Tag Archives: abandonment

Dropping Tears of Rage to the Floor


My dream starts off in a dim cafeteria that only has small windows towards the top of the double story ceiling to provide any light; I’m volunteering through hannaford by servicing people in need when I hear a familiar voice “I wanna see carol, I miss her so much.” I’d recognize that pouty voice anywhere since I served her for almost 3 years as her team leader. I come rushing around the corner and give becky a huge hug and begin cry my eyes out with her on her shoulder, saying I’m sorry over and over again. Danielle, my supervisor at hannafords, looks on fondly.

Later I run into my former boss Sarah, and ask her how I can help out. She hands me a box of gift cards to be stocked from local stores and restaurants, mostly from outback steak house. I dropped the box as I’m walking away and they all spread across the floor; the box is no longer usable. I organize the cards in piles and pick them back up, and drop them again, but they remain mostly in the piles I put them in. I put them away and look to the back of the room… That’s when I see her… Gina. She now drops something and I go over to help her pick it up. She doesnt know I’m here and doesn’t make eye contact, so in my generosity there’s a spiteful “fuck you I’m nice” element. “Kill them with kindness” comes to mind.

“Oh im so glad you guys are here. The work you all do is wonderful; you guys should come work for us” she says with a faux simper.

“Sorry, but I already did that once before, and I’ll never do it again.”

She finally looks at me and I’m beaming at her. She’s stunned, and I continue on holding on to my power and a slow simmering rage towards her to exert my dominance, tell her how much I love my job now, and how much it’s a shame that I’ll never work for such a terrible employer again. Gina struggles to find a snarky comment, and I leave before she gets the chance.

This time I’ve given a clothing donation to take care of,  but to my horror my dirty shirt and 2 pairs of underwear are among them! I’m trying desperately to conceal them by wrapping them up in a bundle, but they keep falling out and the stack gets bigger and heavier. Gina walks by and snarks “you should be more careful next time” with a smirk on her face. I ignore her and make it sound as if I can’t hear her. I brush it off and pick myself back up, not wanting to be phased.

In the next row I hear someone say “oh look, it’s carol Simpson! Oh, never mind, you’re too tall! Ha ha ha” when I look I see Ellen had said that to Bee in gest as a way of making fun of me. “Oh fuck you” I scream at the top of my lungs, but no one hears me or cares in a room crawling with people. I storm off and try to center myself.

I’m outside and near a body of water I think, but before me buried in sand is a bunch of stones – onyx, hemetite, jasper, sun stone, moon stone… And these are all mine! They’re from my bedroom! My brother Jim is nearby, and where he’s stolen from me before I furiously storm up and confront him. “DID YOU TAKE MY STONES” I screm at full force. Jim can’t take ownership of what he’s done, and mom and big Jim are now standing to my left. “Just tell her you did it” mom says, since jims face is now twisted with embarrassment and guilt. He says he did, and I launch into a speech asking him why he feels it’s okay to treat me like shit and disrespecting me through my belongings, but most importantly those are healing stones, and he tried to sabotage my ability to heal in stealing them.

Just then my mother snarks “ironic isn’t it; now you know how I feel.” She was referring to when I was 14 I had stolen from her, but when I tried to explain to her that was different cause little jim is now an adult, big Jim (his dad) steps in and says something, but I don’t remember what it was. I know I threw my hand up in a “stop” gesture, and told him I didn’t give a shit what someone as abusive and negligent as him has to say; what I do know is that I was seething with rage.

Suddenly there’s a restaurant dining room connected too the home kitchen I’m standing in, and I’m screaming at mom and Jim, but they don’t care and disregard me as crazy and irrational with a whole restaurant of people judging me silently and taking my moms side. I felt like telling people off in that moment and defending myself as not crazy, but I chose to ignore them instead, pretending the kitchen is a barrier that keeps me safe from the crowd of diners. Little Jim never apologized, and I don’t recover all my stones from the beach; there was one in particular that has gone missing and I start contemplating making Jim pay me back or just buy me a new one.

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You’re Not Being Abandoned


To My Younger Self,

The one whose wounded…

The one whose scarred…

The one who’s afraid you’re going to be unloved the whole of your life…

It’s okay. I’m working on us. They aren’t your parents, they aren’t your family, and it’s my job to heal your wounds and let you know that. 

I’m sorry you hurt every time they walk out. I’m sorry it feels like they’re sneaking around you – I promise you they’re not.

Things are getting better, one day at a time, one step at a time. You don’t need to hate yourself for feeling wounded. It’s not your fault you were abandoned and abused. It’s not your fault. It never was and it never will be. 

It’s okay to feel this. You need too. You feel left out because I locked you out, and it hurts every time you see that door… Afraid you’re being locked out, afraid they’re gonna walk out… But you know what? Let them. They have their own lives, and we have our own to work on. We can have fun too. We can talk too. We can be meaningful and do meaningful things. You don’t need their light because it’s only going to mislead you; we need to find our own light and let it shine. 

It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not a child anymore, and you’re now a grown-up… So to my inner child, the one who feels stung, bruised, slapped, kicked, and abandoned… Please… You’re okay. It’s okay. We’re okay. 

Just grieve…

Be that lighthouse. 

Become one within me. 

Breathe. 

Controlling others won’t heal your loss, but grieving will. 

Breathe…. Just breathe. 

From the Edge of the Cliff

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Yesterday morning I was riding on the bus and ready to cry….

Then I got to the coffee shop ready to cry…

Then I got into work ready to cry…

I just don’t get it. How is it when I make space for myself to cry it doesn’t happen, but right when I don’t need it too and am forced to stuff it down it comes.

The thoughts…. what was I connecting too. I know it was real, and based on the past, not some conjured up vision of something that will never come to pass based on the hypnosis of music and time. It’s much easier to cry by finding the backdoor to connect with the emotion than it is to connect with on my own; I’m sure something profound and damnable can be said for this. Music, anime, reading something sad… all of them help me to connect with the emotion but it’s still outside myself… still…. thoughts… what was I thinking.

Statements such as “what happened to you was not okay” have suddenly taken on a new depth and meaning; no longer do I just silently agree and thank them for their kindness… there’s something to be internalized now. The hardest chapter for me to go through in my recovery work – the precious child in a healthy family, it details what good parenting looks like and suddenly…. images of my childhood resurrect from the grave.

My dad pulling the silent treatment on me when I had a question for him… then I would beg and he’d get angry…. then I’d ask once, wait by his side for a minute or two, and repeat the question again in case he didn’t hear me…. then wait a little longer and say “I love you” to see if he was in fact able to hear me or was ignoring me…. he’d say nothing, and I would leave upset.

My mom…. so many injustices. In a healthy family the parents pay attention to both children to understand their behavioral patterns; she however played favorites based on who the father of the child was, and their sex. I, being the oldest and female, would be shamed for my emotions. I was labeled crazy, unstable, a bitch, and told it’s my fault for being 10, being 12, being 13, and so on.

I remember sitting at the dinner table at my Nana’s house in Orlando – to my left was my brother, to my right and at the head of the table was my dad, and across from me, to my dad’s right was my Nana. I’m *trying to eat her food and I had my elbows on the table… I was uncomfortable sitting there and needed to lean forward, and because of my discomfort I kept forgetting her command and kept putting my elbow on the table. To remedy this situation, Nana stabbed my arm with a fork… and it hurt… a lot. My father who was supposed to protect me and stand up against this injustice instead goes “Well, you should have listened to her – maybe next time you’ll learn.”

Maybe next time I’ll learn…

Maybe next time I’ll know better…

Punishment was swift, brutal, didn’t match the consequences of my actions, and inappropriate for a young child… but eventually I learned…

I learned that every time I was punished, it hurt, and I was a failure. I was a terrible child, and it was all my fault.

I learned every time that love is determined by my ability to obey… there was no repair work, there was no “lets sit down and talk this out” with affection and reinforcing value and self-worth after, only more restrictions.

I’ll never forget the day I got into that fist fight with my step-father when I was 10… his trigger was slammed doors. If you slam it, he will storm in screaming in your face at the top of his lungs, face as red as blood with spit coming out of his mouth… my mother supported it. I punched him so hard they claim I fractured his rib…As awful as it sounds, because it is, I hope I did. They didn’t bother going to the doctors to check it out so who knows if they were telling the truth; manipulation has always been my mothers fondest tactic.

*Note: Syrus is my autistic son, whom I love to death*

Mom: “A friend of mine has 2 boys with autism and works in homeopathic/natropathic medicine; she was telling me about her kids behaviors and how she managed to cure her children of their autism through supplements that they take to remove the excess metals from their brain. Their personality was still the same, but the behaviors were gone.”

Me: *panic coursing through my veins at the rights violations they have committed, threatening my sense of safety and my sons.* “What behaviors exactly are we referring too?”

Mom: “You know, the autistic ones”

Me: “Why would I wan’t to change that?!? Don’t you know how awful this sounds? You’re suggesting I change my son when I love him for who he is, as he is, autism and all, and you still haven’t told me what behaviors you’re referring too. Don’t you know how unethical this sounds?” (I knew she was full of shit at this point and was lying – she has no friends, and she certainly doesn’t have any that match the perfect packages she’s trying to project)

(mom’s boyfriend steps in)

Randy: “Why does it have to be about ethics? This is about medicine, not ethics. We’re not changing him, we’re just trying to make his life better. Do you know how many documentaries I’ve watched of autistic people who were never able to communicate, and then one day they managed to use a computer and finally expressed how much they hated it – don’t you think you’re actually harming your son by not doing this?” (referring to the bullshit videos they asked me to watch on curing autism, which includes, but is not limited too, swallowing ocean water which would kill anyone).

Me: “No, those individuals do not make up the whole of the autism community, especially concerning those who take pride in their autism/aspergers; it’s part of who they are and they take pride in themselves, advocate for one another, and were even outraged when they changed the aspergers diagnosis to autism spectrum disorder because it erased a part of their identity, their community, their culture as a whole – yes, I’ve seen the videos of autistic people able to communicate for the first time through technology, and I work as a DSP advocating for adults with disabilities. They’re an amazing group of people, and so is my son. Please stop shaming me by suggesting I’m harming my child by not “curing” him because I refuse to take up your cause when that’s not my decision to make – thats his to make as an adult, and again, you haven’t told me what behaviors you’re guys are talking about, and it is all about ethics because how you treat people is everything in this world.” (I hope my son never looks at himself as worthless because of his diagnosis, he’s so much more than sensory differences and delayed learning)

At this point my mother precedes to attack my intelligence, and I retort by telling her I’ll talk to her “facebook friend” and asked for her name so I can reach out to her about her experiences “curing” her children (because it either serves to humor my mother or trap her in a corner to prove shes lying – it happened to be the latter of the two).

Mom: “Well, she very hard to get a hold of. I usually just leave a facebook message but it can take upwards of two months until she gets back to me.”

Me: “Thats okay, I’ll do that then. Whats her name so I can leave a message; I mean you told me she found out about Syrus and his autism by going through my facebook and confronting you about it, so if shes so interested in me and my son then you should have no problem with me talking to her. Whats her info”?

She never could give me any information… in the end it was a giant lie. She didn’t have a friend with autistic children who worked in holistic medicine, she was referring to herself digging thorough bull-shit bogus medical videos and crap and wanted to experiment on my son to make herself feel better about being a grandmother. Shes told me more than once she feels uncomfortable being around him because of his disability, and wont take any time to spend with him alone… you know, what grandparents are supposed to do. 😦

No family support. I spent my life raising her kids… Jamie crying his eyes out because he missed her, cognoscenti enough as children to blame my dad and say it was his fault we were taken from her (kidnapped), but not old enough to know she threw us away in exchange for dating her high school bully who eventually beat the shit out of her…

I still haven’t explored much of my relationship with my dad at all in therapy. Trying to keep the codependent/love addict modal in place, knowing full well how the cycle goes, I’m a love addict, my mom is a love avoidant, and the #1 complaint I’d hear about my dad from women is how needy and clingy he is… and he is. He’s a love addict too. At 13 I’m sitting in his car watching him ball his eyes out wailing out loud 2 years later over my uncles suicide… my dad found him. He’s banging on the steering wheel mourning the loss of his brother and I felt so powerless… so hopeless… I’m so sorry for your loss daddy…. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him…. but I’m so proud of you in your recovery work too. It’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to cry… if only I had the ability and know-how to say that too him, but I was 13… theres no way I could have…

But I digress… none of this is meant to blame, but connect with pain… thoughts that bring me to the cliff where I can cry; the emotional precipice where I can connect with my inner child that I rejected.

I remember lying in my bed for ages when I was in 5th grade… so about 10. I hated everyone and everything, and was when I attempted my only suicide attempt.

I look at my son… he’s 7… I was just a baby… a baby who wanted to die. What could I know of life, other than shame, blame, and no healing to be found.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself”

I’m not… I’m a child in grieving. I lost my mother as a child, and then I found out she didn’t want me. I was kidnapped as a child by a man who’s supposed to be my father, but I had no real relationship with him… and it was nothing but dominance and control. My sense of self-worth and value based on my ability to follow commands.

I’m terrified I do this to my son, but it’s so hard to raise an autistic child… the parental handbook goes out the door.I’m thankful I’m not the mother my mom is, but I’m terrified I’m an awful mother… it’s so hard to find the balance. I dont want my son to hate me the way I hate my mother… nor do I want him to chronically live with the feeling that he’ll never be good enough as I do with my dad.

This. These are the tears I needed. They’re not heavy… the dams not broken… but the seed has been planed.

I guess it’s time to start working out of that breaking free workbook…. I need a more guided measure to connect with this pain and find the injustice. It’s one thing to be told what happened to me as a child was not okay and then rationalize it with the strengths I developed as a result of pain…. it’s another thing to feel it for myself… the very thing I stuffed away as a child. The very reason I grew up hating everyone… this is it… no one was there to comfort me or mourn my loss, to feel my pain or contextualize it and put it in it’s proper place to allow for healthy grieving. I carried blackness in my soul to protect me; if I didn’t feel the pain then I can mechanically get through my life until I turn 18 and leave this shit hole. Everyday was a countdown to when I could move out. Every. Damn. Day.

I wish I could apologize to the people I pushed away with my problems… I was a child looking for healing putting too much on others because there were no adults to help lead me through this…. especially him. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to apologize to profusely to him for the baggage I dumped on him…

No one taught me healthy boundaries…. but then again, looking at everything that’s unfolded in his world… there’s a journey of healing that awaits him, and I wish him the best of luck. If only I understood what was really going on…

Dear Jason,

ごめんなさい…

ごめんなさい…

ごめんなさい…

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Once I realize what was not okay in my upbringing, I’ll be able to establish whats not okay in how I’m treated as an adult…. this is the root of self-respect.

 

Stressed & Fearful

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I remember dreaming about Facebook. I was afraid Lydia LaJewel was on my other, more offensive Facebook was in my friends list. I was afraid and stressed she was seeing all the inappropriate jokes I post and telling everyone about it at the church. I began to panic a little and finally the dream faded off.

Then I dreamt I was in church, persevering on “revival” and how it hadn’t come, and how annoyed I was that this was the message being preached when I left 6 years ago, and when I come back, its still being preached which means it was unfulfilled. I know I was also beginning to worry about those damn surveys I had to do for college from the church.

Then I dreamt about how my bills… I had a money order for $100 to pay one of my bills, but I frantically ran around looking for the envelope so I know which bill I should pay since I had 3 of them to worry about. I couldn’t pay my phone since they dont take money orders, the electric was $300, and my rent is $902. I had no other bills to pay…. it felt like money going to waste since nothing was actually being paid off.

Towards the end I desperately scrambled internally for who I could possibly talk to that I trust. I wish I had someone to talk to… a real friend… and then his name ended up spilling from my lips; it was a moment of pure horror for me. I don’t understand since we haven’t been friends in years and he hates me… but he was the only one who came up in a moment of desperation when I was screaming from the inside out. 😦

I am beyond stressed, it’s consumed my dreams, and I have no one to talk too. I’m in a church where I no longer belong, I’m surrounded by people who I either can’t trust or feel guilty if I unload on them, and its moments like this when my abandonment issues come stumbling through the double doors tripping on their own two feet, wishing I had a boyfriend to unload on and fuck only to forget my problems and create the illusions of love.

No Friends Among Theives

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The first half of my dream starts in my sons school. I’m in a classroom with the lights off, and nothing more than a projector blaring light onto the projection screen over the white board. This is meant to be a meeting of some kind to go over who the teachers are and what is to be expected for the year for our kids – but as I meet my son’s teacher, there’s something so creepy about him that I instantly distrust him. I observed him for a while, and eventually I catch him in the act of stealing from the parents in the classroom. I take the items out of his hands that he stole, but that didn’t stop him. I ran to the principals office who was sitting with the assistant principle and explained a portion of the situation, saying they should be keeping an eye on him. The assistant kinda laughed it off without letting me finish my story, so I told him flat out I caught him stealing and struggled to get the items out of his hands. I fought him, and they need to fire him. Mike Quigly, the principal, said they’d be in there asap to observe and confront him. I go back into the classroom and a lot of people left. The teacher keeps to himself looking nervous towards this dark room in the corner. I look for my bag and see right off the top that my Iphone is missing; I turn to him and see it in his possession. Once again I fight him and get it back. The principal never showed up. He started too, but never really made it.

Then I was wandering around from my house to market basket, waiting for my taxi I called. Strangely, one appears behind the building as I’m walking there, and she looks like she’s looking for someone. Before I could catch the taxi and ask if I’m her pick-up, she takes off to the front of the building, so I run around the front. I can’t find the lady driving the taxi anymore, but I ran into my friend Sara Ramsey in front of market basket waiting for the bus. We get to walking and talking and laughing it up until I noticed this HUGE strand of… rope? chain? cloth? something…. anyway, its a long rope of some kind and I decide to grab on and swing. I enjoy the rush and encourage Sara to grab on. Eventually we find ourselves playing “Spider-man” and pretending this rope is a web string, and we’re super hero’s! We were swinging at amazing speeds across the complex and bouncing off the support beams at a sideways angle to mimic the ability to walk up walls. We were traveling the distance of 5 or 6 small stores as we swung back and forth. Someone came to rain on our fun however, a woman I may have seen before in my dreams; she felt familiar, as did her demeanor. She was about 40, blonde hair, darker blue eyes, and has a child – she was also a high-strung religious woman. I can’t remember what was said, but she emotionally hurt me with verbal attacks, making it seem like I’m an insensitive bitch for playing spider-man because her child could have been here and gotten hurt. Truth be told, Sara and I were keeping our eyes out for the good citizens of market basket so no one would get hurt. I verbally brushed her off with the affect to match, and laughed at her as Sara and I walked away hand in hand, but inside I was fuming. I tell Sara everything will be okay and to “just ignore her.”

The dream transitions into this massive family/church reunion. Sara was with me, and we were all spending the night; there were a few other girls bunking in our room as we were dropping stuff off. We’re waiting for people to show up so the food can begin, so I wander around to pass the time. Sara found Mercy and a few others, so she parted ways. I know there was one part of the dream where I was sitting with Sara again and kinda felt guilty for ditching her. Sara and her friends had these awesome drinks that had glitter in them, and just as I found myself wishing I had one, I somehow have one in my hands that I guess I had the whole time. Mine had a cool feature to it though, the drink itself was yellow with glitter, just like Sara’s, but it was a color changing drink. It went from yellow to dark blue thanks to the reaction of the heat from your hands. Someone random snatched it from me, shook it around to observe it, had a sip, and took off running with my drink in an effort to steal it. I chase after her and get the drink still intact and full, but the theif disappeared. I headed back to the house and see some people I know, but then my dress starts to “malfunction.” It’s a strapless dress and for some reason, it kept sliding off instead of hanging like it was supposed to, so my breasts kept popping out and apparently, I wasn’t wearing a bra >.<'. Thoroughly embarrassed, I take off and change into something else. The dream ends with me going back into the livingroom after getting dressed, rounding the corner, and seeing a family supper that aunt Cindy was hosting in what appeared to be Angelo's house; it was spaghetti and sauce. Everyone else who was at the party broke into groups and had their own family dinner in various other parts of the house.

I wake up to find I slept in this morning. YAY! 😀

I Dream of Fears

Lately I’ve had few and fleeting dreams. I remember but glimpses into my unconscious mind. I dream of fears.

I dreamt my brother scolded me and made me feel like an awful parent. In real life my brother commented how my son doesn’t seem to nap much at present, and it’s true. I leave my son in his crib and let him have some time to himself, as well as to myself, because I need a moment to breathe, and I don’t think it’s a bad idea to either let him nap if he’s tired or relax in the crib. I know when I was a kid we had nap time in school, and if we didn’t fall asleep it was fine, but we still had to lie down. It was still considered beneficial to relax and recoup before the next part of our schooling, so I tend to see it like that. My son however gives me these 50/50 moments where I feel like I’m punishing him if I put him in his crib, when I’m not. I feel guilty to hear him cry, but frustrated if I dont get a moment to myself. Nevertheless, One of the few fleeting dreams I had involved my brother accusing me of being a neglectful mother, and it was heart breaking.

The next one also involved my son, but my dad as well. He was accusing me of being Autistic, just like my son. He said he suspected it because if he has it, and my son has it, then I must have it too. Being a therapist was irrelevant because it could just point to a higher level of intelligence from having an autistic mind, and the fact that I’m an empathetic individual was irrelevant, despite the fact that there is a general disconnect of empathy with autistic minds. I know I’m not autistic, and again it was another fleeting dream, but it makes me wonder what my fears really are and how dark they can truly be.

Last one (of course) was based off the fifty shades novels. I dreamt about getting to know Christian, Ana, and Dr. Flynn. Grace may have been in it at one point, but I dont remember. I know we were at Escala, but that was about it. Then it kept switching to me reading about them in the book, only these things never happend in the book, so I ended up dreaming about WRITING a spin off the fifty shades series! That dream just kept switching between reading, writing, and seeing what was happening in my minds eye… it was so strange, but it left me struck with awe as well.

I dont know what to make of any of this, but at least I got it down.