Hi friends. We've been covering some difficult things lately haven't we? Today I'm dealing with some of my most painful, shocking and bewildering experiences. I'm allowing myself to remember situations of neglect, endangerment and abandonment. I'm permitting the associated feelings to surface, after 60 years of keeping them squashed down.
What triggered this was seeing kids do things with their families, which led to memories of doing things with my children and then getting struck by the realization that these things didn't happen with me. I have virtually no recollection of doing anything with my parents when they were married and even less when they divorced, remarried and had other families. Then the memories were of doing a lot of childcare and housework.
And when I say nothing, I mean nothing. No picnics, holiday events, ball games, family outings, didn't watch TV together, not even any family meals together. I don't recall them putting me to bed. There are maybe two of being read a story. And one of laying on their laps in the car (we did that back then). But I can't remember any bedroom, bed or dining room table.
There is one memory of going to A&W. And another of a Christmas present of some baking pans. And of getting my mom a present which she made fun of and made me cry. My dad made some play furniture out of cardboard boxes (those were my only toys). And I think he took me to see Joan of Arc. It might have been Uncle Jim. So there were a few, sorry. But nothing consistent at all. I remember being places but not knowing where my parents were or who were the people there. What I have are a few assorted recollections like you'd have with an aunt or uncle you saw once a year.
And maybe I should say that I don't have many good memories. Bad ones I have in abundance. Well, we did move around a lot. As in every month or so. I never had a consistent bedroom. They didn't move for jobs and weren't regularly employed. I spent most of my childhood on my own with no adult around. Not even knowing where they were. Lots of time spent with strangers. Lots of memories of being frightened or sick or in pain and no one there.
I always say I sort of grew up by accident. Not by any planning or with any real support. Life was chaos. I can't even say "we" because there was no we. They were never around. They didn't know or care who I played with. Neither one cared if I was picked on or hurt. I've experienced terrible things throughout my life, alone. The few times I tried to tell someone, I was told to quit showing off. I have been left alone in places and situations adults would be afraid to be in. Then when they divorced and had new people, there were more people to endanger. Both of them have been absent from my life for months to years at a time.
What befuddles me the most is how they could or why they would stay so distant. What is it about me that's so off-putting? Also, I never realized how very different my life was to everyone else I have spoken to. Things they take for granted are things I have no experience of. Yet I'm some how able to put myself in their shoes.
I just realized that I personally don't have memories of things. I "recall" things that are actually others' memories. It's like I've only lived vicariously thru others, seen thru their eyes, heard with their ears. I don't know how this is exactly. But it is. I can't call to mind anything like what they describe. All I can think is that I'm a good listener and very empathic. Empathetic in the truest sense of the word. I live "with" other people. Like a shadow that goes everywhere but participates in nothing. And no one knows she's there.
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