Monday, October 28, 2013

Working the Book, Step Two, Part 2

In what ways have I felt like a victim?
When it would fall to me to talk my mother out of suicide. I felt, and rightly so, like it was something I shouldn't have had to do.  I felt like I was being singled out because I was the responsible one.
When criticized.  Even if someone is only trying to help, I feel like they're saying I'm the world's greatest failure.
When dealing with my middle sister's drama.  Any good in my life falls by the wayside because she got in trouble.  I was actively worried about people missing my college graduation because she was in jail and having issues.  I felt I was a victim of her need for drama because people bow and scrape for her.  I was the good kid.  I didn't need the attention the special kid needed.  There are times it still feels like that is the general consensus.
When I lose a friend.  I don't make friends easily or well, so losing one, especially through actions that could have been avoided on either end, makes me feel like I'm being punished for even trying.
When Dad would single me out for punishment when things weren't clean enough or my sisters were misbehaving.  Even though we'd all been told to clean [the dishes, our room, whatever mess] or behave, it always fell to me to clean whatever it was and I could never be quick enough to make it clean enough or make my sisters be quiet and vanish.  I felt like a victim, a scapegoat, because I took all the blame and got none of the happy.  Even if one of my sisters took the blame and punishment, I still felt victimized, because I knew it was my fault they were being punished.
What changes have I seen in my life that I attribute to a Power greater than myself restoring me to sanity?
I passed college.  With all the drama passing in and out of life during that time frame, and with that hellacious last semester, something kept me sane enough to get out alive and with a degree.
I never completed or retried that suicide attempt. There must have been something out there keeping an eye on me and giving me that last ditch effort to live.
I survived my darkest days, when all I could think about was how nice death would be and how much the world hated me.
I remembered Al- Anon and came to the conclusion I couldn't face my past alone.  I'm still not sure how much of my past I'll remember.  My past is like a giant fog, with things occasionally surfacing or coming out of the mist.
I came to peace with my father and his drinking, or a form of peace.

No comments:

Post a Comment