I am trying to come to grips with the fact that I have yet to make one sale in a promotion I tried to pull together for Christmas. So that got me thinking about some personal things that I had set aside for a while – I can do that sometimes (not all the time – it would be so handy if I could). This time I was able to set it all aside long enough to put together the product if nothing else.
And now comes putting worrying about that aside – the fact that either my hunch seemed to send me in the wrong direction or my execution sucks – and get back to the personal stuff I’ve been avoiding cuz it hurts. And I hate to cry. Or more I feel that I can’t cry because of the way it makes other people feel and I’m sure that is just all kinds of fucked up but I don’t quite know why.
I wouldn’t even have this time to dwell and to tell if the snow hadn’t surprised me out of my Christmas plans (but that’s a cry for another post)
I went to a Caseflow meeting on December 9th. And that was an experience in itself – but the tailspin comes from where I stayed the night before the court appearance than going to the court itself.
I saw my aunt who was almost my mom – and that just – well it always just makes me cry. Because it reminds me just how messed up my life started out to be – and in some ways that whole family side of life has never really improved for me.
And I hate saying that because the Locksmith is wonderful – he doesn’t but…all of that – my kids, my siblings, my parental units still living – that all seems so impossible!
And it reminded me, because she is a pastor, how very mad I am at God.
Because He made me like everyone and like no one and some days that makes me feel very, very, very alone and there’s nothing in the world that fills it up.
He didn’t even give me a chance at normal. And yes, I know I always say that normal is a setting on the dryer – but I’m talking about belonging – to a family. How am I supposed to consider myself the daughter of the most High King when I didn’t even get those basics?
The maternal bond was severed not once, but twice before my sixth birthday. Okay – so that happens to a lot of people and I shouldn’t cry because you know there are adoptive children who go through the same kind of thing and then there’s the horrors of foster care that are often much more hellish than I endured, but still.
It’s exactly that kind of thing that makes me feel like I don’t belong. I was not adopted. I was not a foster child. I know no one with a story like mine. I was never motherless…I was never fatherless…I was never without – I was just torn from one situation and thrown into another. And no one was technically not-family.
I wasn’t abandoned. In fact, all evidence points to being very much loved. And yet. Absolutely not belonging anywhere or to anyone, really – my forever family was forever changing. Or so it seems looking back.
And seeing my Aunt and her family reminds me of that.
Because we’ve connected, disconnected and connected so many times over the years that the word yo-yo comes to mind.
There was the original bid to be my mom (when my grandparents presented as too old as adoptive parents, my mom’s brother and his wife (my aunt) were going to be – only my step-mom put an end to that and I went to live with her and dad. And then a couple of years later my step mom stopped all contact with her after one of my cousin-that-was-almost-my-sister’s birthday parties.
I didn’t find out till years later what that was all about when I became close with her again for about 6 months when I was 19. But then my ODTBX disagreed with her about something and he decided to never see her again. Going so far as to skip my cousin’s wedding years later – even though we hosted my Grandma and my uncle as out of town wedding guests. So on top of the weird mom issues there’s the “I let a man keep me from my family” thing…
And that’s where I was the night before the court date. Because it seemed silly to waste time and gas to come back to the city the next day when I dropped the boys off from visiting me on Sunday.
So I needed a good cry to vent all that out.
And then feeling guilty because I cried because really life is not that bad.
I have my health. I’m not totally broke and I have ideas…even if they don’t always pan out.
It’s going to be okay. But sometimes I have to cry…become unglued…and put myself back together again…
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