It’s big, it’s heavy, and it hurts.

I keep waiting for a break, a lift; a moment when it’s not there when I don’t have to focus or operate under it’s influence.

Sometimes if I’m lucky I’m able to cry; most times I’m not lucky.  I know the tears will help ease the burden but they stay deep down tucked away.

My head keeps asking me when it will be time to stop all of this hurting nonsense, when will I get out from under this rock of despair, will there be a happy ahead, where the fuck is the carrot?

Perhaps the happy is just an illusion, something that we’ve bought and sell our souls for on a daily basis.  Happy is an overstatement, I’m just looking to feel balanced and relatively happy for longer than one day, a week even.

I’ve been emotionally running from the final impact that I know is my due.  I doubt anyone could blame me for this after the last 10 years of the up and down, heart being ripped from my chest; beat up and ripped and hung on the outside of my body to dry.

Resisted writing this, not looking for condolences, I know it’s a part of the process (I’ve come to despise those three words).  I’ve been holding it in hoping it would pass, that I would be released magically.

I know better, I do.  Yet, I never stop bracing myself for impact.  It’s a primal reaction built in to humans.  Some are lucky enough to keep it under the rug and hidden.  That’s never a choice I’ve had, or even been successful with my attempts.

Back to where I always land, writing about it and posting it here releasing it into the safe place where others understand and will sigh as they read; nodding their heads in solidarity.

This too shall pass.  I just wish it would hurry the fuck up because my heart, mind, and body are weary.

I immediately became uncomfortable and told her there was no need, what’s done is done.

“No”, she said.  “I need to say this”.

My head that was screaming, “NO NO NO NO” but the words that came out were, “OK”.

“Many years ago, I said something to you when I was very angry and I want to tell you that I’m sorry for that”.

I again said, “OK” wondering which time she meant.

She continued, “I said to you that I wished I’d had an abortion and I’m sorry for that.  People say things when they’re mad that they wouldn’t normally say.  Surely you can understand that now, knowing that teenagers can really push you to your limits”.

“Yes, I do understand” I replied.

I started thinking of ways that I could cheer her out of this situation.

To make it less difficult FOR HER.

I’ll never stop doing that, in my mind.  Trying to take care of her.

She needs me to do that, to help that little girl that lives deep down inside of her.

The one she’s pushed so far she can no longer even hear.  The one no one protected, the one that was abused severely and never healed.  That little girl that lives inside of her, the one that I know very well because I have one that lives inside of me too.

After it was over I started analyzing why it happened.  After all these years, why is she making amends?

It was a holiday, she’d had a few drinks, other family members put her up to it.  It wasn’t even a real apology, it was an excuse for WHY she did it.  Because I was a lousy daughter during my teenage years and it was a justified act in her mind.

None of that is important, the fact that she found the words to let me know that she was sorry for what she said was all that the little girl needed to hear.

The scar will always be there, but I’d forgiven her a long time ago.

If one piece gets out of place, the entire structure may fall into a heap.  Houses made of cards are fragile, meticulously created.  Her queen of heart locked inside, protected.

She doesn’t see the fright, or see the scars that weren’t healing in her own daughter.  She can’t reach me, she can’t try.  Not because she doesn’t love me, but to do so would be to open the lid she’s had slammed shut for 50 years.  Without knowing, she gave me the tools to fight my own battles.

For years I’ve tried to do my part, overlook the sickness, overlook my own needs.  One sided relationships are very difficult to maintain.  When it was just me, it was a lot easier.  Now that I’ve got my own family with my own heartache, there hasn’t been as much room for me to serve her.

I love her, I admire her, I am grateful for her.  I just can’t give any more of myself or I’ll have nothing left for my own life.  You can only tell someone you love them, you appreciate them so many times before you realize that it won’t make a dent and at some point you have to let go.

For years I lived by her definition of good, I followed her advice, her suggestions.  I did what she told me to do and when I wasn’t with her, I’d hear her voice in my head.  She was my internal thermometer to lead me to the right path.  Not realizing it at the time, I was trying to gain her love and acceptance.

She didn’t mean to hurt me; she froze me out because that’s the only defense she had against the things that were too hard for her to see.

As her daughter, I thought it was up to me to try and repair the sins of the past.  To be the strong woman that she aspired to be, the woman that desperately wanted to let herself feel and give love, to live her life.

Nothing was safe for her, everyone and everything had an agenda, and that agenda was to hurt her.

I’d give anything to fix that in her, anything.  I thought for years that was my purpose, to fix her.  My choice, not hers.  She never asked for help, to do so would mean defeat in her eyes.

Before I ever fully understood any of this, I’d absorbed enough of her fears and problems that eventually set me up as a candidate for the same abuse that she experienced.  This was not her goal, I know this now.  The things we try to hide are projected onto others.

I certainly don’t blame her for that.  Not now.  For a while I did, I blamed her for not loving herself enough to get out from under her mountain of abuse and mental illness.   When I became a Mother myself, I grew even angrier that she didn’t think we were worth fighting for.

She fought for us, but in her own way.  It’s good to remember that when people love us, it won’t always look the way we expect it to.  It doesn’t mean they don’t love us.  It means their way of loving just looks differently than the way we love.

When I finally realized she did the very fucking best that she could, with what she was given, I was able to see her outside of the injuries.  To see her for the beautiful, smart, creative, loving and amazing person she is.

My strength is her strength, my compassion is her compassion, my love is her love working through me.  She succeeded in making me stronger than she was, to question, to reach.  I see her more clearly now than I ever did before.  Still unable to convince her how amazing she is, no matter how many times I tell her or write to her.

Maybe she meant to cover more ground, to be more and do more.  I know I’m making mistakes that my children will one day be hate me for.

It doesn’t mean I didn’t try, or that I don’t love them.

No, that doesn’t mean that at all.

Stop punishing me with your perceived notion of what is right, and what is wrong.  Step outside of that head of yours for a little while and ponder the vast reaching capacity of our humanity.

Or, just do the dance, receive the accolades as you were taught to know that you are loved.  Keep reaching outside of yourself to find what you think you need.  Keep staying stuck where you are when you know your capacity for greatness beckons you to meet it.

Empty buckets lined up at your door, waiting for the love you know you deserve because you did everything right.  Years gone, spent on trying to please them and not yourself.

When people hurt us, does it matter any more or less if we are biologically connected to them?  Who made that rule that we have to go down with a sinking ship just because we’re family.

I used to be as you are, loyal and blind.  The years taught me to see things differently.  My experience, my road, my decision to decide who and what I will welcome into my life.

Didn’t realize you had the choice?

Yes, you do.

Perhaps you’ll hold on to this ideal until you are old, that’s ok if you do.  Perhaps you’ll begin to turn down the road that tells you to leave behind everything you’ve ever known and loved.

I like to believe that is the road where we find our true selves.  The uncomfortable kind with rocks and pebbles, no water or a friendly familiar face.  This is the road to find out who we really are.  The answers are not always in what we find the most comfortable.

I love you and I always will.

Please try not to judge me for the things that I have to do as I travel along my path, just because you do not believe them to be good and right.  Just love me and try to understand that there is always more to a picture than what you can see, and that sometimes your eyes play tricks on you.

Lastly, I miss you.

There’s something that I’ve always known about myself, and it becomes more and more clear with each passing year.  Certain things come more in focus.  On one level it’s good to understand yourself just a little bit more, it’s comforting to snag a truth that you know you will never unlearn.

Another level is it usually means saying goodbye to a particular part of your life, a part of yourself maybe even people you love.

I would tell you that I’m a seeker, but not so that I elevate myself above others.  It’s something that chose me.  Words aren’t the matter, simply a way to try and define the condition.

Being a seeker means that you will often find yourself alone even around other people.  Alone in that your mind operates a little differently.  Or, could it be we’re just more honest and forthright about ourselves, having moved beyond the fear of being accepted.  Either you get it, or you don’t.

There are others out there that are seekers, sometimes we even find each other and cheer the other along during times of darkness when we’re fighting the knowledge that seekers always seem to find.

Changing behaviors, improving ourselves is like turning an ocean liner.  You turn but you don’t see the results of that turn for a long time.  Personally, I like to see immediate results of my turns, to know that there’s a reason for it, not that I’ve chosen to suffer for no reason.  Or wonder if the turn was just a waste of my time and I should’ve just stayed in the dark where it was safe.

Why can’t you be happy, why do you have to ask yourself all these questions, why can’t you let go of the past?

Except, I can’t stay in the dark and be content.  If I could, I wouldn’t turn in the first fucking place.  I envy those that can stay in the dark, walking along the same path they’ve walked along since they were born.

The age of blindness is behind us, it’s been turning for a long time, the masses are only now beginning to see the results of it.

I’m not built that way, I can’t honor something that isn’t true.  My eyes are open.  The duration of a new bend is the most painful, the one where I scream and become angry.  Once I move beyond it, I know once again it is as it is supposed to be.

I compare it to the air after a hurricane, clear and bright.  Debris has washed away, new things are about and old things are gone.  A cycle that I’ve walked through emotionally time and time again.

Hindsight gives me the hope and strength to do it once again.  Friends that understand offer support and love.  They don’t question the process, they just love me through it.  Either it’s because they understand, or they don’t but they trust that what we tell them is real to us.

The ones that do not understand cannot be held accountable for their ignorance.  The anger they hurl is their own, ignorantly thinking that projecting it elsewhere, it will rid them of it.  Over and over again they continue to do the same thing expecting different results.

Changing the course isn’t a process for cowards.  The ones that act in spite of their fear, demonstrating courage, are the ones that successfully turn the ocean liner leaving footprints for those that come after us, hopefully making the path a little easier.

I wonder, when will the light shine again,

when will the path be crystal clear and back on track?

I’m in charge of that, don’t want to be.

Not today, or tomorrow.  No sirree.

Suffering is a normal part of the human condition, we are not meant to be jolly all the time.  No, we are not.  The fairy tales, THEY LIE.

The sorrow, the sad, the confusion, the ick.

It lives inside of me waiting for the moment when I am weak.  It moves in, full stealth mode and brings the whole ick battalion.

Been here, done this, survived and got stronger.

Ride it out, hang on, keep my pace.

Save my face.

There are certain people in your life that you just assume won’t betray you.  A family member, an old friend, your parents, pick your confidant.

As I listened to you talking about me like I wasn’t even there, I felt sick to my stomach.  I wanted to run but I had no where to run to.

The things you said, they hurt my heart.

I wanted to trust you, I wanted to believe that you wouldn’t betray that trust.

I talked to my therapist about it, he said the fact that I got sick to my stomach was a sign that I’ve grown.  That most healthy people would be sickened by your behavior.

In the past I would’ve just overlooked it.  Kind of like ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room.  I learned that skill from being sexually abused, it’s a survival mechanism and came in handy.

The only way for me to get around what happened is to believe you are a very sick person.  I hold no resentment, no contempt.

It’s one of those really hard lessons that you only need to learn once, that I am unable to trust you with intimate pieces of my life.

For your own good, for my own good your secret is safe with me, along with all the others.  I won’t declare revenge and threaten you with my insider information.  That would not serve anyone, but mostly I have no desire to do that.

I’m taking that as another sign I’ve made progress on this whole being human thing.

My heart broke when the truth revealed itself to me.  I tried to hide from it, bury it deeply inside of my body, I didn’t want anyone to see it.

That was successful for a long time.  I tried to blame you, the reasons were all turned around and put back into my court and I couldn’t deny this was a truth I could not hide.

Looking for things that were wrong for so long until I found them, then I looked for ways to put them up high so no one could find them.

We’re in too deep, it has to remain as it is until one of us dies.  It will hurt too much, I can’t take much more hurt.  It will bury me eight feet under next to my Dad.  What have I done wrong?

I dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s, I checked and rechecked, went to the Doctor and went to God.

To stay in the condition would mean choosing you instead of me.  I thought that choice was the answer for me and I forgot who I was, what strengths I had, the hurdles I’d climbed before, and that I can overcome adversity no matter what’s on the table.

I sat, I cried, I wrote, I lied to myself.

I thought of him and how he did the same, exchanging his life for another.  It made him happy to do so, or it was what he wanted us all to believe.

A message from somewhere deep, rose up to greet, whispering in my ear, “don’t do that”.  “Right or wrong, it’s been so long, don’t walk the same road you saw me on”.

I love you, my heart would burst to prove to you if it could.  It’s time for me to sever that tie and find myself and I don’t even know why.

The beyond this will be beautiful, the beyond will be better than any of us could have hoped for.  I hate to be the one to change the tracks, it was the last choice, and when everything turned to black, I knew then it was only choice to bring my life back.

Does this mean I’m eternally broken?

Aren’t humans supposed to couple up and live happily ever after?  If I listen to the inner voice that lives inside of my mind and body, it tells me that this may be true for others but it’s not true for me.

After years of investigating, getting my heart broken, and breaking others’ hearts I’ve learned a lot.  I’ve learned that when I am unattached, I can move mountains.  I can build bridges and soar through the sky.

I miss that part of myself that is capable of great things.  I miss the loneliness that feeds my creativity and moves me to the next level.

I don’t need you, or anyone else to complete me.  I can complete myself far better than anyone else.

I know as I type that the panic of not having a special someone by my side is going to be excruciatingly painful for me.  I’ve been here before, it’s horrible and ugly and I’ll hate myself for not being a better person.  It will not be pretty.

When we love, there is no escaping the inevitable pain that accompanies it.  It’s a part of the package, the sacrifice you make to let your heart soar.

I’m afraid, I don’t know what to do next, and I don’t like not having a direction.  I question my sanity, why on earth would I choose to leave the safety of my life at this point?

It would be selfish of me to continue, knowing I’m not as fulfilled as I should be, you deserve better.  It would be selfish of me to keep you here.

I’m sorry for the upset and chaos that this will bring into our lives, we’ve certainly seen too much of that over the years.

Looking back, I once thought it would make us stronger.  What I realized was that it broke us in ways that cannot be repaired.  I’ve been grieving much longer than you, as I’d hoped it was something I could find a solution to.

If I could block it out, and change how I am, I would.  I’ve tried medications, therapy and behavior modification just to make it all fit.

It’s not something that can be repaired because it’s not really broken.

The first time I had sex, I was drunk.  That set the theme for me from that point on, I couldn’t participate in any type of sexual activity unless I was drunk or on some type of mind altering drug.  Even then, the “ick” came through at the end of the experience and sometimes lasted for days.

Then, I got sober and EVERYTHING became harder to carry out.  I was used to functioning high during the day and drunk at night.  I was in a relationship at the beginning of my sobriety and it wasn’t going so well at the time.  Within the year, we would have broken up for the last time after many attempts over a five year period.

Between that time and me being five or six years sober, sex usually meant I would have some type of panic attack.  Before, after, during.  A lot of times during and I would cry.  I tried to warn my partners that sometimes I get a little weird and cry.  Most of them seemed to understand and were compassionate.  (I now know that this is a common experience for most women and even some men.)

Around three years sober, I found myself wanting to die more than I wanted to live and I went to get some help.  For the next three years, I saw this therapist and she guided me through the Courage to Heal Workbook.  I hated almost every hour of it, and would frequently cancel appointments with her.  We did some major work in that whole area and I thought it was going to kill me.

In one of the early sessions I asked her if she thought I would ever be able to move beyond the problem, she told me I would if I did the work.

I believed her.

She said it would always be a part of me, but if I did the work I could rearrange the reactions and find coping skills for the parts it left behind.

No one had ever said that to me before.

During that three year period with her, I was single and celibate.  It didn’t help that I gained a bunch of weight and basically didn’t care much for my outside appearance.  This is a typical side effect when you are working through major stuff like that.  It won’t last forever.

It was a really, really fucked up time for me and I knew I was transforming myself for the good, but afraid of what I would end up with.  It would prove to be one of the most important things I could’ve ever done for myself, and beyond my wildest dreams.

I would’ve liked to just fast forwarded to the good part (being able to enjoy sexual relations) but there wouldn’t have been a good part if I hadn’t trudged through the bad part.

Oddly enough as I got better towards the end of the three year work, I started losing weight without even trying.  I started cleaning my apartment, getting rid of things I didn’t need and my life seemed to almost get itself in order.

This would prove to be a benefit for doing the actual work in therapy, one I hadn’t anticipated.

As for my sexual situation, that got better too.  MUCH BETTER.  I tried things I’d never tried, I was fully present, and I finally got what people were talking about, and I wanted to make up for lost time.

I’ve wanted to write something like this for a long time, I want people to know that we can recover in a way that allows us to enjoy certain aspects of life.  By no means am I “cured” and I’ve had flashbacks here and there (depending on what is going on in my life at the time) but it doesn’t paralyze me anymore and I can talk myself through most situations.

It does not paralyze me any more.

We all deserve a healthy sex life, and I’m certain that all of us on some level, whether you were abused or not have struggled with sexual issues.  I blame religion for a lot of it.

It’s a taboo subject (much like mental illness), and the only way I have found to heal is by discussing it with a trusted source that helped me to find my way back to the present in order to enjoy so many things we never dreamed of actually enjoying.

Sex is CAN be good and it CAN be your friend.