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Detachment is an important subject for me here in the Toxic People Landfill. I am starting to lose track of how long since the DIL dumped me here. Long enough for a grandson to forget a face in the crowd. Long enough to have me moving on to accepting that the Circle remains unbroken. As I did on to others has been done on to me. Estrangement is the only Family Tradition I have known. This is no great surprise. The cycle of the seasons go on. Different names for all the acts within the play, but the play goes on.
As I ponder the DIL's ice wall, and accept the probability that it will stay icy for whatevers I do not have the data to understand, defensive feelings of betrayal and victimhood boil up. Her chaos still consumes the door she no longer rules from. Literally. Hubs went in to retrieve the dishes still full of food scraps, but the smell is still inspiration for the towel beneath the door to contain the lingering aroma. My senior bones ache of the thought of moving it ==AGAIN!!!! It spins relentlessly in my mind. Don't want any of this. It be mine, whether I want it, or not. The Ice Queen lives beyond my love. Not the first Ice Queen I have walked away from. . . Let them have the whatevers of their unavailability. Enjoy. I'm done. Hers is hers. Son and grandson included. Working to keep HER unborn child in the realm of unreality, The son and toddler, too. Hers is hers.
But, of course, when one door closes, another opens.
Chewing in the Toxic People Dump. . .
'Tis amazing what 21st century wisdom calls, "Trash."
"All there is but lovin' leaves a rust on your soul." ~Langston Hughes
As I turn away from the closed door, I do not wish to carry the unhealthy residues of bitterness and resentment into my search for the door that is open. Nor do I want to carry that horrific numbness of dissociation and amnesia which plagued my turning from my own place in this Family Tradition.
Chew chew
As I ponder the DIL's ice wall, and accept the probability that it will stay icy for whatevers I do not have the data to understand, defensive feelings of betrayal and victimhood boil up. Her chaos still consumes the door she no longer rules from. Literally. Hubs went in to retrieve the dishes still full of food scraps, but the smell is still inspiration for the towel beneath the door to contain the lingering aroma. My senior bones ache of the thought of moving it ==AGAIN!!!! It spins relentlessly in my mind. Don't want any of this. It be mine, whether I want it, or not. The Ice Queen lives beyond my love. Not the first Ice Queen I have walked away from. . . Let them have the whatevers of their unavailability. Enjoy. I'm done. Hers is hers. Son and grandson included. Working to keep HER unborn child in the realm of unreality, The son and toddler, too. Hers is hers.
But, of course, when one door closes, another opens.
Chewing in the Toxic People Dump. . .
'Tis amazing what 21st century wisdom calls, "Trash."
"All there is but lovin' leaves a rust on your soul." ~Langston Hughes
As I turn away from the closed door, I do not wish to carry the unhealthy residues of bitterness and resentment into my search for the door that is open. Nor do I want to carry that horrific numbness of dissociation and amnesia which plagued my turning from my own place in this Family Tradition.
Chew chew
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I did the dumbest thing today. I charged my earbuds, unplugged the block and put the block in my little bag instead of the earbuds. I wasn't happy about that when I got to the gym. What a dummy!
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Ever since I stopped doing therapy because of insurance, I've been feeling that old tense and irritable sense of anxiety and stress. I hate that. I was making so many strides and changes during therapy, my therapist would acknowledge all of my progress and accomplishments, and I miss that reassurance. Today I thought about it, and I made those changes! She would always tell me that I chose to...
gentle support as you chew. estrangement was survival where my dad was concernec, but that does not make it simpler nor easier... complexities like a funnel web
I get lost in metaphor all too easily, where I wax so metaphorical that I might as well be speaking in tongues. Could be, for all I know. . . For sure, I don't even understand myself, when I can slow down enough to listen to myself. I have been unstable enough for long enough in my current round that I am attempting to guard my metaphors carefully.
The stench is literal. Lived in storage unit. My birth family would be among the reason so many storage facilities have strict rules about how much time clients get to spend inside the storage units. For sure, my mother has both lived in and conducted business out of storage units. I am deliberately igNORant of how many of my siblings followed in her footsteps. The lived in storage unit has a very distinct aroma. . . Another of the potent trigger in my strictly personal recent rounds of flashbacks. . .
Also on my list of reasons for getting back to the "detachment" theories.
Chew chew