I saw my sister’s behavior as emotional weakness and I feel because of that “weakness” I was focused on for abuse more than she was. The mother said I was her favorite because I was a challenge.
It occurred to me today that I blame my sister for some of the abuse because she was “weak” and thus not as fun to abuse as I was. The mother abused her, don’t get me wrong, but she tore into me with all she had because I was harder to break. Why keep trying to break a horse that’s already broken? My sister was broken, but all the mother had to do was make sure she stayed that way. Since she didn’t take as much work then she didn’t get the amount of time and energy given to break me.
Continue reading ‘Broken Pieces’
I’ve repeatedly said that my sister hated me and that my mother kept us apart but I thought of something the other day. What if she knew how I really felt about her? What if she knew despite all I did to help out that I resented the fact that she didn’t fight more? What if she knew behind my smile, behind my helpful hand was disgust and anger because she couldn’t be more like me? What if she knew? Maybe that’s part of the reason she hated me so because she did know.
I’d chase kids and pull them off her. I’d beat them up but then go home and yell at her for being so weak! Oh I was so angry that she never stood up for herself and left it up to me. While hitting those kids I was furious that they had the nerve to touch my big sister. Who did they think they were and why did they think they’d get away with it? Here’s a kick to the stomach and a fist to the mouth. Think about that the next time you want to put your hands on my big sister. But I’d turn around and go home angry, cursing and screaming (much like my mother) that she ran like a coward, that she cried and backed down.
Continue reading ‘Maybe She Knew’
If you take my voice you take my power.
Despite the fact that I’ve written about this subject again and again I still feel the need to write about it. I feel a twinge of embarrassment for this level of grief, even more foolish for crying. It’s as if I should be more concerned about other things. Since I’ve felt foolish about it and since I’ve written about it again and again I figured why write more. Why keep saying the same things over and over again? I’ll just shut up I figure.
If I give you my voice I also give you my power.
With that said – Today, like every other day, I miss my sister.
I wonder if she’s having a hard time with turning forty today. I wonder if her friends are teasing her about it. I wonder if my mother is teasing her about it. I wonder how she really feels.
I miss my sister.
My sister was right there in front of me but because of an abusive family she was nothing but a snare. They used us against one another. They may have killed our relationship but they didn’t kill the desire to have it. When I think of her I’m nearly brought to my knees. I need mercy.
About the drawing: A fish swims towards a wiggle worm trap. A little girl holds her hand out for mercy but like the worm, it’s a trap. The word merciful is written above her hand. She can’t see the line. She’s unsuspecting.
Joan of Arc
Today – Like Other Days – Tuesday, March 24, 2009
(as part of dream therapy you re-write the dream for an ending that you can live with or where you are the victor instead of the victim.)
My sister and I are sleeping in separate rooms when I hear a burglar at the door. I run to wake my sister who is sleeping as she always does, like an letter in an envelope. Her blankets are straight, folded very neatly at the top and nothing is out of order. She’s sleeping like a picture perfect princess. I giggle and think to myself, “How on earth does she sleep like that?” then I shake her to let her know we have to get out of the house. She jumps to her feet, throws the covers back to their original position. I notice the bed looks as if she never slept in it at all. I shake my head and we run to her window and climb out together. The sister who will be called Mia is down below telling me to jump and hurry because she thinks they’re already in the house. I’m afraid of heights and have always been but I know jumping is necessary. At the bottom Mia and I run into the field knowing full well we’ll have to fight off lions and wolves. Mia heads in first and tells me to stay close behind her. We’re going to the highway then into the city for help. As we pass through the field we don’t see any danger but we know it’s all around us. Several houses have a porch light but Mia senses they won’t help so we keep going. A lady approaches us and says she’ll take us only as far as the highway. Again sensing danger Mia denies assistance and takes us through the dark, overgrown field.
Despite sleeping her hair is perfect, her pink nightgown is without wrinkles and there’s not a drop of sweat on her. Continue reading ‘DREAM: Trust Love and Forgiveness Re-write’
Dear Sister,
I have to leave you alone now. This letter will be jumbled because I’m not use to feeling what I feel when I think of you. I’m use to singing your praises. I’m use to telling others I couldn’t stand the way you screamed but never have I felt so angry and so hurt when I think of you. I use to just be sad and long for you but in the last few months when I think of you all I want to do is bend over and cry.
When we were kids, though I didn’t understand you at all, I figured we had something big in common and that gave us a secure bond. I thought the abuse was enough to bring us close together so we could out wit the mother, stay one step ahead of her together, be each others confidant. I thought we could be friends. I saw you in nothing but light. Despite being disgusted by your reactions it never changed how I felt about you. I was disgusted by your reaction, not you. That issue is my own and I know why and I’m trying to deal with that. But I want you to know it never made me think you were anything other than the source that hung the moon. Continue reading ‘She Hangs The Moon’
I know when I’m closed off it means something intense is going on inside, something intense that I just don’t want to feel or deal with. I wasn’t sure what it was until I sat in therapy and it came to me that my neighbor I’m helping care for told me I’ve been different since last Wednesday. I asked Dr. D what we talked about. It seems the whole sister issue came up yet again. I really have trouble with that one. I’m not use to feeling so angry with her or let down by her. I’m just fine with being pissed at the mother. I can see her for who she is but I’ve always had a fantasy view of my sister. She’s always been my big sister, the one that hung the moon. The one that I brag about because she is such a great seamstress. She’s pretty and smart. I always looked up to her. Yes, I did her homework, I gave her my food rations, I fought for her when other kids beat up on her and all that jazz. I never hit her back when she hit me. I even tried to show her how to leave when the mother used the dowel rods on us. Still I looked up to her. I thought she was the best thing since sliced bread. But now, to look at her sexual abuse of me makes the face I painted for her turn ugly.
I stopped caring a very long time ago about my mother’s approval but I felt like I needed my sister’s. It hurts beyond belief to look at her as the person she is and catch a sharp resemblance of my mother. Continue reading ‘A Million Pieces’
Last nights dream was quite interesting. I was in a classroom at elementary school desks waiting for the group therapist to come in so those assigned to speak that day could talk. The group therapist came in and went directly to the chalk board and started crossing off names. As he called off the names of the people who wouldn’t be talking that day he put one white chalk line through their name. He then wrote 3 names on the board of people he felt needed to talk that day. After writing he handed us a workbook and told us information on how to understand these individuals would be in the book. He didn’t even let them talk. He just gave us a workbook and left the room. We were to understand that one survivor used a tiger as a service animal because of her severe PTSD issues. One lady is in a domestic violence situation because she doesn’t have strength in her voice to tell and the third person ended up being accused of a crime he didn’t commit and was killed in prison which affected a survivor in our group because he witnessed it. The group therapist came in, shook things up, told us one thing then did another and simply walked out of the room but not before turning the lights out and leaving us all sitting in the dark.
Continue reading ‘Callous Abandonment’
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