Category Family Discord

Is This The Post You Were Looking For?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Do you ever feel like you are being watched? Not necessarily in a creepy stalker in the bushes near your bedroom window way but in a from-afar cyber peeping way? Like, you haven’t seen or heard from these individuals in several years and suddenly they pop up in your “guess who’s looking at your profile” notifications. After a while the reaction goes from one of mild concern to a nonchalant shrug and acceptance that shit is probably coming your way again.

What’s new? I’ve always been a target for criticism and I will continue to do as I’ve always done…disregard, dismantle and dance joyfully away. I’d have to care to be hurt and I can’t seem to muster the energy to give a damn anymore. It’s no longer worth the time and effort on my part so I just feel nothing about it anymore. Numb. Ambivalence. Acceptance.

Anyway say, for example, you respond to an email, text or DM discussing past difficult topics and then suddenly, views on every social media account you have start increasing? It’s hard to keep from thinking it’s not calculated, intentional or more like a fact-finding mission than anonymous curiosity. Especially when those doing the viewing are people you are well acquainted with and people who have made it very clear they don’t like you. Apparently these peepers are more invested in knowing my every literary move than I thought so here ya go! It may be anticipation of a long awaited airing of grievances post but I won’t do that. This is just me doing what I normally do, checking emotional baggage and gaining personal insight on my journey to secure solid boundaries and optimal mental health. Nothing is ever coincidental in the land of family dysfunction and I should have known that even seemingly innocent interactions could be grounds for suspicion and interrogation. It’s okay. I’ve grown accustomed to it.

Normally I would be pleased that my online presence is experiencing more traffic than usual but seeing how I haven’t written anything in a while the drop-ins were a bit unexpected. I simply haven’t felt like writing because my life has been rather mundane while also being simultaneously happy so, in other words, I was busy living and had no time for ruminating. I’m sorry to disappoint but, because I am the consummate good host I will go ahead a jot down a few thoughts for the curious souls so they won’t feel too dejected. In the past I would walk a razor sharp line between sarcasm and savagery but for today, my safer bet would be to stay in a more neutral territory because I am tired and have no desire to keep playing family feud. With only a few family members left who deserve my love and respect, I will err on the side of caution because they earned it.

My message for the watchers would be this: Be brave, come out of the shadows and talk to me. I’ve been talking to you via this website for years and feel as if my voice is now hoarse from yelling my frustration in the form of honest words, heartfelt hopes and a genuine desire to change. I put it all in writing, it’s there, it’s real and it’s true. And while it would be so easy for me to suck it up and approach first I don’t think anything would be learned from that. Being the “bigger person” doesn’t always end the battle and it usually just creates a larger target on your back. When you’ve already bent over backwards a thousand times before, with zero results, it becomes clear who the pushover is and it ain’t me anymore. I smile when I say that and it feels good. Boundaries are amazing and I am thankful I learned about them in therapy. Blessed are those who know when they’ve had enough shit and those who aren’t engaging in circular insanity anymore. The merry-go-round has stopped and I got off a long time ago.

Stay for the lessons by all means, if that works for you, and if the true intent isn’t to ascertain whether I’m receptive to contact then it’s really time to move on. The bridge can be rebuilt but I can’t be the one to lay the foundation. Always being the one expected to acquiesce, to smooth things over or to turn the other cheek has left me exhausted and even more determined to never do that again. The job of being the middleman or scapegoat, whichever applies, is done and I’ve clocked out so I can devote valuable time to my life and my immediate family. I don’t feel guilty about that and have been outside the circle of dysfunction long enough to know I have no control over the feelings, false impressions or even the anger of others. I have dealt with my demons and feel I am a healthy individual with the ability to admit my faults and work to change any negative traits that may remain in my subconscious mind.

I am open to having healthy conversations with those who participated in the detonation of an already precarious relationship, that I can guarantee. What I am not open to is the continuation of grievances, pettiness and backstabbing behavior that results in nothing good. It’s simply not worth it and if I refuse to allow strangers to treat me that way then why on earth would I allow family to? Being eternally nice while getting slapped in the face over and over doesn’t sound very appealing does it? I admit that I was once perfectly fine being the one to slap back but now I’d prefer to not even have my face in slapping range to begin with! Taking myself out of the equation has been liberating, thought provoking and a huge learning experience for me, one that I desperately needed.

So now, I say the door IS open but with conditions and while this may not be what you were expecting it’s all I’m offering. That’s my right as a healing person and I wish nothing but healing for you as well. Change is possible and growth is as well. I am grateful every day that I decided to break free from dysfunction, denial and anger. The liberation is exhilarating and I hope you try it some day.

© 2022-2023 L.A. Askew-Cobb

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” and L.A. Askew-Cobb with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

River Flowing to the Past…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

This past weekend I went back in time. It wasn’t any type of planned nostalgia tour or anything like that, it was simply a trip with friends who had no idea the connection I had to the place we were going. That place was the small town I grew up in. And, I didn’t share that bit of information until we were already there because, as I have established, I loathe sharing parts of myself due to past trauma and internalized shame. When you share you potentially give away personal security and I’m over allowing people to hurt me.

Even now, as I sit and write this I can hear the sound of gentle rain falling outside and the steady trickle of water running out of the downspout near the open window takes me back to a time so long ago, a time that contains both happy and painful elements. Everyone’s life is written this way. It’s never all bad and no good or no bad and all good. It’s a mixture with no true balance, just moments of shocking clarity to help us pause and reset.

As a child those brief happy moments could be sparked by such simple things as the sound of rain falling on the leaves of the tree outside my bedroom window. That memory still remains and it still brings a smile to my face so I focus on it instead of the moment soon after of being hit or screamed at for one supposed infraction or another set into law by my father. I focus on the gentle sound of the rain and not the memory of my brother continually violating my privacy and dignity with his abuse. Listen to the rain. It will wash all of that away, even if only for a fleeting moment. Hang on tight to that moment, it will prove to be very important later in life.

Now, each time we drive through this little town, on the way to see my daughter, I send out a silent wish for peace. A silent plea to release me from it’s grip and to release my remaining family members from their own trauma. This is great progress considering years prior I would scowl and extend a middle finger as I drove through, cursing its existence and wishing all who resided there no good will, only continued torment. It wasn’t the right way to handle pain but it was the band aid I needed to cover my wounds at the time.

We had planned a float trip on a river I knew well and one that held trauma tight against is banks and bluffs and even though I had come back to this same river several times over the years this trip just felt off. Not in an impending doom sort of way but in a nagging little worry at the back of the mind way. This time I talked to the river. I asked it to spare me. I talked to those who never made it out of that small town and told them I hoped they found peace. That was a mistake. To pin my safety to the memory of those who lived anger filled lives and those who abused and emotionally scarred others proved to be near fatal.

I don’t know why I chose to extend grace to abusers on that day. I don’t know why I listened to the voices of well-meaning yet still ignorant subscribers of the “forgive and forget” poison force fed to so many who have been traumatized in the past. There is no true forgiveness for the wicked and to forget is to set into motion certain traps that easily pull you right back into the mire. Distance creates inner calm and healthy caution builds the security system we all need to guard against future attacks. It’s so naïve to think dark water flows under and away from that bridge. It doesn’t go on by, it waits under the bridge for a signal and I called out to it.

As we gathered our gear and loaded up our kayaks I stood and looked around at a place both so familiar and yet also so foreign. I recognized none of the faces of any of the other people packing gear into their boats. I usually didn’t but this time I felt exceptionally unwelcome and uncertain in my surroundings. I had been gone from this area longer than I actually lived there so, of course, faces would be different and the scenery would change over time. Nothing stays the same. It’s just that this time something was not quite right before we even began.

The water was chilly but still felt good and the weather was pleasant. The water was not as high as we would have liked but it was manageable and despite multiple drag moments to contend with we were on our way. My uneasiness dulled my senses and I missed several moments where it was necessary to try and “read” the river. That book slammed shut on me and the submerged rock hazards and low hanging branches and tree root obstacles took over.

I have been kayaking for several years and while I am no expert I could claim that I had never capsized or got caught up in river hazards but, that day, every hazard possible got together and plotted my potential demise with great enjoyment.

The first dumping opportunity came in a swift rapid as I high centered on a group of rocks. One caught my kayak, another turned me around and yet another tossed me out into the water where I struggled to get up as my capsized kayak floated on by. Each attempt to stand in the swift knee deep water was met with a fall on the slippery rocks below and a bruised knee so I crawled to the gravel bar and got out. Luckily, my partner caught up to the adrift boat and helped me gather my things and drain the water but the tone for the day was set.

Each new set of rapids was met with panic and dread. I’d never been like this before. What was going on? All of this happened right before floating by the spot in the river where my younger brother drown, many years ago, when he was 17. In the past I would float on by and not look around, purposely emptying my mind of bad memories. This time I looked up at the large rock he jumped from and I thought about how far he floated downstream before his body was found. I thought about the awful things he did to other family members before he died and wondered if he was sorry now. I let those thoughts in and after doing so I begged them to spare me. Those memories had other ideas I guess. They gouged into the side of my kayak just like the dangerous root balls and rocks hiding around each bend in the river wanted to do.

The second and last capsizing came about 2 miles from our takeout point and just after an attempt to calm myself with thoughts like, “The water isn’t too deep here, I won’t drown.” I have no idea what made me say that. It wasn’t a certainty that the river would be kind to me. It wasn’t a given that the river even cared. As it would turn out it cared very little and so, when the gurgling, swirling water thrust me into a small tree jutting out of the water my paddle and weak arms were no match. Hung up in the branches, grasping onto wispy limbs for dear life, I had the presence of mind to yell, “No fucking way!” It was simply too much and as I let go and slipped into the chilly river, for a brief moment, I considered that it was my fate to die here.

Now, I won’t say that I am particularly afraid of dying, I made peace with the idea that any place is better than this Earth long ago but, to have my untimely demise caused by the same river that took the life of my tormented younger brother would have been infuriating to me. This was not the way I wanted to go out. Heart attack while climbing a mountain? Sure, why not? Being blown to bits in a natural gas leak? I could see that. But, not this!

On my way over the side of my kayak I could feel the bungee cord that the paddle was attached to wrapped around my arm, pinning me to the side of the boat. I was fully submerged and fighting to get my arm free. Somehow I wiggled loose and tried to kick my way to the surface but the current was holding me in place. You ain’t going nowhere! Kick. Kick. Turn over. Kick. Flap arms upward. Upward. Upward. Kick. Fling yourself over on your back and desperately gasp for air only to get a mouthful of river water.

Finally, after one last kick and an awkward flailing motion I was able to break free and slowly inched my way to floating on my back until my feet could touch the rocks below me and I crawled to the bank. Surprisingly enough, I was still wearing my sunglasses and my hat was plastered against my back with its strap pulled tight against my neck. I looked back to where my kayak was to see it still upright and tightly wedged up against that damn tree. Well, at least I didn’t lose anything. I didn’t LOSE anything? I almost lost my life!

In the midst of struggling to the bank I caught a glimpse of my partner hurrying back to where I was and out of sheer exhaustion and anger I screamed FUCK as loud as I could. It wasn’t aimed at him. It wasn’t aimed at me. It was directed at the river, my brother, my estranged family and my inability to get that damned legacy out of my head. It clouded my judgment and it distracted me to the point of near detriment.

Back up on the gravel bar I felt arms tight around me and I just sobbed in relief, anger, exhaustion and pain. It was all there, every last nasty feeling that had been holding me hostage for the past few decades. Get out! Get out! Get out! You didn’t get me this time and I’ll make damn sure you don’t get me ever! I heard the words, “I’ve got you.” in my ear and I recognized this to be true. The river didn’t “get” me, my past didn’t “get” me but my partner did have me safely in his arms and I was going to be okay. Fuck you river. Fuck you dysfunctional family!

Once back at our cabin I stood in the shower feeling the water spray on my shoulders from the way too low shower head in the way too small shower stall. I slumped down until I could get my head underneath and just left it there making sure that damn river water got washed out of my hair and off my body. Wash it clean. Down the drain. Down. The. Drain. Good riddance.

On the way home we stopped by my older sister’s place and relayed the events of our float trip gone awry. I recalled saying something to the effect, “I’m sure there are a few family members that wish the river had taken me too,” and was met with doubt that this was true. I’m not so sure I’m wrong about this. I’m willing to admit that I have been wrong about a lot but, to have me no longer creating “waves” by telling my truths would very much make certain branches on my family tree shake with delight. The ultimate silencing. For one person in particular, this is what she felt God should do to me, strike me down and silence me for good.

I’m not checking out yet!

It sounds awful to say out loud but it’s always there at the back of my mind. Who, in my family would actually care if I was gone? Dead. Kaput. Finito! Oh, I know I’d get a smattering of tears here and there along with the “if only” laments but these are merely muscle memory actions, the stuff people are “supposed” to do. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about such things because I may be triggering some twisted self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit carnival ride to hell for myself. Oh, well. So be it.

So, back to the river. Will I return any time soon? I don’t know but I do know that new sit on top kayaks are in order. When death flows up on you and you are able to ride the wave out you best prepare for the next time you tangle. Ever vigilant. Ever prepared!

Yes, I’m going back because I am not a quitter. I’m may be getting older and slower but I’m also, even less afraid of dying now. Try and take me! I dare you…

© 2022-2023 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” and L.A. Askew with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Problem with Mom…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Ah, yes…the topic I have been avoiding. Not to say that I haven’t talked about my mother or that I haven’t written about her, I have. It’s just that I have never delved deep into the problematic influence she has had on my life or on the lives of my siblings and our collective families.

Oh, the anger and the blame and the guilt and the manipulation. An endless game of vicious name calling, (behind my back or in the form of a letter or email of course) snippy passive-aggressive comments and then the inevitable contrived song and dance that is gaslighting. “I never said that!” or, “That never happened!” or, complete and utterly frustrating disassociation. That lady lives in La La Land. She’s the mayor, governor and president.

As I have stated previously, I still find myself in a less than willing to share frame of mind of late. Maybe it’s because Covid continues to dominate all of our lives or maybe, it’s the tremendous distrust I developed while growing up with narcissistic and abusive parents. I’m hanging my hat on the latter because my unwillingness to tell people too much about myself has followed me around for well over 40 years. I can guarantee that if I were to play How Well Do You Know Me with anyone who has been allowed into my inner circle in the past 20 years every single one would fail. It’s not that I wouldn’t love to unburden myself but, it is the realization that a lot of people are either too uncomfortable with the information I’m holding inside or they literally don’t care because they have enough of their own baggage to lug around. I get it. That’s why I try to do it here, when I feel up to it that is.

Back to the problematic issue that is MOM. Recently I was informed that she needed surgery, had surgery, received a difficult diagnosis and now her future prognosis is up in the air. Seeing how I haven’t spoken to either of my parents since mid-2017 and did not reach out when my father died in 2020, the dilemma as to what to do now hangs like a rotten slab of beef in the hot summer sun. It smells. Bad. And, I run the risk of looking like the shitty daughter my mother probably tells everyone I am. Well, I assume she does but, then again, probably not since this was the same woman who lied in church about my older brother being away at “college” when he was actually in prison. Appearances are important after all! Anyway, who knows for sure but…it’s the kind human being in me that struggles with how to approach being kind to a toxic parent in need.

Damn it lady! Why can’t you just admit there were issues when we were all growing up and work towards mending those hurts now? Why? I know I won’t get an apology and, honestly, I don’t expect one. I just want a reason to care what happens to her because I look around at everything she CHOSE to miss. My daughter’s high school graduation and now, coming soon, her college graduation. She has missed seeing me in a healthy and happy relationship for the first time in my life and she is missing out on being included in all of our lives. Over what? Adherence to a misguided church and a cult-like religion that demands she place our abusive father over all of us, even in death? He’s gone. Cut the ties and learn to live for once in your life!

I can’t make her reject everything she has blindly followed for a huge chunk of her adult life nor can I force her to realize that her “children” are no longer young. During this time she has lost a grandson as well but it’s dear old abuser dad that she pines over. We won’t be around forever and neither will she, especially now so to “wait for another day” is foolish but, to think she will ever change, even when faced with her own mortality, and ours, is a pipe dream as well. If she wants to go be with the only person she truly cares about (even though the jury is still out on whether he reciprocated) then we cannot stand in her way and I will not feel upset over her choice, if this is what she wants.

We all have our own path to walk. Some choose an easy route and others weave in and out of the more insidious lane thinking its “sacrifices” will lead to some great reward. I like to think that even though my life has been filled with a lot of pain it has also been relatively easy to navigate, easy to figure out where I went wrong and easy to autocorrect. And, because of this I would never knowingly sacrifice my own child in favor of any man. Never. She knows this about me yet is still confused as to why this is something I refuse to compromise on. Innocent child over abusive spouse? Not a hard decision at all…for most rational people that is.

The saddest part in all of this is that I have a nagging suspicion that the Great Reward my mother thinks she wants will ultimately end up being hollow without the love and support of her children and their children. To purposely say and do things to alienate those you gave birth to because “God” told you to or the bible demands it will always leave a bad taste in my mouth but, given the proper amount of discussion, it’s also something I could move forward from. I could work to rebuild a new relationship with her, if she will ask and if not, that’s okay. It will have been her choice and I will respect that even though I’m sure it will feel dark, sad and disappointing because it will have been at the expense of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. So much lost.

These are footsteps I do not want to follow in and would never wish on anyone.

© 2022-2023 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” and L.A. Askew with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

When memories try to drown you…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Today has been hard. Like, every past mistake, missed opportunity, multiple moments of abject failure kind of hard. Excruciatingly bad even. I have come to the realization that I truly hate my job, I hate the town I’m living in and I certainly can’t imagine growing old in this part of the country even. Something has to give. And, after decades of it always being me who gave up everything, the thing I want most is for the looming specter of unpleasant experiences, trying to choke out my few cherished memories, to go away for good.

I never intended to stay in this godforsaken place for so long. After graduating from high school I wanted to hit the road, attend college in another state and create the dream I always had in my head of how my life was supposed to be. I was going to be a journalist or a writer, whichever, I was going to be successful and happy. Instead, I followed my much older, very damaged boyfriend to a state university that was entirely too close to the darkness that made up my childhood. Granted, I had a mother who told me not to expect much out of life and that should have been my first red flag on things yet to come. Fast forward 34 years and I’m still stuck, still being pulled in all directions by negativity, anger and dysfunction in this same dreary town, this same immobilizing state. To say I feel depressed and hopeless would be an understatement because now I have moved into the territory of anxiety and despair. It’s a crushing feeling, like all the weight of my past is pressing down hard on my shoulders, drilling me further and further into the ground so my feet can’t move.

It never dawned on me, until now, that I even had the right to say NO to a life I was neither excited by or inspired to live well. I was simply going through the motions of breaking free from one bad relationship just to jump right into another because the thought of having to go back to my childhood home would be mortifying. That was one of the few things that did spark a fire under my feet, a fire hot enough to make me say yes to moving in with someone I didn’t know well and then once again, 4 years later, when asked if I wanted to get married. My parent’s ugly marriage should have made me shy away from the idea of wanting to tie that noose around my neck but, the fear that saying no might send me but back into that hell left me feeling as if I had no choice. Take what you are being offered, do the bare minimum and look for happiness later became my new motto. Each day dragged into months, into years, into decades until it seemed as if my chance to be happy had been thrown away. I lost my shot because I chose poorly. At least, that’s what I believed until today.

So, the reason today has been hard: my one good decision in life, my daughter, came to visit this past week. When she first decided on a college almost 7 hours away I won’t lie, I panicked a little but, I was not going to hold her back. I did not want her to feel the disappointment and regret I felt for letting my dreams slip away so I loosened my grip and let her go. To have the ability to make that time slow down so I could take in every moment with her, to savor every last second would have felt amazing! I live a lot in my own head at times but when I spend time with her the only thing that matters is making sure she knows how much I love her and how proud I am of her. She is a big reason why I hang on, why I endure living in a place that holds so few good memories, aside from the amazing partner I’m lucky enough to have now! She loves him just as much as he loves us both and I am grateful she has one positive male role model in her life. Her father, my ex-husband of almost 12 years now, still lives in the same town as does his stepfather, our daughter’s only sane living grandparent. But, that could change at any moment, leaving me the one left behind again. That is why I slid head first into that old familiar darkness, the dread, the absolute belief that I failed miserably at life.

I MUST have failed after all! I settled for financial security over love and happiness and, despite knowing I was making a huge mistake, I tied myself to even more dysfunction than the family I was originally born into. Most people long to trade up or do better than their parents but I just swapped one screwed up situation for another and then lost all courage to walk away. In looking back the thing I regret most was bringing my daughter into that pain, uncertainty and resentment because it was no place for either of us to be. The promise of stability was a lie and sabotage of self-esteem existed around every corner, which was the favorite past-time of my former mother-in-law. She too, was a horribly damaged person with many similar childhood experiences as me and so I thought that might help us bond but, I was wrong. I horribly underestimated the level of petty vindictiveness residing in that barely 5 foot frame and quickly learned that I wasn’t going to be allowed to be a successful wife or mother for that matter. The first time I told her no was the last time I received any kindness or cooperation from her. I was on my own and every milestone, from the birth of my daughter to all accomplishments after that time would become a power struggle. God, it wore on me; to the point where I wanted to check out, completely and finally. I just wanted it to stop.

My daughter’s 1st birthday marked the beginning of the long war waged to establish who the real ruler of the family was going to be. It wasn’t me, my ex-husband or his step-father, it was my ex mother-in-law and she always made sure I knew it. She had an opinion on everything from all of my daughter’s clothes and toys to where she would eventually go to kindergarten, grade school, middle school, high school and so on. Once those opinions were verbalized they quickly became law and I was overruled at every turn by my daughter’s father. “Just let her do this. She’s just trying to help! If you just let her have her way then I can keep getting gifts too. Why do you have to ruin this for me?” My ex-husband completely ignored her purposeful interference and sided with his mother because if she was picking at me then she wasn’t criticizing him. I became a non-person, a surrogate, a womb for rent and a complete nuisance to my then spouse and this woman who must have her own way, always. Her opinion of me stayed negative until the day she died and I never had a chance to show her who I really was. I don’t think she would have cared, in hindsight, but I feel I deserved to at least have my say.

The first 9 years of my dear daughter’s life were a blur of hurt, disappointment and growing anger for me. I couldn’t make friends with any of the parents of my daughter’s friends because my mother-in-law got there first, whispering to each one about how I worked and didn’t have time to do play dates or school events…but she could. And then, it metastasized into, “I’m more of a mother to her than she is. I’m more of a wife to my son than she is.” As sick as that last one sounds it rang pretty true since she did actually buy all of my ex’s underwear and socks until he was well into middle-age but, I digress. It never got better, she never let up and I just grew more and more distant from everyone except my daughter. The loneliness and despair I felt must have been evident because her need to know where I was at all times while she was young turned into panic if I was more than a room or two away. I feel great regret over that. I worry that everything I thought I was hiding inside somehow spilled over onto her, creating a sensation of anxiety that would not have otherwise been felt had I been stronger. Again, I felt I had failed.

Each year this gnawing emotional sickness chipped another bit of my self-determination, motivation and mental well-being away until I had had enough and no longer cared what anyone but my daughter thought. I was not going to let her think all relationships were as one-sided as mine was with her father nor was I going to let her see me get trampled by her grandmother any longer. After more years than I care to admit, I walked away. I filed for divorce. I took back my life. So why do I still feel as if I have never really lived for me? Can I chalk it up to old habits or damaging ways of thinking being hard to break? In the beginning, of my New Beginning, I wrestled with the notion that I wouldn’t have had my beautiful daughter without accepting all of that drama into my life. After several years of therapy, where my therapist told me that was utter “horse shit” I stopped thinking in such black and white terms. It wasn’t a suffer with or without her situation. Whether I had her with him or with someone else I still would have had her and while she may have looked different she would still possess all of my intelligence, quirkiness and imagination. Of this, I am very certain!

Yet, today I still felt gutted and utterly drained, like I was just floating aimlessly. After my daughter drove away I went for a walk in a neighborhood close to my office. It was the neighborhood I first lived in with her dad, the place I settled when I felt I didn’t deserve more. Today I was back there and as I walked by that old apartment complex my head was swimming. What if I had said NO? Or, rather, “No thank you. I need to make it on my own.” Could I have said no? Yes, I could have and just acknowledging that should be enough but today that little self-affirmation wasn’t enough. My mind zeroed in on conversations I had, emotions I felt, places I went and it all led me straight back to emptiness. Maybe it’s really just self-pity and given the fact I am no longer young and my daughter is now the age I was when everything went so horribly wrong it’s logical to feel a bit of fear for her as well. Don’t do what I did! Don’t settle and never, ever let anyone talk you into setting your dreams, your life and your power aside! I want to scream this, and I do, in my head. Always, forever, living in my head but never out loud. Today is the day to stop that, right?

Yes, today is the day. I find myself, once again, unable to take anymore. The negative self-talk stops here and now because I am ready to be free of this damaging legacy set forth by people I wouldn’t even give the time of day. They hold no power over me and, to that I say, finally, “No thank you! I will make it on my own. I will make it without memories of you dragging me down.”

We deserve to break the chain, once and for all.

© 2021-2022 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Chopping Down the Family Tree of Misery…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Just when I think that old gnawing discomfort caused by mentally reviewing the past has finally gone away…something else occurs to bring it back to the forefront. It may never be done because there is just too much misery to go around and too many players who failed to get the memo that we were planning to improve ourselves and our lives.

That something else, which recently occurred was tragic, saddening and completely preventable. It came out of the blue and if I had been asked whether I thought such a thing could happen I would say, no, even though anything awful is highly possible with my family. I’m still processing why it came about at all and remain puzzled as to how I even talk about it because no matter how I word it I will always, forever, be part of the problem with this one. To say I didn’t know things were so bad is a lie and to say there wasn’t anything I could have done different is just the same old lip service we apply to every negative cloud following us.

Misery does indeed love company

A little over a week ago one of my adult nephews died. The circumstances remain uncertain and they probably always will remain so because his father, my oldest brother, chose not to have an autopsy and the local coroner hastily called this senseless death “natural causes.” Case closed. We have no way of knowing one way or another what really happened but I do know for sure that it was, in part, a death caused by emotional and mental neglect with 100% certainty. The death of our father was expected and, if you’ve read any of my other work, that event was greeted with relief but this? This loss was shocking because of my nephew’s young age and also because it took so long for anyone to even notice he was dead.

I feel like I need to provide a bit of back-story here but honestly, I have very little additional information to provide. You see, I didn’t know this nephew very well and had only been around him maybe a handful of times over his sad, short life. None of this was his fault, it was entirely my fault for not trying harder to be present in his world. I fell into the “judging” trap that my family so despised from outsiders yet they gleefully heaped judgment high within family ranks without hesitation. Tearing each other down is a familial pastime after all and the sins of the parents get readily transferred to any offspring in this ragged clan. It’s not an excuse. It’s a huge part of one of our many problems.

Because of our less than warm relationship with our oldest brother the negative feelings felt for him impacted the way we interacted with his children, our nephews. It was one side of the family against the other even though we were all just as damaged inside. It made no sense but here we are now, standing amongst the rubble of yet another life destroyed by generational anger, abuse and neglect of soul. To an outsider we would appear cruel but to us it was just “normal” behavior. “Oh, you won’t talk to me? Well, I will just shun your whole family!” We reap what we sow…still.

We were not normal then and we aren’t normal now…

To the point on why it took so long for my nephew to be found: one has to understand that peculiar deficiency in humanity we all inherited from the Grand Patriarch, my recently deceased abusive father. Indifference. We all, at one point or another in our lives were indifferent to the suffering each one of us experienced. Granted, some hurt and got hurt more than others but the inability to express that pain in real-time or recognize it in each other is but one of the many side effects of abuse that went unnoticed for decades.

And so, because we were brought up in “every man for himself” mode we don’t always see how disturbing it may be to fathom someone’s son, nephew, cousin, and grandson going to bed one night, passing away and then not being discovered until 24 hours (even possibly 48 hours) later. To care so little as to simply not see the importance of checking in, paying attention or, giving a damn.

I see it now.

The horror is setting in.

To be so broken yet unable to see the multiple layers of cracks and sharp edges ready to cut and maim.

Sickeningly broken.

I don’t know the exact events that led up to my nephew’s passing and I won’t speculate on his life because I wasn’t part of it. Also, neither my brother nor my mother will speak to me about it because I am effectively dead to them as well. I DO know that this occurred as a continuation of the misery perpetuated by this particular DNA chain, a tragic chain that needs to be broken, reconstructed and fortified with kindness, patience and love. This didn’t have to happen and I know I don’t bare all of the blame but I still feel leveled by the extent of damage one man started and the unfortunate progeny who continue to carry on his harmful legacy. To say our experiences combined had nothing to do with this particular loss would be foolhardy because pain begets pain and until it’s healed it won’t stop.

Please, let it stop!

It must stop for my nephew’s sake and for every other potential casualty of this family tree strewn with hollow, disease ridden limbs. Let the suffering stop here and now because we can be better than this.

We MUST be better than this!

© 2021-2022 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Are We Good?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

No. No, we are not.

“But, can’t we all just come together and be one America now?

No.

Really? So much for being tolerant and kind!”

Yeah…that isn’t how this works anymore. Bygones can no longer be bygones, especially when Facebook, Twitter and now the off-brand version, Parler, continue to breed trolls who both covertly and overtly advocate for the harassment, injury or death of anyone non-MAGA. It appears we are now a country of Americans and MAGAcans, or MAGAs or MAGAricans? Either way, you idol worshiping, false flag waving, tacky Trump merch buying twats have drawn a pretty deep line in the sand. It’s your line, I will respect your wishes and not cross it…even to pee on you should you find yourself on fire. It’s a matter of respect of personal boundaries, you know?

https://www.businessinsider.com/arkansas-police-chief-lang-holland-resigns-parler-posts-threaten-democrats-2020-11

For 4 long years, the toll exacted by taunts, insults, and blatant threats of violence makes this request no longer reasonable or doable. Anyone on the receiving end of the massive shit sandwich that is 2020, coupled with the snarling vitriol lobed on the daily, would be utterly foolish to fall for this glaringly amateur manipulation. To use our kindness, empathy and desire to help others against us now that the reality show has been cancelled is really quite laughable. And you call us sheep? We aren’t the ones who fell for a spray tanned con-artist who is so vain he wears lifts in his shoes and has dried out cotton candy for hair. The same con-artist who presides over a family full of equally humorless cons that are just as eager to take advantage of their adoring cult followers and casually toss them aside when they are no longer necessary.

https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2020/11/ivanka-trump-was-my-best-friend-now-shes-maga-royalty

That increasingly uncomfortable “reality show” was setting the scene for rampant paranoia, unbridled anger and for every nasty human trait, and their possessors, to be lifted to a standard of respect they do not deserve. There is nothing respectable about a group of Americans chanting and cheering for violence to be committed against other fellow Americans. There is nothing respectable about a group of Americans turning their backs on facts, truth, science, human rights, civil rights, and basic human decency in order to march to the tune of whack-a-doo conspiracy theory bullshit.

And, there is definitely nothing respectable or decent about gleefully bilking taxpayers while simultaneously goading your rabid followers/dupes/marks into turning on fellow Americans. Nothing to see here! Now go “Yeah, but” and gaslight the sane populace until they no longer know what’s fake or real, what’s truth or fiction or whether they are living in an alternate universe where everything is horribly backwards.

You stepped in the shit willingly and made it your new life. It’s not our job to help you scrape the shit off your shoes. It’s not our job to re-educate you. It’s not our job to re-humanize you. We tried, you mocked, threatened and dehumanized us so now, we are merely taking the not so subtle hint. We know you will turn on us again, in a heartbeat, and have decided to take a page out of your grubby rule book and build a WALL of personal protection. Snowflakes may be kind and gentle but they ain’t dumb…we paid attention in school.

I don’t have to smile, wave or respond to your now timid greeting if I feel my time would be better served attending to my own best interests. I still have the right to mistrust the untrustworthy. Isn’t that what good MAGA boys and girls would do too? Attend to their own and to hell with everyone else? I’m confused as to why my doing the very thing you ranted, raved and preached about would upset you now. Because it was really a, “Do as I say and not as I do” kinda thing? Got it! What’s good for the MAGA is good for the SNOWFLAKE now. Grasp page from play book and RIP!

“Oh, come on! I was only teasing when I said all Democrats, BLM supporters and civil rights protesters should be shot between the eyes.”

There is no going back to benign pleasantries. You reap what you sow and while this isn’t an eye for an eye, law of retaliation type of action on my part it is a refusal to associate, do business with or otherwise extend an extra helping of grace to those who wished literal harm to befall me and those I love. Keep flying your ridiculous idol worshiping flags and memorial signs of a campaign lost (fair and square) though. They will forever act as your mark of Cain so that all may see who you really are and what you willingly support.

© 2020-2021 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Death of a Family

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

It has finally happened. The day has come. A tiny bit of me feels uneasy because I just recently wrote about wondering when this day would occur and now, it has come to pass. Am I clairvoyant? No. But, if I were and could see where all of this was heading years ago don’t you think I would have hit the road sooner?

The man we once called “Dad” is dead. And now, the dilemma over how to react, or not, starts. Do we fake grieve or do we expel a long overdue sigh of relief? Do we cry and if so, how hard and for how long? But, if we do cry is it for the one who has left this earth or is it for what we never got in the first place? It’s impossible to know for sure but the one thing I do know is that I’m not sad he’s gone. I am sad, however, that we never had decent, loving parents. That, I have mourned for the past 30+ years.

There I said it, and while it may sound harsh to those on the outside looking in, the fictionalized version of this long dead family my mother so desperately wanted everyone to believe in never existed. You were duped, or maybe you always knew but just never said anything. Anyway, the instigator of great pain and personal torment is gone. And, here we are, still standing tall despite decades of bluster and boasting from the man who regularly berated, belittled and abused his children and grandchildren. He is gone and I feel no sorrow. How could anyone even ask me to?

The man who used me as a punching bag.

Gone.

The man who enjoyed grabbing a fistful of my hair so he could pull me across the kitchen floor to show me that I put something in the refrigerator WRONG.

Gone.

The man who dutifully went to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night in order to cement his superior status as the righteous man.

Gone.

How should we remember him? As the smug, sneering know-it-all with a disturbing sadistic side or, as the dream of a kind and loving father we held in our heads? He wasn’t the latter, not even a little bit. Oh, he tried to be jovial at times but what started out in a joking vein usually disintegrated into a cruel strike to the jugular. When asked to come closer to him the first question that always popped into my suspicious mind was, “Why?” Near or far away, it didn’t matter which, he still had the ability to inflict pain. Even in his frail last few years the ever present shame, guilt and anger that he created in each one of us signaled his legacy was still very much in control.

I stopped talking to both of my parents in 2016, for a variety of valid reasons and, it wasn’t until a year or so later that I knew I made the right decision. At first I wasn’t sure and would go back and forth but became very certain upon learning that this man, this self-proclaimed Christian man, who my mother said so deserved his heavenly reward, was revealed to not only be a child abuser but also a child molester. There would be no turning back and I held firm because for so many years I always “overlooked” their past behavior and tried to live by the let bygones be bygones principle. I now understand that this was exactly what they were hoping for, a “just get over it” proclamation with no recourse for any of their victims and certainly no apology. Again, they controlled the narrative, standing together in twisted unity, and we were just whiny children who deserved everything that happened to us. No love from a mother and certainly no love from a father.

Speaking of mothers, mine obviously took great care in writing my father’s obituary. She was his greatest enabler and protector so it’s no surprise that “liberties” would be taken and the truth would be fabulously stretched. I found exactly what I expected when reading the glowing heavenly recommendation for this deeply damaged and morally bankrupt man. The manner in which he was now being eulogized/fictionalized could lead one to think the Earth’s trees should all bow in sorrow to honor the passing of such a great man! Such a godly man!

Great, he was not. Good at manipulating and posturing? Yes indeed! Sure, he held the various positions listed among the multiple conflated exaggerations but did he excel at any of them? No, he did not. This I know because I was there when he held most of these “prestigious” posts but I must have missed the day he was proclaimed “well liked” and “respected in the community.” Was he really? Be honest now. He can’t hurt us anymore so speak freely! We moved around a lot not because he was in such high demand but because he was either running from one bill or another or, possibly, trying to get out of being held accountable for any number of wrongs he may have committed. Who really knows for sure? The expert “Editor” made sure all tracks were covered well. Bravo mom! Good job.

Now, here is where things start to get a little bizarre, but not totally unexpected. When airing grievances about ones own children and grandchildren it is best to keep track of what lies you told to which people. Did you remember to exhibit just the right amount of confusion and innocent wonder over why some of your children did not rush to your side or “at least call” for heaven’s sake? It might have something to do with you vehemently striking out in absolute defense of an abuser and child molester but, it could also be due to you calling me and other siblings liars and embarrassments while expressing that you now know why certain animals chose to kill their young. Good stuff there mother! Good stuff.

Oh, and the person you lamented to? They knew you were lying. Just thought I should point that out. Use a flow chart dammit! It makes tracking lies so much easier. Gosh! Stop being so lazy with your hate tactics.

So, where were we? Oh, yes, documenting the long, slow, painful death of a family. We were a “family” after all. Born of the same parents, sharing DNA, physical resemblances and all that jazz. We started dying the day each one of us became caught up in whatever torment the two of you drug into your too young, too dumb and highly ill-conceived marriage. Each child was placed on the alter of your respective mental fuck-ups and each one of us was sacrificed as an offering to your egos. We had no say. You brought us here and you both worked together to try and destroy us. When it became evident that this was working too slowly another plan was hatched. Why not get us to feed off of one another? Why not plant the seeds of your own angry dysfunction in each one of us and then poke and prod until the fighting begins? Brilliant plan really. Just so deviously exquisite!

For the past 60 years this game has proven quite successful because, fast forward to today, it’s pretty crystal clear when you tally up the hurtful words, personal slights, abusive behavior and our blatant trampling of the feelings of one another. In that regard, dad has won spectacularly. Few of us talk to one another now and even fewer have anything to do with you, dear old mom. Did you see that coming? Dad really fucked you over with that one! Such precision. So much so that you didn’t even realize that the man you deferred you whole life to would see to it that, in the end, you were left with nothing but crumbs.

Game, set, match…

© 2020 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Is This The Day You Die?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

On my way home from work yesterday this thought went through my mind. Driving along, looking up at the blue sky, watching the soft white clouds bounce on by.

“Is today going to be the day you leave this Earth?

Rarely do I allow myself to ruminate or stew in the past anymore. I have done the recovery work and am, daily, working to forgive for myself and release anger and pain. It’s been a long learning process but I think I have found multiple ways to distract or refocus myself to thoughts, projects and people more deserving of my attention. It has worked well the past 3-4 years and I have grown to rely on my new-found skill but today I added, “I hope you made peace with your maker and confessed the true ugliness committed at your hands.”

Let me get you up to speed here. I am, essentially, an orphan. I have no family to speak of even though there are at least, maybe, 30 people out there that share some DNA with me. That I know of anyway. I could be wrong about the exact count because my family of origin LIES a lot. I arrive at my number by counting parents, siblings, their kids, their kid’s children and the few cousins I know about. I have physical contact with none of these people and that isn’t because of the corona virus, it’s because of purposeful cruelty and generational dysfunction. I have limited verbal contact with just 3 of these people so, in my mind, that qualifies me as an unofficial orphan.

Cue the balloons and streamers!!! Now, where is my crown?

Back to the initial, depressing title of this already worn out tome. It really is tiresome when the past won’t stay where it belongs so when you find out a family member is currently in the hospital, a member who doesn’t deserve your kindness, all kinds of surprising conclusions are drawn. Do I still care? How should I feel about this information? How do I react when asked about this family member? Will anyone who isn’t related to me even ask about this family member anyway since this person isn’t well-liked in their community? Anyone who truly knows me is aware of why I feel the way I do about this family member. And, those who don’t? Well, let them ask and they too will learn the truth.

I have no desire to edit anything or soften the jagged perimeter of this family plot turned garbage dump so my truth will be imparted without hesitation. “Is this the day they died?” Honestly, it could happen this way. Someone unrelated to me could be the one to inform me of the passing of a person I came to terms with years ago. A person I reserve no conflicted feelings for and have no desire to pretend grieve once they pass from this world. I wish them a smooth passage, which is more than they would wish for me and, once that has been accomplished, I wish to think of them no more.

If this is the day that you die please know that I am still standing. I am not bowing to the wind of judgement because none is blowing my way. That storm is reserved for you so be ready. Make amends, if you can and if you can’t bring yourself to do this before your last breath then that’s okay. I’ve done my part and let you go a long time ago.

© 2020 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

You Are Permitted to be Angry…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

With a few caveats of course.

For all my years of touting cute catchphrases like, “Say what you mean and mean what you say,” or expressing my resolute determination to no longer remain silent, I forgot one thing. The power of commiseration.

I don’t need you to use your sympathy voice every time I share something that makes me angry. I want you to be angry with me!

I GET IT NOW!

There is great power in numbers, as the current protests around the country have shown. I know this to be true. I talk about it, A LOT, within my professional space yet skim right over it in my personal space. And, for that, I am so very sorry. In this, I realize that I am no better than all the assholes I rail about, the ones without even a minuscule amount of empathy in their bitter bones. I, a person who has too much empathy at times, still forgot the therapeutic efficacy of a good bitch-fest. The legitimate airing of grievances, but without having to observe Festivus.

I will be angry with you.

I will listen to what you have to say without doing the, “Awww” face.

I will join your venting session, not because I’m mad at the same person, place or thing, but because YOU ARE ANGRY and I want to support you.

It’s okay to be angry because anger is an energy that can cause change just as easily as it can cause destruction.

I support your right to FEEL all the feelings that go along with being human.

Now, having said all of that, and I meant all of it, I just know there are miserable shit-stirrers out there itching to rail against those who express the desire to FEEL. You know? The FUCK YOUR FEELINGS dickheads. The rest of this is directed at you. Everyone with historically documented reasons to feel angry, you can grab some popcorn and relax for a bit. You earned it…

Yes, fuck my feelings! That’s so mature, so human, so kind of you! And, it’s exactly what I would expect from people who don’t think anyone else is allowed to be angry but them. What exactly are YOU mad about? Didn’t your whiteness provide, abundantly, everything all those other white male politicians promised if you supported their agenda? I know what everyone else is mad about but, please, tell me what’s REALLY troubling you. And, can you do it without calling me names or threatening me with violence? It’s a novel idea but try it, you might like it. And, while you are trying that maybe stop and picture what it really means to be the “good Christian” that you keep calling yourself. Are ya, really??? Can’t be Christ-like when you’re calling me a loud-mouth liberal bitch that needs to know my place. All-seeing God my ass, you don’t know me at all! Let me introduce myself, I’m you’re worst nightmare because I can see who you really are and that’s what you really hate, not me, not them, but yourself.

photo by Andre Hunter

It’s the truth about ourselves, the stuff we demand stay hidden, that really pops up in times of anger and strife, whether we like it or not. It isn’t hidden anymore and if the truly oppressed in this country can put up with your racist, homophobic, misogamist bullshit for centuries then I guess the LEAST I can do is get my privileged white ass up in their support. I stand with them because standing with you is limiting, exhausting, debilitating and completely on the wrong side of history and humanity. I will not side with vile hatred so stop trying to sell me on the garbage you keep peddling.

Yes, I believe Black Lives Matter, Women’s Rights are Human Rights, No Human is Illegal, Science is Real, Love is Love and Kindness is EVERYTHING! On the flip-side, to those who do not believe in the things I just listed? You are the real problem and you are the one stoking the fire of hate in this country and around the world. Lying, cheating and stealing are really your areas of expertise, not ours but you jump at slapping those projected labels on us, which is laughable. Don’t like what I just imparted? Let me use some of your own medicine on that burn…uh, fuck your feelings! Ah, that felt refreshingly satisfying.

I can guarantee one thing for sure, in this current moment and moving forward, if ANYONE directs hateful vitriol and violence towards anyone I love, I will rain the entirety of my FEELINGS of anger, disgust and rage down on you! I was subjected to physical and mental abuse as a child and young adult and can only keep that raging beast of revenge down so long you know? Count on me coming for you because, hey, when you dismiss my feelings of empathy and kindness what’s left? Yeah, just the NASTY parts, the ones you identify with most and you can’t fuck ALL of my feelings. Who’s got that kind of time?

Illustration by Sefira Ross

Oh, you don’t like that I’m expressing a desire to treat you as miserably as you treat others? Huh, it doesn’t FEEL good does it? Are you afraid of my rage? My words that I can freely express without the need of a gun to back them up? Or, are you really terrified of my ability to size-up your obvious inner conflict and verbalize the issues that I see standing in your way of being a decent person? No one acts the way you do without channeling some fucked up dysfunction from childhood that leads to the near debilitating self esteem issues you clearly exhibit. Do I want to be right about you being a shit person? No. But, 9 times out of 10, I am right and it hurts because I know humanity can do better.

You see, I am willing to listen to your angry outbursts, just like I listen to those I love vent. The only difference is that I know one of those complaint sessions will lead to greater self-awareness and inner calm and the other will lead to personal ruin. Without a willingness to see the pain of others, to listen, learn and actively understand why they have a right to be angry nothing will change. You will stay miserable and stuck. You will never be happy. You will never be a healthy community/society member even though you have this warped impression that this land is YOUR land and not anyone else’s, especially those with darker hued skin. To hold onto those ideals is to hold onto quicksand…your made-up “identity” is being exposed as you slide down, down, down.

I’ll offer you a hand if you want it. Do you want it?

Or, does going down with the rat infested ship seem more palatable than letting a dirty liberal offer you kindness?

Sad.

© 2020 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Oh, Sister of Mine?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

When people ask me about my family of origin I pause and take a deep breath. “How much time do you have?” I ask. It’s never a matter of rambling on about all the amazing memories I have (or had) with family, it’s a matter of, “How much do I tell?”

Do I talk about the feelings of despair, the urgent need to get as far away from my childhood home and town as possible or, do I simply compose a quick verbal synopsis? Even that would be a task destined for failure since there is zero possibility of a speedy deposition because anger, pain and darkness go too deep and have traveled too many generations to be given just a cursory glance. This is a disease that must be examined with the keen eye of a scientist or, at minimum, with the paranoid skepticism of a rabid conspiracy theorist.

“Show me your proof.”

“It’s all made up!”

“You have an agenda!”

Who doesn’t, pal?

I wish I had made up everything I felt compelled to share about my childhood and the people enlisted to birth me and then failed to raise me properly. I wish I had made up the interactions with my many siblings that drained the rose color from my preferred view of the world. The dream of a life I felt excited about as a five year-old was the same one ground to dust at eight by a brother who acted entitled to be doing so without explanation or recourse.

If only I could recall, rewind, rework and then reissue my life. But, I can’t and it must stand as a work unto itself with no revisions because truth is truth no matter how dirty and the lies of others, desperate to silence you, have no power anymore. That, right there, is what sparks the greatest fear in former oppressors, instigators and apologists. I will TELL. I will say it ALL. And, my truth will follow them to the depths of every self-imposed hellscape they find themselves in or into any carefully curated tale of a supposed “life well-lived” they may attempt to create.

It’s the price we all pay for pretending.

But, what happens when the pretenders stop and stand still within their game? What happens when the camera, the one meant to capture a staged joyous moment, starts documenting reality at every press of the button? Sure, we can smile for the camera but we have no control over the image projecting from our eyes. They are the real keepers of truth after all.

I entitled this “Oh, Sister of Mine?” for a specific reason and to document a specific hurt. I have two sisters, born from the same parents and both subjected to the same dysfunction (at varying degrees) I was yet each approaches their wounds very differently. One chose the stance of a pacifist or rather, a “compartmentalizer” and the other, further down the pedigree chart, chose to morph into a volatile cat o’ nine tails ready to inflict as much mental punishment as humanly possible on anyone she decides to level. Did I see that coming my way? No. Am I really surprised in hindsight? Again, no. Some people learn from their pain and some carry it with them like a weapon to be used whenever they need self-soothing. It was just a matter of time.

Now, here’s the rub. From time to time I see strategically posted vignettes of their “and a fun time was had by all” soap opera. It hurts, initially, that I have been purposely cut out of their lives but, in a way, I also see it as needed medicine. The depiction of how their lives easily go on without being invited to share in any joy or pain can feel scalding but, it is also the hurt I need to heal, if that makes sense? The more I see of these surface only interactions the better I feel about my decision to untangle from the diseased spiderweb. I can’t go back to pretending anymore. I won’t go back there yet, at the same time I am irritatingly human enough to still long for closeness and also feel bad for all of them.

https://www.inc.com/jessica-stillman/people-are-revealing-truth-behind-their-happy-looking-social-media-posts-its-heartbreaking.html

And by ALL I mean ALL, even the parents and other siblings who worked so hard to grind my soul into the ground. I wish things were different but, they are not and they never will be. That wish is now released to the wind. It floats away, along with pieces of my regret and anger, to be replaced by a satisfying self-awareness I never even knew I could posses. By “self-awareness” I mean I own up to my faults, my lies, my rage now with zero shame or embarrassment.

It’s never embarrassing to be authentic.

The TRUE shame is in continuing to willfully live that lie.

© 2020 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.