Christmas. Alone.

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The last time I saw my brother he said he was there for me.

That I always have a room at his house.

That he is on my side.

The day before I left, he told me to take my stuff out of his house.

Because things have changed. He and his wife are having a baby.

 

He knew this before he made claims of being there for me.

I know a baby means change, but the baby was only eight weeks in.

I’m happy for him, I guess.

In many ways I don’t care anymore.

I’m okay with that too. Maybe I should care more. But I don’t.

No one needs to seek abuse.

 

In this journey you realize you are alone and somehow have to be okay with it.

There is a shift happening inside me, where I am okay in this loneliness.

Sometimes I’m not.

But I’m more okay than not, right now.

I still cry over all this loss. But that’s okay too.

At least I feel.

 

Mom.

Step-dad.

Dad.

Brother.

All lost. All gone.

 

I have to take care of me, because no one else will.

And as much as this hurts.

It’s okay. I’m okay. I have to believe that.

As I go on to create my own tribe, I stand alone.

But my tribe is my choice.

 

Christmas has changed forever.

But I’m okay.

 

Is this a Visitation Dream?

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Sometimes, when I am desperate to speak to my mother.

When I need advice, or am stuck on something I’ll ask her out loud—I tend to do this when I am alone— to come talk to me in my dreams, so I can consult with her.

 

Most recently, it was over what I should do with my mom’s house. The house I grew up in.

 

The question: “Mom. Should I rescue the house we grew up in from foreclosure?” — Then I waited later that night to dream.

 

How the “yes” and “no” of this will impact me:

 

  • If, “yes”, then that means I’ll have to take out a huge home loan to repair it, so I can rent it or sell it.

 

  • If, “no”, — then we lose it completely and have to pay back taxes on it or sue our dad.

 

In the dream, I was with my mom. Painting the walls of our childhood home. Loving the house and getting it ready for rental. For some reason we decided to paint the walls a chocolate brown, and after we painted it, we didn’t like the result. At the same time we both said, “Why don’t we try a gold overlay?” And we laughed because we had the same thought.

 

Then the dream morphed, into different scenarios, not related to the house. In one case, I was driving a truck along a cliff, and she was my co-pilot. I began to steer in the wrong direction—and she corrected my path.

Or if these are merely dreams?

Do any of you have experiences like these?

 

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Forgiveness Is Overrated

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There’s this notion that life is about forgiveness, but the more I live and look at certain people and analyze certain events in my life, the more I realize that life is about accepting the truth and finding a way to live with it.

 

Take my stepfather.

 

He was in Special Forces.

A well-decorated war vet.

A Mason.

A Shriner.

But deep down, he’s a coward.

 

His true self is:

Abusive.

Mean.

Narcissistic.

He’s a bully.

 

What man hits a little girl, or sends his teenager to jail for an unpaid traffic ticket, or tells her that it’s not his fault she’s all fucked up and no one will marry her?

 

Clearly. I have my demons, but I know deep down in my core. I am not a bad person. I did not deserve his treatment and neither did my mother.

 

But.

 

My mother chose him.

I did not.

My mother stayed him.

I don’t have to.

My mother let him bully her.

I can stand up for myself.

 

The only person I have to forgive in this equation is my mother, for trying to make things work with a sociopath, for not knowing her worth. I’m barely uncovering mine, and in this process, I realize I DON’T have to forgive him, but hold him accountable for the things he’s done. I DON’T EVER have to subject myself to his abuse again, and I have to trust that the TRUTH will prevail; no matter how difficult that is to prove.

 

My soul hurt at not being at not being loved by him.

At not being understood.

At being forced to sit in the sidelines and wonder:

  • What’s wrong with me?
  • What’s made me unlovable?
  • Why I’ve accepted less than I deserve?

But, now I know none of this is my fault.

I am better than that. Better than him.

He does not deserve my love, my forgiveness, or my goodness.

 

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