still trying to let it go …

It’s been an angst I can’t quite get my head, or heart around. I thought I had it sorted – well I did have it sorted really; but life has an unusual way of throwing curve balls at your torso and hitting you in the face.

Well, for Me it does.

The angst I speak of, is the ‘relationship’ with my father and my family.

Our relationship has been pretty much non-existent for nearly all of my life; and any remnants of, or shreds of some kind of functional familial type of relationship, have come with sweat, tears, begging and anger. About 10ish years ago, we came to a peaceable sort of amicable arrangement, whereby I messaged him on his birthday and at christmas, and he would do the same with Me.

Throughout the years I’ve gotten to know parts of my family: an Uncle mainly, and his family. We had issues with a cousin, namely the touchy feely type who believed it was his right to manipulate his way into my bed and when that didn’t work, he tried my eldest daughter. Although I spoke at length with my Uncle and Aunt, about their sons behaviour, it was a very obvious sore point from thereon in, and our visits with the family slowly wound down.

And then my Uncle died.

We didn’t have hardly anything to do with the family after that. At times, I’ve made attempts to extend some type of ‘olive branch’ and reconnect with them. But aside from FaceBook, we don’t hang out; we don’t chat or catch up. And if we do, it’s kind of awkward.

What has struck Me over the last few months has been the lack of connection with them all. That, like the relationship with my father, there is no strong connection. They don’t know Me, or my little family. But what strikes Me more; is that they have never made any type of effort – just like my father.

At first I was left wondering, why? And if I hadn’t made enough effort myself. That even with my sisters; did I make enough effort? Because for one of my sisters, it’s too late now.

I spoke with my other sister the other day. I haven’t really had much to do with her for years. I’ve been trying to keep in touch with her; get to know who she is and what she’s all about. During the latest conversation, she went into great detail about how she was a disappoint to my father and how she was still angry with her mother. She was trying to let it go and get on with her life – but she still blamed them for the things that had happened to her. She’s about 48 now.

It occurred to Me, that even from differing sides of the ocean, we had been striving for a relationship with a man that neither of us could connect with; but not for lack of trying. And we were both saying, in our own ways, that we had had enough of pleading and begging for something that hadn’t ever happened, and was probably never going to happen.

That leaves Me and my sister trying to forge some type of relationship, that my father and her mother, both took from all Us siblings when they decided to remove my sisters from my life; and remove themselves from my life.

Have I been embittered about it? Just a little a think.

I didn’t think I was … I thought I had it sorted and was just working out the details. But I’m pissed at him, for not giving a shit. I can’t understand how anyone can do that to a child; or how they can continue to do that when that child becomes an adult. I am pissed, he took my sisters away. I look at my own daughters; and even though they fight and get upset with each other; they have each other. They love each other; are bonded far beyond anything that could be experienced in a friendship; they get each other; have each others backs; they love their nieces and nephews and have their backs also. That is a sibling relationship that has come with years and years of contact, love and understanding.

And my father, for whatever reasons, took that away from all of Us sisters.

What a completely selfish and cunty thing to do.

And it’s this that I am still working out and trying to let go. I won’t beg for his attention or his love. That ship sailed along time ago. But I’d like to be able to be free of the anger / the angst, that I feel when I hear his name, or see him conversing with a cousin on Facebook. I’d like to not feel like throttling him when I hear him talk about him being in the country but not being able to visit Us. I’d like to not want to kick his ass when his apathy regarding his only living blood offspring, is apparent to everyone, but him.

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Dear Dad

Since you don’t seem to be available at present, I decided to write to you instead.

I hope you’re doing alright back in Oz. Hope Aunty is good and your mokos are well.

Guess what? Moko #4 (thats your great moko) turned 3 the other day. She’s the youngest one. My youngest girls little girl. She’s a bright little button – so clever, so beautiful. She loves her bottles still and has a new ‘love’ – chocolate! Apple doesn’t fall from the family tree there! She had a birthday party with her papa and her papa’s family, last weekend. And during the week, her daycare gave her a cake and let her blow out the candles. She loves doing that. We bought her kinder surprises for her birthday present. While it sounds a bit lame – she loves watching YouTube videos where the kid opens up the big plastic eggs and theres kinder surprises or other little things in them. So we bought her 6 of them!

She’s a gorgeous kid. And her mama makes sure she knows all sides of her family: cousins, aunties, uncles, nannys and koros. Because their family is a bit like ours: Separated and spread out. But even at 3, she knows whose who.

Your eldest mokos eldest baby plays the drums. Did I tell you that? He’s 9 now and he’s been playing the drums since he exited the womb. He’s bloody good you know. He’s been having a hard time at school and thats knocked his confidence a bit; but we’re all working on it for him. He’s a dearly dearly loved little man!

Then theres the 2nd oldest. She’s just a law unto her own. She has her own groove and her own means to measure that groove. She loves dance and sport. Dance – like Me. And sport – like her mama. She has this uncanny ability of remembering who is who and who is related to who. She can remember the family tree, a bit like her mama does. She knows the different koros and where they all are. She remembers who stayed around for the main events and who ‘moved on’. She even remembers those she never met; who died long before she was born. She remembers the stories we tell her, and she re-tells them. She’s 8.

Lastly, the youngest of your eldest moko. She’s dynamic, and so so bright. She has a new friend, from her daycare. They both love chocolate apparently; and spend their day making ‘cakes’ with play dough and taking care of their ‘babies’. She has favourite dresses and shoes that she likes to wear every day. She watches out for her little cousin at daycare too. She doesn’t like the bus because she was in one when it crashed into the gate. I told her that the lady that was driving the bus was a douche and next time she saw her she could tell her off. She liked that. She’s 3 and turning 4 soon.

So why am I telling you all this?

Because you’ve never asked.

My beef with you has always been the same. And as I got older and got on with life, I slowly forgave you for not knowing a god dam thing about Me. And I made as much peace as I could, with the thought that your inability to insert yourself into my existence, was born out of your own insecurities – that it was nothing to do with Me.

But here we are, 45 years later, and you still have no ability to see anything other than You. You still can’t talk to Me, or insert yourself into my life without trying to take it over.

That aside …

I see you, on the 3rd generation, doing exactly the same thing. Even as a great koro, you know virtually nothing about your mokos. I’m unsure if you even know their names. And while I feel sad that they don’t speak with you, and haven’t seen you for a few years; I know they know who you are.

Are they missing out? Considering you are still very much in the land of living – the answer should be Yes.

But unfortunately they aren’t missing out on anything. Not because they don’t know – because you have extracted yourself from another generation.

Heads Up – You possibly don’t have another generation to wait before you get it.

They, on the other hand, are just starting their beautiful lives.

Here’s hoping you can get over yourself before they get too old to care. And here’s hoping you can get over yourself before you die.

Anyway – Take care.

Your daughter.

Me.

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a new home ..

One of my old abstracts is making its way to a new home on the weekend … I’ll miss it … it holds a shitload of memories and feelings … but, time to let it go I feel ❤

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eulogy for my undies

ode to the undies

that have held

everything

in place ~

that have comforted

and hugged

the ass cheeks

on a long winters night ~

that have been the forever

faithfuls

the ‘go toos’

the reliables.

May you rest in peace,

albeit,

pieces.

 

They are to be

cremated …

this evening

sigh.

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365 reasons to smile ~ 45.

45. The fuck-it bucket 😆
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Facebook: Enchanted Minds

listen

“We talked…well sort of…now please just listen to me for a moment…don’t respond, just let me say what I need too…listen…process later.

When you were little…like in the photos of you and Grandad, that little…

You were cautious…but inquisitive. That’s what you should have been.

You were trying to find and occupy your space.

And I was right there with you…that little voice that said…

‘go on…touch it…break it…say no…scream…laugh…have a tantrum…’

Yep, that was me.

And you listened to me…for a long time.

But your still trying to listen for me. And I’m not that little voice on your shoulder, in your ear…anymore.

You know where I am?

I am what got left in the dark that day…I’m the one who stayed.

We’ve spoken of this before and you didn’t really want to hear it.

But you need to.

Understand this…I stayed for a reason.

I stayed there, to suffocate and to absorb. I stayed to take on what you didn’t need.

I stopped breathing. I felt the skin. I smelt the smells.

I did that so you could remain intact.

But you caught a glimpse and misunderstood what your purpose was.

Your purpose was to survive. To carry us to the next level.

It wasn’t my intention for you to carry guilt or remorse.

It wasn’t even my intention that you see or recollect anything of those moments.

They are MINE.

Let me keep those.

I want you to remember all those things that you’ve looked at recently.

All the good.

The memories of Grandad…going to work with him.

His stories. The smell of bacon frying in the morning.

The smell of frying tomatoes.

The feel of lots of ripe peaches…those ones that Grandad used to get in the sacks and spend eons bottling.

I want you to remember the smell of Nan’s flowers. Remember what they looked like when they all blossomed at once.

Remember the smell of the dirt that would come inside with her after she had been out there for hours.

Remember the bread you used to go and get for your Mum on Sundays…the one you’d hollow out and eat before you got home. Remember the smell of it? The feel of it.

Remember the sound of the old concrete mixer Grandad had…the smell of the concrete churning.

Remember the smell of toast and macaroni cheese.

Remember the Jelly Tips you didn’t like…but the chocolate bit inside that you did like. Remember that taste.

Remember the smell of the rain on the concrete and stones…and the sound of it on the roof.

And when you remember all these things…remember how they made you feel…and how they make you feel now.

That’s what I wanted for you.

I didn’t want you to remember what you do.

That’s MINE. I stayed there to retain it so you wouldn’t.

It’s not yours to hold…it’s MINE

You didn’t leave me behind…I chose to stay.

I stayed because one of us had too.

Now

You OWE ME…

LIFE

You owe me, for the sacrifice I made…

You owe me

You Owe Me Life

You need to live

Not in the shadows…that’s my place

YOU need to live in the light

I sacrificed me so you could be

So, BE.

I’m not Jesus…I’m not some super-duper hero who came to save you

And there’s no one coming to save you now.

I – ME

I already did it.

YOU – I, already did it.

You are way way stronger than you realise

You have my strength…its your strength

You have to live for me…for you

The way I always hoped you would

Because when I stayed there, I had a vision

Do you remember that?

In the blackness? Do you remember what I said to you?

No?

Well I made a deal with you…

I said that If I stayed here, you could close your eyes and imagine where you would be in 10…15…20 years from now. You didn’t understand that concept, but I did.

Remember…I said…watch the sunrise…watch the sunset…laugh…walk in bare feet…dance…eat…swim…smile at every opportunity…listen…and love

and then build…like Grandad…plant…like Nan…argue…like Mum…Love…like Uncle Jimmy

Remember that?

You’ve done some of this…but you forgot the last thing I said to you…

I said, don’t ever be afraid of man…don’t ever be afraid of being you.

Remember that?

Live it.

I love you

I love everything about you

You owe me a snap shot of your new world

And the new world that you are going into.

I want to see it all.

Are you listening?

Peace and love and light and ice cream and concrete and frying bacon and tomatoes and music and dance and flowers and soft fluffy blankets and baking bread and sunrises and sunsets…

TO YOU

FROM ME”

xxoo

the struggle is on…

We’re counting down the days now; 5 more sleeps…but it’d be nice if we were counting down to Christmas or a birthday or something…else, rather than moving.

But I try to remain positive…we both are.

I went to see where we are moving to yesterday. It is a shit hole…for reals. But we can clean it up…sort of. And we’ll put our stuff in there and it’ll feel a bit better…I spose.

And as we clean up this place ready for the move…I can feel myself unravelling. I think it’s a good thing…and not really what I’m used too. Grieving as I go I think. So I don’t take it with me.

And as I clean the mokos fingerprints off the windows and pack up their pictures and the little things that the partner has collected over the past year…sea shells and bits of wood lol…I can feel tears…and again, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be. Sad because of loss…but then you focus on the new? Fuck knows…but that’s what I’m holding onto at the moment…

So it doesn’t feel like I’m being forced to do something I don’t want to do…cos that just opens a big fat can of ptsd shit storm…

But the body is feeling it…strange, because it usually doesn’t feel anything. But I guess, that’s what got me into this bundled up ptsd, panicky mess in the first place…not facing it…not processing it as it happens…holding on when it really needs to be let go of…

The bod is collapsing slightly…feeling sick and sore…shaky and slightly panicy…and swinging from, trying to take it as it comes and wanting to smash everything in sight to wanting to bawl my crusty eyes out. Geez…I’m not even due for my period yet! Lol.

I feel like I’m taking the ‘mauri’, that we’ve put into this place…taking it back. We’re probably leaving a bit of bad vibes for the fuckwits the come after us…but oh well…that’s what they get for being racist bastards. But the good stuff…our mauri…we’ll take that.

So…I’ll get back to cleaning and swinging and packing up and processing and singing. Tomorrow the mokos come to say goodbye to the house and see where we are going…they’re neat like that…they want to know everything, so they can make peace with it…and design themselves a little picture in their heads of what is taking place…

I should probably take a leaf out of their little books 🙂 … they are way ahead of me!

ready?…part two

Okay, are you ready to continue with our conversation?

Not really…sort of…I feel like a psycho, talking to myself.

And?

Yeah alright, I’m avoiding it…

So…do you want to have this conversation?

Yeah. Yes.

Because it’s not going to be forced on you…like everything else…you have a choice…

Okay. Yes I get it. It’s a conversation I need to have. And I’m not going to have it with anyone else. And yes, I have a choice…and as much as my insides are cringing…I’m here.

Alright. So, the last conversation ended with the knowledge you were being incongruent in areas and then you shut down because you felt like you left her behind…alone.

Yep.

Do you think you really left her behind? Left her alone?

Yes I do. And I get why. But I left her there. And by forgetting her…or forgetting, or letting the whole thing go…where does that leave her?

Explain.

Well, where does that leave her? It’s like it never happened and she’s fucked over for a second time.

So what do you need to do for her then?

I’ve done it…I’ve forgiven myself…I know that I was to young to have done anything different…that I survived. I get all that. But its like she never existed.

You haven’t answered me.

I need to lay her to rest…I think. Acknowledge what she did…But it still feels like she never existed!…if I forget her…

No one’s asking you to forget her.

Yes they are. They all want me to forget her…forget me.

Really? Do you really think that’s what they’re asking of you?

Yes. Well that’s how its perceived. They don’t want to hear about it…they get that glazed glassy ‘oh for fucks sakes, not again’ look.

Do you think it just makes them feel uncomfortable?

Uncomfortable? Uncomfortable???

Yes. Uncomfortable.

And that’s why I call it a mundane horror. It is real…everyday…everywhere…and I don’t really think anyone gives a shit.

That’s not true…those that give a shit, do. Those that appear not too, are uncomfortable with unwelcome truths. But that’s not the complete point is it.

No….no its not. Its, like…

Like no ones listening?

Yes.

So if no one listens then how will they remember her and what she did?

YES

They don’t need to listen yet, because you’re not really ready to let any one touch that piece of you. You talk about it…you write about it…but you still can’t acknowledge honourably, what she did, what both of you did…to survive…and then let her go.

I suppose.

Have you heard of Veterans or Soldiers Remorse and Survivors Guilt?

Are you trying to compare this to going to war? Me being like a soldier or something? Because that would just be crass!

Have you heard of those things?

Yes.

I think you have remorse associated with leaving her…disassociating. And guilt for surviving…living.

You think so do you.

Yes I do. I think you don’t live because your scared and you feel guilty. Remorse for switching off and watching her suffer…knowing that the act of degradation she endured led to your survival; but her demise.

haaaaa….

Do you ever think that maybe she did that to save you…this part of you?

No.

And by not living you aren’t honouring her memory, your pissing on it?

Noooo.

How do you honour someones memory? How do you remember what they did…how they did it…and what was accomplished by doing it?

You write a fucking song about it…

reality check, self

I’m a 3 shower a day person. If I can’t do that, then 2 at the minimum. I scrubbed myself in the shower, from head to toe, with a pot scrub type thing, for as long as I can remember. I stopped using that when my hair started falling out…pot scrubber on balding head…hurts! According to the sexual abuse therapists, this ‘excessive’ showering thing is pretty normal for someone with ‘my issues’. Pfft.

Ensuing conversation with self:

Do I believe this?

Well aside from the pot scrubber, I don’t think it hurts to be clean.

Am I hurting myself by showering ‘excessively’?

No, I don’t think so.

If I don’t shower 3 times a day, can I function?

Yes.

What about 2 showers?

Ummm.

What about no shower?

No. Definitely not.

So what would happen if I don’t shower in a day?

I’d feel dirty. Unfinished. Unclean.

Ok, so the first and third answers are pretty much the same. Are you really dirty though? Physically?

Yes. It feels like it.

Really?

Ok, probably not. Ok, not.

So what is dirty then?

Me. Ok, not physical me. But, me.

Me, where?

My head. My insides. I don’t know…just, Me.

Logically, is your head and insides really dirty?

Well…no. I get what your doing…and I don’t fucken like it.

Really?

I feel dirty alright. ‘I’…’Me’…I feel dirty…wretchedly filthy.

Do you think that is why you dream of open sores and puss?

Of course it fucken is.

So that’s how you see yourself? Puss filled and contaminated.

YES. And your line of questioning is starting to piss me off.

But, do you see a flaw in your reasoning and the belief that you need to shower not twice bit thrice a bloody day to remain clean?

Yes of course I fucken do. But I like being clean.

But you’re not getting clean. Do you understand that?

Yes. I understand that.

So why do you believe that all those showers will actually get you clean?

Because it makes sense to me. If it’s dirty, then clean it. Like the fucken house and the laundry and anything else that is dirty.

It makes sense that if it was physically dirty, it needs to be cleaned. But you’re describing your insides…your feelings…your being. Why do you think that is dirty?

Because it fucken is.

Why?

It’s filth.

So your filth?

I suppose.

Why do you suppose you are filth then?

You ask a lot of fucking questions you know that.

Yes. So why?

Because…my fucking history tells me fucking so.

Have you ever thought about the fact that your history may be inaccurate?

What is that supposed to mean?

Inaccurate, as in, just because that’s the experience you experienced, doesn’t mean that is YOU.

Hah?

Would I be right is surmising that those who harmed you did so because they were wrong?

I suppose.

Do you believe you did something to bring about that harm?

Ahhh…yes. Yes I do.

How do you suppose you managed that?

I…was to small. To quiet. To vulnerable.

Those aren’t reasons enough to harm someone.

And, what is your fucken point.

They harmed you, not due to anything you did, or are. They harmed you because they could. Because they felt like it and they did.

And that’s supposed to make me feel better is it.

For whatever reasons they had that made them how they were, and do what they did…it wasn’t because of who you are as a person. It wasn’t because of your being.

Really.

And just as showering 3 times a day won’t get you any cleaner than 2 or 1 times a day, so believing that you are filth and brought about the events that occurred to you, are also inaccurate.

Really.

You know this. You could not have changed the event. Nothing you did brought it about. Nothing you did or said during could have changed the outcome. You did not do anything wrong. Nor did you bring about by the essence of your being, the things that happened.

Really.

But there’s more to it than that. Why you can’t let it go.

Really?

You can’t let it go because you would be leaving her there, for a second time.

What?

You heard. You left her there. You didn’t save her. You left her there, frozen and silent while you fucked off to never-never land.

AY

You disassociated fool, and you’ve been doing it ever since. Half of you is in the past, the rest of you is trying to control your future, and you are left here excessively showering and cleaning shit up. Your doing the do. But you’re not here.

I am here.

No you’re not. Your trying to be, but you’re not. Your anxious when your required to be present.

So.

So? That’s not an answer.

So.

You left her for a reason. You want to hear that reason?

Well your on a fucken roll so fire away.

You left to survive. Can you imagine being present for that? Don’t answer. You can’t, you can’t physically be enduring that and be present. Your psyche, your adrenaline, your powers of fucken brilliant insight, told you to remain still and not resist. You survived. But now its time to stop surviving and live for fucks sake.

I’m trying.

Your blogging. Your blogging in your safe little house, with your safe little safe things going on around you.

Yeah, but I am trying.

And yippie to you. Yes it’s all progress its all helping. But no ones going to tell you what I’m telling you. Your fucken alright. You are OK. You haven’t done anything wrong. Your not filthy. You don’t need to shower 3 times a day. You DO need to be on your side. You DO need to use all that intellect of yours again, and figure it out. You didn’t do anything wrong. You think you believe that, but you don’t really. Your actions say otherwise. You are incongruent.

No.

Yes you are. You love congruence. Where the in matches the out. But you are not that.

Ouch.

You believe one thing, really. But say and do another.

I don’t like this.

The point is really, you used to self analyse, properly. But you know your just scratching around the surface and hiding from the truth. Everything you’re doing is positive and it’s helping, but your shrinking away from the core of it. The point of it.

I don’t want to talk anymore.

That’s fine. You shut down. Like you do. Go and nurse your puku.

I will.

But tomorrow, at 1.30pm, you WILL get over it.

Why 1.30?

I can make it 10.30am if you like.

1.30s good.

You will go for a walk, do your breathing, do your raw food and plan your weekend. You will move. You will get up and keep going. You will. Tomorrow at 1.30pm. Alright?

Alright.

And this conversation isn’t over.

Alright.

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…..she let go

She Let Go.

Via on Feb 24, 2014

sisters jumping

She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgments.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She didn’t search the scriptures.

She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.

She didn’t call the prayer line.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort.

There was no struggle.

It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…

~ Rev. Safire Rose

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