There was a picture of my mother that i hadn’t yet decided whether or not i wanted to keep in that box that my sister dropped off for me… well… i decided i wanted it, so i had to dig through all the junk again. well, i actually took notice of what some of the papers were saying. They were love letters and crushed dried flowers of a relationship (marriage) my mother had after she left us… I don’t know what i am supposed to feel about that.
happy because she had somebody to make her feel happy and safe? or should i feel angry because she didn’t even have enough love to stick around for us? and that brings up other questions, such as…. should i be happy she left us because she DID love us enough to leave?
and honestly, right now, i just want to get plumb plastered… but… i am resisting the temptation. that was part of the problem of the people i grew up around. and, apparently my birth-father was alcoholic and i don’t want to fall into that trap…. drinking to make the pain go away… i want to confront it head on…. in a safe environment…. sorta….
i’m part wondering if i should at least keep the letters until i can see Dr. B again… hopefully she hasn’t given up on me, too.
I don’t know… i want to know… i want to fix it…. but… what if i can’t be fixed? or what if i get fixed and then i don’t know who i am anymore without all the pain and suffering? without all the mental anguish?
I mean… I’m so freakin screwed up i can’t even hold down a job. every time i start to think i can handle it, i freeze and take a step or twenty back. i hide in my hole because i am not meant for society. i want to write my stories, poetry and books and be safe and sound in my own place. why is that too much to ask? maybe it’s not owed to me, but i think i deserve it… we all deserve a safe place.
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