't quite been able to shake it. As usual, i put on the 'i'm okay' mask and pretended i don't feel dead inside. It seems like everyone i know has a close group of friends, and someone to lean on. I just feel so horribly, terribly, alone. I know, it's whining, right? But i see no point in blogging if it isn't honest. All the things i used to enjoy, that lifted me up, are now like so much dust. People say things like 'You seem so much better today!' What  they don't understand is, i'm not. I haven't been for most of my life, and i never will be. It hurts to hear people say that, for some reason..i almost feel like they are so blind, that they can't see my pain, or simply don't want to. I can't say i blame them. I don't enjoy seeing it either, i enjoy living with it even less. Facebook has become a torment. Everyone is either too happy, or too sad, and they both make me feel invisible. That's pretty much what i feel like. Invisible. I know i'm the one distancing myself from others on a rational level, but the beast tells me they're distancing themselves from me. And i'm so tired of trying to reach out, even though i know that's what i have to do. I feel so broken. Until next time, i'm hugging you, whoever you may be. ~

Reflections of pain

So,  i saw this image on pinterest, and it just hit me like a bus.  The depiction of an abused child, and his transformation into a tortured adult really hit home, especially today, of all days. Mother's day is a bitch, folks. Throughout my adult life, i've remained largely silent about my abusive upbringing. It isn't something i like to talk about, and i crumble under the pitiful look in the eyes of the few i have told. It makes me feel six years old again, looking at the world through  eyes filled with anguish that nobody saw, or wanted to see. They saw a quiet little girl with big, brown eyes, who kept to herself, and never bothered anyone. 'Please don't notice me' was my mantra growing up. It was terrible enough i suppose, to have been born premature to a mother who didn't even want me, for reasons i will never know, or understand, and to be ignored and treated like an invisible child, but far, far worse, when her icy gaze landed on me. Her eyes, so beautiful, so full of scorn. How could a woman who looked like a fairy tale princess be so cold? So remote? So self-obsessed?  That, i was able to deal with, by populating my world with fairies, sprites, all things warm, inviting, and imaginary. But when she came out of that, when she turned that malevolence on me like a spotlight, i screamed "Don't see me, mommy...please don't see me." Because then came the  words, like a knife, that took my fragile sense of worth and shredded it. She was never fond of the physical sort of abuse. That happened , but her specialty was the far  more subtle use of words. Words a child should never hear her mother say.  How i had 'destroyed her life' how i would never be 'as beautiful, as accomplished, as worthy.' How i would never, never, be as good and pure and perfect as my four older brothers, who were, and still are, the lights of her life. I cry as i type this, still wondering, why wasn't i her light? What was so repugnant about a one and a half pound infant with a failing heart and immature lungs? Why did she place my cradle as far from our only source of household heat when she finally took me home, causing me to come down with   pneumonia, so that i went straight back to the hospital again and almost died? Why did she wish i had never been born? Why was she always so fond of telling me that she had always wished for a girl. A perfect, lovely, little girl, and then rake me with a gaze that said, in volumes, that i didn't measure up? I wish i could say, that as a woman well into adulthood, that she can't hurt me anymore, but as any survivor of childhood abuse knows, they will always hurt you, even after they turn to nothing  but dust, their horrendous legacy lives on, inside your mind, like a silent film, played over and over, until you want to jump into a dark void, and never let anything, or anyone near you again.  To anyone on the outside, looking in, i had a wonderful mother, a beautiful mother, one my friends envied.  How could i even begin to compete with that image? Everyone she met was swept up by her, entranced by her beauty and refinement. Writing this blog has become a sort of catharsis for me, and i feel that by sharing my story, maybe even one person won't feel alone. You are not alone. We exist on every level of society, the chosen broken, hiding our pain behind bright smiles and false cheer. You know, the kind we practice, so the cracks don't show. Abuse knows no discrimination, it is not a condition of poverty, or wealth. I suppose this is my way of breaking my own silence, of finally, finally,  putting a voice to my pain. I am not a victim, i am a survivor. I may not be whole, but i am pieced together, and the glue is my perseverance. It can be yours too.  So, this will be my personal journey, to try to find happiness, sad to say, i cannot remember ever being happy. But i will be. I will find my joyful heart. More next time, until then, i am hugging you, whoever you may be.