After working diligently with my therapist for the past year, I'm on the road to clearing away the pain of the past and commit fully to my new marriage to Highway. He's been so patient with me, so kind and loving, working with our therapist as well, striving towards the same goal. We are making progress; slow, painful progress. Some days are gut wrenching and some days are so bad I wish they were only gut wrenching. Throwing myself off of our 8th floor terrace crosses my mind more than I wish it would.
But this particular sobbing/choking episode was different. For the first time, it all made sense. With eyes slammed shut, sobs pouring from my soul deep within, I saw her face. I felt her hands around my throat, her tiny little hands. The weight of her body pressed on my chest as she sat on me, holding me down. I could feel her spit as the words of hate spewed from her mouth.
"Stop crying! Stop crying RIGHT NOW! No one wants to hear your shit. . ."
At 4'11", my mother is one of the tiniest people I've ever known, but certainly the meanest. A childhood of abuse has left me scarred and locked within my own emotional prison. Not just the abuse at her hands, but the torment she allowed others to commit to my tiny body. The parade of men who had their way with me at her consent. The stepfather who beat me with a bread board at the age of 7, the "friend" she allowed to rape me at the age of 13, and then all the others that came for years after.
I couldn't let anyone in to love, with the exception of my daughter that I raised. I gave my entire heart and soul to my girl, even staying with a miserable-excuse-of-a-husband because she loved him and needed him so. When she grew up, moved away and subsequently voiced her own hurt and anger with my parental shortcomings, I died inside. The one and only person I had ever loved, ever tried to love with all I had to give, now hated me for all of my failures.
My walls grew up even higher, the prison of stone I kept my heart and soul behind. The little girl I had been who was still starving for love and acceptance lived in the dank, dark world of her own, destined for a lifetime of solitude. How could I be loved if I wouldn't let anyone in? I couldn't trust anyone to be tender, kind and caring of my little girl inside. How could I? Most everyone I had ever met proved to be untrustworthy. I felt abandoned, neglected and alone.
Then I met Highway. I saw in him what I saw in me. A broken man, an injured child, a frightened soul. A lonely person in a crowd of a thousand friends. Afraid to love, afraid to be intimate, afraid to be hurt. We saw within one another and questioned, "Should I dare? Should I dare try?"
We climbed on Blackbird together and rode like the wind. On Blackbird there is no pain, there is no fear. She's our passport to Nirvana. She knows the magic road, the secret path to safety. On Blackbird we are free children. Free to laugh and giggle, to love and be loved. We are free from the walls that imprisoned us, free to run from all of the sorrow of our respective childhoods.
Beautiful Blackbird knows the way to make us smile and heal our hearts. I grasp Highway's hips as he grasps the handlebars with authority. He turns our lives and souls over to Beautiful Blackbird, consenting to her will. Squeezing him gently, he squeezes back on her throttle and we fly. The three of us become one and away we fly. Soon Blackbird will lead the way, teaching Katie Scarlet the secret path to our happiness. Katie Scarlet will follow, as I follow Highway, along the road to our future.
No one can hurt us on Blackbird. No one can catch us. No one knows us and we become shadows of what we used to be. Together we three fly like the wind. Fly us away Beautiful Blackbird, fly us away.
Tina:
ReplyDeleteI think that growing up in less than ideal circumstances makes us more understanding, considerate and compassionate towards others.
You cannot always dwell on your past. Time to let go and move forward with your new life together. It is lucky you have found someone with the same desires.
bob
Riding the Wet Coast
I grew up in less than ideal circumstance too. Mine were different from your circumstances…but still not ideal. My mother at least did the best she could and I knew she loved me.
ReplyDeleteListen to Bob; he always has encouraging thoughts to pass on. I feel like I almost know him. He was one of the first few people who commented on my blog when I first started blogging and he has always been there with a good word for me, even when my blog got boring with unemployment and health issues that kept me away from my ride.