identity…

I asked for one thing.  Just one.  It didn’t happen.  It was a very small thing and important to me.

I am beginning to realize how I am not heard here.

Which plays into the dynamic in my family system that started in childhood — “children should be seen and not heard.”

Which plays in themes in my MA thesis as well.

In the movie The Piano.  She wasn’t heard.

She couldn’t play music.

Trying to eat, trying to keep breathing.

Trying to understand the last 27 years.  Thinking that an entire generation of women is going through this same thing.

One thing.  That was all I asked.

I left a note.

He could care less.

Maybe it was always like that and I didn’t notice.

What I have are friends.  Having to rebuild that again.

In the early days he would say “do we have to?”

So gradually the rules were laid down.

I am going to rake something up today, and then I am going to the beach.  It is solace.  My friends are solace.  I am going to invite them over one by one.

A writer and friend said that after her husband packed the last of his things and left she sat on her bed and sobbed, but some of that was relief.  I can’t live with the tension of not being heard any more.

What would be the point?

This is fall planting season.  I haven’t been able to garden like I like to for a very long time.

That makes me so sad.

I have always had gardens in my life.

Plans to fix that.

I told my friend Linda last night that Christmas this year will be about friends.

She is going to be one of the first to come over.

(note to self — he told me as a child he would put his fingers in his ears and say “tant hear, tant hear” to people.  As a trained therapist he was born during the blitz in London in 1942 — so that is where it started I expect…)

It hurts when he doesn’t listen.  Maybe it was always “tant hear.”

(note to self — his mother was very cruel to his father — there was a triangle of pain going on — his father would “tune out” — at the end of her life I heard her say to him “you’re a dead loss.” What introject could be worse than that?  Just read this on emotional abuse.

After your parents have passed is when you see everything clearly, about the reality of your childhood.