My mother reached to hug me and I let her. We hugged for a very long time and there were a lot of tears. She again asked if I was going to come back. I told her I love her and miss her but that I can’t come back. She said something about I misunderstood what she said the day she told me to leave back in 1992. I told her it has been so long that it makes no sense to try and reconstruct a conversation that took place. Then she said to me, “Do you still believe I hurt you?” I said, ‘Yes, I do, because you did but I know we will never, ever agree on that point so lets not even talk about it.”
Archive for the 'Abuse' Category
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I feel as if I’ve given twenty years to anger. Don’t get me wrong, my anger is justified it’s just that at some point it changed from justifiable to all consuming. It is that all-consuming anger that I want to move away from. I feel like I served a twenty year prison sentence where the bars were stark, black, cold anger. I don’t want to spin my wheels thinking about how much punishment my mother deserves to suffer. I don’t want to actively search for a way for it to be known that she did me wrong in a profound way. I just want to LIVE the way I should have been able to.
We talked about how some people say the most outrageous things to me and cross boundaries with me that most wouldn’t cross. We talked about what it is I could be doing that would cause me to be an “asshole” magnet. I figured there has to be something I’m doing or some vibe I’m letting off that attracts idiots. It can’t be a coincidence that many people are inappropriate with me. Some of the things we discussed was how I talk to just about anyone who talks to me and I do so as if we’ve known one another for 50 years. Since I talk to people with ease it may feel to some that they can go further than just casual conversation. There’s a whole lot more to that than I’ve noted.
I have a couple of good days then a bad one. I get a few nights of good sleep then a bad one. It’s a yo-yo that’s tiring me quickly.
Today I had the strangest thought: my mind seems to really enjoy torturing me.
I was making spaghetti and meat balls when I had the worst urge to cut the hell out of myself. I’ve wanted to cut my arms to shreds for most of this evening. I’m not. I’m just saying that the urge hit and stayed.
This entry has been stuck in my drafts since February 4th, of 2011. There’s an older entry that has handwritten journal entries that go into further detail of my experiences of being told what it means to be black. If you click the little photo under this it’ll take you to that entry. I’m having trouble with WP right now. It’s not letting me add links properly. Anyway………
My experience in 2011: Wednesday afternoon I stepped outside and it was 62 degrees. I could tell people were in a good mood and appreciative of the break from the cold. As I opened my car door to drive myself to therapy a man drove by and yelled, “N-word!”
I’m no stranger to that word. Most of the time that word cuts to the core but for some reason when I heard it that day, I pitied the man. I pitied him for choosing to spend such a beautiful day filled with hatred.
Ah yes, here we are on the first day of Black History Month. I thought I might do something special this year and post a few articles I found interesting. The articles will vary, some serious, some not so serious. I’ll do regular therapy postings and toss in a few BHM entries. To start us off I want to share a few Librivox recordings of West African Folk Tales by William H. Barker. Reader credits appear at the bottom of this post.
Alright, about these particular folktales….In these tales you’ll find one main character which is a Anansi. Anansi is a false god who plays tricks on people for his own selfish gain. He lies, cheats and steals in order to make himself prosperous. This he does to the detriment of all around him, including his sons, wife and fellow villagers. Anansi sometimes appears in the stories as a spider or a person and sometimes a combination of the two. One thing you can count on with Anansi is that he is an abusive, neglectful, self-centered, “me first” kind of god. You’ll also notice that his selfish tricks always fail but not without consequences to himself and others.
This entry is a follow up to the pink dryer entry . This handwritten entry goes into detail about how difficult it was to feel as if I belonged anywhere or was seen as anything but an object of derision.
The very first art piece shows a three headed child with the caption, “You can be anyone except who you really are.” This art therapy piece will make more sense if the pages are read concerning being black and how I was told to be an example for others. The example I was to set was insane and rather stupid thus the title, Black for Dummies.
My therapist and I spent a good amount of time talking how during this writing I stumbled upon the understanding that my sister should not be seen as weak for how she handled the abuse. Continue reading ‘Black for Dummies’