I’m just the pieces of the man I used to be
Too many bitter tears are raining down on me
I’m far away from home
And I’ve been facing this alone
For much too long
Oh, I feel like no-one ever told the truth to me
About growing up and what a struggle it would be
In my tangled state of mind
I’ve been looking back to find
Where I went wrong-Too Much Love Can Kill You
I grew up in a house of very self absorbed and self destructive people. They did not have the time or the patience for someone like me. The shy and quiet chubby girl who was more comfortable with the dog and her dolls then with the loud boisterous clan I was surrounded by. I would play “make believe” to escape my reality. All children did I am sure.
I would sing made up songs and write little stories and draw pretty pictures just to find someplace better to be. I would imagine myself a princess in fields of flowers. I would draw pictures of beautiful sun-drenched days and laughing people having picnics. Blue skies filled with birds. Stories of adventures with my best friend Lady, my collie. And I would be the heroine and would save myself from the evil wizard or the mean dragon; both of whom were really just grumpy because they were lonely. I would always befriend them because I knew what lonely was.
And I always saved myself because I found early on in my life that no one else was going to save me.
But as those pages of my childhood grew old and faded, so did I. You see, we children are supposed to grow out of that habit of “pretend” once we become the staunch and solid adults we are destined to be. We are supposed to face our reality as it is presented to each of us and basically…suck it up and deal.
I still play make believe. It is the writer in me I suppose. I still have conversations in my head with people I have created to fill the empty spaces in my life. Voices that echo of the things I wish had been said to me all those years ago. The words that would have, somehow, made being raised in that house on 6th avenue more tolerable. The words I held my metaphorical breath to hear. From my parents, words of encouragement and pride. Respect and acceptance from my siblings. A positive turn of phrase to let me know that this life I was born into would turn out okay.
That was not the case for me.
I created my own sense of well being. My own strength. My own support. My own respect.
I had to become my own cheerleader.
Sometimes over the years the pom-poms wilted, and the self respect would take a nose dive.
But I will say I am proud of the fact that, despite those moments of fear and self doubt, I have grown up to be a rather decent person. I try to be kind, not just to other people, but to myself as well.
Remember to do that. Be kind to yourself.
I am finding though that I have been rather retrospective of late. It is due to a writing project I am working on.
A project about that house on 6th avenue. About those people, those days gone by that still haunt me. The words and actions that shaped me. The reactions I have had to being shaped. (I am not Play Dough for fuck sake!)
I have had to face obstacles from my past in order to create a future for myself. To become the person I want to be. I strive each day to be a better person than I was before. It’s a lifelong process I feel. Basically I try to be better than I was yesterday.
I have shed many tears over the memories of my past. Bitter tears that have cleansed. Salty tears that have healed. I will never be able to have the relationship I had wished for with either of my parents. I doubt they would ever be able to see me as anything other than what I was in their minds eye: shy little Pamela Plump. And the few remaining siblings I have are not high on my list of people I care to interact with. I do my duty to call one sister periodically. I do it because it is the right thing to do. (And because I’m in her will!)
I have worked hard to surround myself with strong, positive people who support and encourage me. I hope that I am doing the same for them.
Why am I sharing any of this?
Because we all have struggles. We all have memories that haunt. Pasts that we wish we could erase. Situations that we are struggling to get through.
I suppose I want each of you, my lovelies, to know that regardless of the taint from the bad in your life, you are all still brilliant stars. No matter what each of you are going through, you have control of how you react and deal with it.
This is something I have to often be reminded of!
I cannot always control the situations around me, but I can control how I react to them. I can control how deeply I let them affect me. It is not easy, but it is necessary for my own mental health. My own emotional well-being.
Too many times I have let the voices of the past echo into my future.
I work daily on trying to mute their volume.
Please take care my lovelies! Be kind to others. But mostly…
Be kind to YOURSELF!
I am comically and tragically pissed off about things.
In my defense...I was left unsupervised.
In my defense...I was left unsupervised.
Bizarre thoughts from author Jenny Lawson - Like Mother Teresa, only better.
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