I’ve been feeling stretched thin, pulled in many directions, like I have for much of my life. You might be asking yourself, why the hell is this person so wound up all the time? Like one of those old toys where the ticker inside finally stops and she needs it wound up again in order for it to move around like a good little person? First of all, I’m not always like this because you don’t see me lounging around my apartment on my days off or after work. I can and do sit on my futon like a bump on a log.
There are a select few people I speak with regarding the never ending saga of my life before I was adopted. You know the down and dirty shit. The nitty gritty stuff that gets in your eyes and no matter how much you wash it out with water, it never fully goes away. It’s something I’d rather not deal with and I’d rather not be thought of as a person with PTSD (also known as post traumatic stress disorder), but at times it flares up. The first memory I ever had of my biological father was him intentionally burning my arm because I pissed him off so bad he felt the need to punish me. My arm has become such a thing of the past for me despite the occasional glance or stare by a stranger and those willing to ask what happened to me.
I had a doctor one time push her instrument so far up my nose because she was so fixated on my arm. I mean she really jammed it up my nose. I didn’t say anything, but I’m sure she felt like an idiot. I later saw her on a TV screen talking about allergies and the caption was Dr. X, expert in Y and Z. If only I had laughed, but I didn’t. For those that ask, I usually tell the person, “oh, I got burned when I was younger.” That suffices for the stranger not to ask another question because if I said instead, “oh, my biological father was a fucking freak of nature and was a brutal torturer,” I would get more questions I’d rather not answer. I spared them all the gory details because there’s a lot of them. My biological father burning my arm was the nicest thing he did to me in the whole scope of things. Besides, they can read my fiction version of it later (when I write it). Yes, read that when it comes out. Share it with a friend, if you want.
After I spoke with a person I trust and admire for her listening skills, advice, and sense of how to help me get through and over the residual bumps and mental blockages in my life, I decided to step away from blogging for a bit. I felt as if I was becoming a robot in a way, churning out blog postings with the little time I have (or so it seems), and I know this is supposed to be a kind of “fun” thing for and not a whip at your back kind of thing where I have to post something every day. This isn’t my full time job nor do I want it to be my full time job. I have other plans and goals in my life and blogging morning, noon, and night shouldn’t and isn’t my main focus. I’ve been hopelessly trying to keep up with my daily routines, personal schedules, and fitting it together with my ideal vision in my head of how life should be. It wasn’t working. I needed to step away for a while, get back on the path of taking care of myself, and not using blogging as a distraction or procrastination technique.
I went through a long list of issues going on in my life with this person and because I’m a resistant person to self-growth, at times, I realized I needed to take the plunge and buy the books she recommended, generally speaking. Are you sensing any anger within me? I hope not. Or maybe it is rage at the bullshit I’m forever dealing with because I was born into a dysfunctional family? It’s the reason I keep having the recurring nightmare of trying to get away from a serial killing maniac with a weapon. Sometimes, as I’m getting away I have supernatural powers. Other times I’m running for my life but still survive. One of my reasons for my existence was to intervene and put a stop to my biological family generational line. This is what I firmly believe and while this sounds depressing on some level, it’s a damn blessing because for all the pain my biological father caused, when I die, his blood really dies.
On Friday after work, I went to a bookstore and picked up a few books: one about living with uncertainty and the other about positive affirmations. This might sound silly, but for those of us who have gone through hell and back with being abused as children, these books are essential to help in the recovery and healing process. I’ve learned it never ends. I can count how many times I’ve cried on my hand as an adult because doing so meant I got kicked, punched, slapped, or choked as a child. This is the conditioned response that stayed with me. I cried for a short few seconds when my last rabbit died. This is all I could muster and I loved him fiercely. These are the things I hold inside. I wanted to be thought of as powerful, strong, and without any need for others because I had to as a child. You cleaned yourself and you fed yourself or else you stayed dirty and starved.
So, I took the weekend to myself and colored, read, watched TV and a movie, and wrote in my journal. I went to Chinatown and the surrounding area in Las Vegas on Sunday. I tried to heal a little more and let things go as best I could on Sunday by taking my time and not forcing myself to do crap over the weekend although I did clean my toilet. I thought about how many times my biological father threatened to kill me and what that does to a child. I thought about how much I want him out of my life, but knowing he never will be completely out of my mind. He married my biological mother at a young age. There were many years between them. She died in her mid thirties. He died in his late sixties. I suppose this is another layer of healing for me, exposing to the few people reading this of my emotional and mental challenges and issues of this past five days. If you’re wondering what books I bought, they are Heart Thoughts by Louise Hay and Comfortble with Uncertainty by Pema Chödrön. There’s not a chance that my biological father’s going to outlive me so with this in mind, I’m off to exercise. I wish wisdom and peace for everyone as the rest of the year passes and eat some gelato because I sure did and enjoyed every bite of it. And yes, check back for more blog entries soon.