If only…but maybe not.

gloomy

Warning- this may ruin your mood.

I’m not really sure what I want to write about today. I feel a bit stuck in my head. After writing The Step Journey I tripped back into my memories and found a bunch of ugly that just won’t leave me be. There are so many things that I want to say to the people that have hurt me over the years but mostly to those whose job it was to protect me as a child.

Sometimes I wonder who I would have been if only…if only someone stepped up. If only someone stopped the torment. If only someone was strong enough to take control. I laid in bed last night remembering a day in second grade. It invaded my mind like a virus and just spread throughout my body. Sleep was hard and interrupted. So I am tired. Tired of all the crap in the world.

I had gotten scolded by my teacher that day for not sitting still. She asked me if I had ants in my pants and my answer was, “No, ma’am. I have bruises.” She walked with me to the nurse’s office and handed me over to the right person to help. Nope. The nurse looked me over, told me to behave, and sent me back to class. It could have ended on that day, but it didn’t. That could have been that last time I walked into school bruised and scared. Bear in mind that this was the mid-70’s when reporting child abuse was not in the cards. Ever.

But, then I wonder, if someone had stepped in would I like who I would have become? I like who I am. I like that I am strongly independent and tough. I like that I have a mind of my own and stand on my own two feet. I like my mind and how I think and why I do the things I do. I guess the best way to describe it would be to say I was designed this way. Kindness was beaten into me. Love and caring were lashed into my skin. Harsh words created a dictionary and references of what NOT to do. I learned love and caring backward so I could get it right or at least try my best.

You tend to learn better lessons from the things that have gone wrong in life. I learned more from the things I got wrong on tests than the things I got right. I guess being raised under violence and lies and hatred taught me to do my best to not be that way. Am I perfect? Not even close. I stumble and fall on my face often. Sometimes literally. But the key is learning from it and trying to do better. I want to forgive but haven’t found it within myself to do so. I want to let it all go, but fear I will follow their path.

It may sound strange, but I’m not sure who hurt me the most. The ones inflicting the violence or the ones who turned a blind eye and believed the lies? You can only walk into so many doors or trip on the stairs a bunch of times before it can no longer be believed. Maybe it was the ones who never got involved in the first place- whose job it was to actually be there. I was a child and even now, as a 40 something, I still don’t know. All I know is that I shut the door on all of them. I walked away and haven’t looked back. You would think that nearly 20 years of silence would help, but I’m not sure it has. If it had I wouldn’t still have nightmares.

I wonder from time to time what I would say, how I would handle a face to face with some of these people…I become ill and delete it from my mind. I can’t even stomach the fantasy of a conversation. I think I will stick with the safety of multiple states between all of us and leave it at that. There is safety in miles and miles and miles.

I have a feeling it’s going to be a rough day so I think a walk is in the cards. Sun, birds, and a breeze- the best cure.

Sorry for the funk that is my mood. I hope your day is glorious. Tell me about it. Make me smile and feel your joy.

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Find joy. Bejoy. Enjoy.

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