Sunday Evening stream-of-Consciousness Writing: I can’t save others. I can only save myself, if I can. Can I?

The world is so very messed up that no way do I have the power to fix it.

Am I being negative or just realistic.

Realistic, I think.

So, what am I to do?

To tell you that I love you so.

Wait, what.. what did you just say?

Love. This is what it’s all about. Loving you and you loving me back.

It’s about me being 100% worthy of your trust, your love.

There is no Love without Trust.

Who is saying this?

Me.

Here, I am typing these words. Who is reading? Who is listening? Who cares?

anita

Dear Alessa:

I will reply further in the morning, but for now: I have this feeling that something is wrong: it’s been days since ALL the Original Posts in ALL of the threads since the start of the forums in 2013, all have disappeared. When a new member recently started her own thread, her original post did not show up. There was no notification or update from the website about this.. so, this is very strange.

anita

Late Evening Stream of Consciousness Writing, Whatever comes to Mind:

My goal is to be reunited with myself, following decades-long Fragmentation, a fracture within myself.

I just want me back. I want Integration.

From Repression and Suppression to Expression.

To befriend the estranged me.

Sadly, my fragmentation, self-estrangement, is not unique to me. I see fragmented, self-estranged people every day in real life (in between my online almost-noon streams of consciousness writings and evening writings). I see people yearning to reconnect with themselves.

The fracture within oneself is real, a universal problem which makes any kind of sense of belonging very attractive, such as a life of crime or terrorism. If a person feels a sense of belonging within a gang or a terrorist group, a sense of reconnection with oneself- then that’s the way, all the way to destruction.

I see the fracture originating in childhood: the child needing the parent, but the parent has other priorities, or personal hurts and unfinished business that turns them away from, or against their own child, in one way or another.

The result: a child, shocked. Traumatized. Fragmented.

And the parent may not be able to do any better for their child, fragmented themselves. And the tragedy continues from one generation to the next.

And so it goes, so it is.

anita

Almost Noon-Time Stream of Consciousness Writing-

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how, in the past, I sometimes came across as confrontational and harsh in tone, more corrective than collaborative, even when that was not my intent.

I’m learning to change this.

I’m learning to Transcend this tendency and communication style—to approach conversations with more openness, softness, and intentionality instead of impulsively.

I realize that my directness and intensity may have influenced others to mirror that same harsh tone and confrontational approach toward me. While I know that I am not responsible for others’ words or actions, I want to become more aware of how I contribute to the dynamics of negative interactions.

If my mother were here, reading this thread, this would have been a precious opportunity for her to lash out at me, saying something like: “So you admit it! You ARE harsh and confrontational! I told you all along that you are BAD, and I was right—see?”

And from there, she would continue, listing all the ways she believes I made her life miserable.

This is why it has been so difficult for me to accept any form of criticism—even when it was gentle and appropriate. Over time, I learned to associate criticism with an invitation for further abuse, a cycle that made it nearly impossible to separate constructive feedback from harmful attacks.

I’m working on rewiring that association—so that I can receive feedback without fear, without anticipating pain, and without the weight of past wounds coloring my perception.

Having said that, I have no doubt that there are people—like my mother—who will never relinquish their aggression toward me, no matter what I say or how honestly I express myself. Some remain rigid in their perception, unwilling to shift their view of me, trapped in their own judgment.

People like my mother would not—could not—refuse to listen, unwilling to recognize or acknowledge anything good about me.

The tragedy of my life has been exactly that—a good little girl, forever seen as a bad person by her own mother.

Being told to “get over it” (as I mentioned in my other thread) severely minimizes the lasting impact of a decades-long experience—a child’s relationship with her mother, shaped in isolation because she was the only parental figure in practice, and there were no positive outside influences—no supportive family members, teachers, neighbors—her words and actions became an unyielding force, defining my world without contrast or refuge.

To dismiss that experience so casually is to overlook the depth and permanence of its imprint.

have three childhood memories of receiving support:

My aunt Suzi’s kindness—though she never confronted her sister, my mother.

My uncle Moris’s attention—that one time he asked me what I felt or thought about something. No one had ever asked me that before.

Rosie, the neighbor, who protested against something my mother was doing to me, saying: “This is not good for her.” I remember her exact words because, before that moment, no one had ever expressed care about what was good or not good for me.

But these moments were not enough to counter or offset the overwhelming influence my mother had on my psyche.

Bringing it back to the present, I am doing my very best to continue to heal from that overwhelming negative influence. My healing efforts are working, and criticism will not accelerate the process—in fact, it can only hurt me, slowing my progress or even halting it entirely.

I grew up receiving so much criticism—or rather, growing inward, as I withdrew from life—that more of it could never do me any good.

However, honest, constructive, and gentle feedback about how I come across to you is different from criticism. That, I welcome.

anita

Dear Alessa,

Thank you so much for your kind words—they truly mean a lot to me and brought my first 😊 to my face this early Saturday morning.

I really appreciate you reminding me that even small interactions add up over time. More than just numbers, it’s the connection, the shared thoughts, and the mutual support that make this space truly meaningful.

Your encouragement is a gift. Thank you for seeing and acknowledging what I sometimes overlook.

I hope you’re doing well—I always appreciate hearing from you! ❤️

anita

The longing hums, a quiet, loud plea,
A wish for warmth, for depth, for We.

Like stars that speak beyond the night.

The longing hums, a whispered plea,
For arms that hold, for eyes that see.

A word, a step, a reaching hand,
A space where hearts can understand.
Beyond the silence, past the doubt,
A light that flickers, burning out.

We touch, we break, we long to be.

anita

* no, no: no longer suited to jumping, I am definitely suited for dancing 💃🕺🎶🎉✨