Saturday, November 2, 2013

With Booze Comes Truth

Let me preface this:  I rarely drink.  I drink maybe once every few months, a drink maybe two.  I despise the drunk or even buzzed feeling.  I don't feel in control of myself or my actions, and that is a nasty place to be.  But there comes a moment in the booze where I can face certain truths and parts of my past with greater clarity and truth than I dare when sober.  I feel emotions and can identify them more clearly.  I do not pin this on the alcohol.  I pin this on the almost meditative or contemplative state I hit when I can shut off the forebrain.
There are days I pin everything on my mother.  There are days where all I want to blame is my parents' parents.  Most days, I know better.  I did this to myself.  While I know my parents may have started the ball rolling, I'm the one that let it snowball, although out of ignorance, masochism, or a desire to please, I may never know.  I know that I'M the one that internalized, rationalized, and made right what was wrong.
I'm the one that decided that perfection was the best path from the pain.  I'm the one that took on burdens that were not my own. I'm the one that sees a fuck up where most can only see a major achievement.  I'm the one that can't see myself as this wonderful person everyone else paints.
All I can see is the little kid cowering in the corner.  All I can see is the young human being abused physically, emotionally, and mentally for a mistake any child might make.  I want to be perfect because I'm painfully aware that that's the only way I can earn love and not hurt.  I want to absorb pain so I don't hafta feel pain.  I've actually learned to physically and emotionally absorb pain from others with or without them noticing.  I do it with permission most of the time, but if it's bad enough, I send out  feelers to remove it without their permission or with their express "no."  That gift comes at a great cost: I absorb it.  That pain goes into me, although to what degree is never known.  Physical pain can cause me anywhere from no pain to enough pain I limp.  Emotional pain causes a feedback loop that eventually leads to tears.  Half the time I absorb it, I don't know it until the pain appears. Other times, I do it intentionally.  Better I suffer than someone else.  I'm already fucked up.  If I can save someone else from that pain, I'm willing to sacrifice myself.  I realize that is martyrdom and self defacing, self disrespecting.
All I can see is the little kid trying to shield herself from the blows for sins long past and infractions that didn't deserve the punishment meted out.  I see the little kid that wanted to take the blame for that cat that ruined Fourth of July by breaking the platter and making the meat inedible.  I see the girl that shielded her sisters with her own body for imaginary infractions against a drunken father.  I see the girl trying to clean up the milk while accepting and flinching from blows.  I see the little girl that deserved every punishment, great and small, because I wasn't good enough.  I see the girl that accepted that it was her fault when Mom tried to commit suicide.  I see a scapegoat, and a damn good one.
I see a woman that has done well for herself, but it's not me.  I see a woman who would make a great teacher and mother, but it's not me.  I see a wonderful wife and damn good cook, but it's not me. I see a young woman who has beaten the odds and gotten out of one of the roughest neighborhoods in the country with high honors, but it's not me.  I'm still the little girl trying not to dodge the hits because I know that would only cause more.  I'm still the young lady who caused my Mother's problems.  I'm still a fuck up.
Do you know I still flinch at sudden movements?  I still fight my instinct when I need to enter a room of "bad" emotions.  I still emotionally flinch at loud sounds, yelling and arguments.  I still shudder at the sound of broken glass.  I am still broken.
Let go and let God.  Let the 'Verse have the pain.  Let the All have the well ingrained reactions.  Let God lift you from the wreckage.  Yet I cling on.  This wreckage I know.  That fuselage is knowing I'll be hit for infractions.  Those wings are knowing that if I fuck up enough, Mom commits suicide for real this time.  That windshield is knowing how to take the blame, but not release it. To leave the wreckage for unknown safety? It makes sense to the outsider, not the survivor.  I know the wreckage. Safety is a giant unknown.
These tears are safety.  These spasms of sobs are what I know.  Releasing myself from this bungee of sscapegoating is a royal Bitch.  It's unknown.  The unknown has meant pain.  The unknown will mean pain.
I cannot say I know the future.  I say I read the Tarot to know my subconscious. That's only partially truth.  I read the Tarot so I know what future to expect and brace myself for. I read the Tarot in the hopes of controlling future pain.
Maybe the future won't be so bad with a deity leading the way.  Maybe I can handle the pain of the past in the future with a deity who only says "I love you."  Maybe I can handle the pain of the past with a God that says "I'm here, take my hand."  Maybe I can accept the 'Verse's arms me, protecting me from harm while I strike out my own path.  Maybe I can accept love without fear of retribution or abandonment.
I still want to know why.  Why me?  I know why.  This was/ is one of my lessons this life.  Why me? Why should I learn this one before I was ready?  Maybe I'll never have been ready.  Maybe God pulled a mama bird, chucking me out of the nest before I thought I was ready before because he knew better.  Maybe I've been trying to go this alone when in reality it's been like a child's first steps: mama just behind them, watching them the entire way, ready to comfort them for the inevitable fall.  My mother tells me I took my first few steps, realized what I'd done, and fell over when I realized it.  Maybe that's what this is:  I took the first few steps and fell over, now God/ the 'Verse is willing to pick me back up, hug me, and set me on my feet again, all the while encouraging me.
I think I can do this, even if God has to hold my hands until I get steady.  Not to mention, I have a hell of a sponsor, a woman who can promise it can be done because she's done it.  I just hafta trust them and the program.

1 comment:

  1. Glad to have found your blog. I don't go back to the past much anymore. It's over, and I know my parents did the best that they could. They too must have been wounded by life and circumstances. I got better by learning to love myself and focus on the gratitude that I have in my life today. Time to let go.