“It is in the broken places that we are strong.”
At the ripe old age of 22, I prayed that I would have a life that would make me learn everything I could, that my life would not be ordinary and would be absolutely full of everything.
Well, it is and has been, and it is not something I’d wish to do over. But had I have lived the life I was set for from that time on, I would have blown apart like a firecracker at a time when I could least bear it.
There are times when it’s not at all better than the worst moment, but I promised a parent on a deathbed that I’d take care of myself. (I realize now how well my parents knew me, as they both told me I must not grieve for them too much.)
I’m rambling. Just trying to encourage you both. There’s a reason you are here. You have lessons to teach and others to pull along with the strengths of the broken places.
I think I’m becoming a doctrinaire old coot. Listen to me.
I am an old coot myself. Full of regrets, remembering nothing more than all the mistakes along the way, that have led me, as I believe, to this rotten place, one step or two from a sleeping bag under a freeway overpass.
I took out $200 dollars from an ATM this morning, or maybe it was yesterday, saw the balance of my account, bigger than it ever was, and cried, like Howard Hughes must have cried, he with all his money, all his loneliness, and his madness.
Just this year I realized the futility of the rat race, the meaninglessness of all my financial riches, which buy me nothing a man’s soul needs on this earth.
At 10 years old, I told my parents my uncle was molesting me.
For the sake of ‘family harmony’, they did -nothing-.
It went on for 5 years until I got my first Dobermann, who had utterly no sense of humor about people touching his “mom”.
[and who also wasn’t like the Poodle that was constantly being threatened with death if I “told”. I think the Dobe would’ve enjoyed the ‘sport’ of the uncle trying to “kill him”]
To this day, they treat me like the family freak....even after my “wild stories” were proven true when he started on my little cousin, too.
Same deal.
Her mom entered The Vow of Silence Pact willingly to “spare” my aunt the shock of finding out her husband was a pedophile.
[don’t *even* ask how that was doing her any favors]
For decades, I’ve sat every Thanksgiving and Christmas here at home while they went to his house and partied it up with the rest of my large, extended family.
They go on vacations with him.
He helps my dad out up at the cabin all the time.
No matter how far away I stay from him, somebody’s always shoving him in my face, anyway.
The lessons I learned at such a young age were anxiety, insecurity and the horrible truth that no one I “trusted” was going to protect me.
[and don’t *ever* tell a truth nobody wants to hear]
Those aren’t exactly lessons that are very useful in life unless you’re aiming to be a nervous wreck.
As far as I can tell, the only reason I’m here is to [hopefully] help others who’ve had the same life have someone to confide in or cry with.
I reckon that’s something.
“It is in the broken places that we are strong.”
I’ll try to remember that.
Thanks much.
I don’t say it nearly often enough, but you FReepers have no idea how many times you’ve pulled me up from the depths of despair.
With all my $64 words, none are remotely adequate to express my gratitude for that.