Continued:

It is amazing how it happens that a child tries so hard to reach a parent, to reach an understanding, a validation, a meeting of the minds, and fails, and fails.. and fails.

How, loving my mother so much, how did it happen, how could it happen, that she translated what I sent her- love and efforts to connect-.. how did it happen that she viewed it as me attacking her, trying to hurt her feelings..?

How can love be so terribly lost in translation..?

The translating brain feeling attacked, it counter-attacks..

But I didn’t attack you, mother!

Mother says: yes you did, and your denial of what I say.. is a lie! How dare you lie to me? You.. (*** *** ****)

But mother..

but mother..

Oh, there is no mother.

Oh.. there is no mother.

The only way to get along with this woman holding the label Mother.. is to lie down belly up and say: whatever you say, mother, whatever you say is true: I am this worthless, hateful and hating creature you say I am.

So treat me accordingly.

Have a little mercy on me though.. please, because I am lying on my back, belly up, showing complete submission to.. you.

Thing is, dear reader, I swear: no submission was ever good-enough for her. There were always more accusations, more shaming, more guilt-tripping. This is why I never settled into submission, why there was still a rebel within me through all these years: not because I was a hero, but because she did not reward my submission.

anita

Continued: It’s the real thing, it is really happening: free, finally confident in myself, finally.. not so, oh so sensitive about others’, anyone’s, and no one in particular’s  judgments of me.. oh, the RELIEF.. finally, being okay with me being me, finally. Being me is okay with me.

anita

Continued: how strange life is, how very strange: difficult to adjust to how odd and how, oh so often, how unacceptable reality is. And yet, accepting it is the only option that can, maybe, maybe, oh please, maybe  lead to a better, more acceptable reality, a reality where Crazy is not the Normal.

Growing up in Crazy, and realizing today (again) that the world is profoundly Crazy (it’s like a dream, a bad dream): how, why are people so cruel to other people, like the Assad people in Syria, in the news, crushing people’s bodies in between two metal surfaces, throwing acid on people’s faces.. really, how Crazy can Crazy get.

Crazier than anyone’s imagination can get.

How did humanity get so Wrong, so Cruel.. is there a way to Right and Good, good.. what a lovely word, good.

My heart is breaking tonight for all the people suffering unspeakable sufferings by other people.

I am almost, most recently, overcoming my sufferings created by my own mother, but knowing there is so much more cruelty, so widespread. I don’t know: what can I do, how can I help, how can I make a difference..?

anita

Continued: following reading a member’s story told in his own words, his unique wordings, I have a fresh, new understanding of my relationship with my emotions: it has been an adversarial relationship, having treated my emotions (my not “pretty” emotions) as if they were enemy to be destroyed. I allowed no space for my emotions to breathe and tell me their valid messages.

Suppressed, constricted, suffocated, my emotions were abused. By me. An abuse originated by.. (you guessed it, if you are following my posts) by my mother who attacked, shammed, blamed and crucified my emotions.

It is my job, my responsibility now to give my emotions air to breathe, space to exist.

And to allow your emotions as well, to breathe; to allow them space, in these forums, space to exist.

What a constricted life one lives when one’s emotions are constricted.

I am sitting here this Tues afternoon, it’s getting dark although it’s not yet 4 pm. I was hoping to be around people at this time, socializing (my favorite thing to do), but it’s not to be this afternoon.

It’s windy and rainy outside, foggy and almost dark. You can hear the wind and see, through the large windows that surround me the many cedar trees moving with the wind. Movement is nature’s way; constricted, suppressed, deadened (yet not yet dead) is sickness’s way.

I feel alive these days simply for my emotions being allowed some space. Emotions, Energy in Motion, are like the wind. They must flow. Otherwise.. what happens to a constricted, blocked wind..?

anita

Continued: There is so much newness entering my awareness recently, entering and staying, that the woman I was obsessed with for more than half a century and whom I did not hear or see in more than a decade, is finally fading away from my previously poor, exhausted brain, allowing it (my brain) to.. come alive again (again, I say, because I assume- although I do not remember- starting life feeling ALIVE).

Finally, there is me: here I AM. Not: here (in my awareness) she-is.

Out of a half a century (I am that old) of enmeshment.

Oh, HERE I AM.

anita

Continued: what a crazy life, a crazy world… crazy, oh too crazy.

Sanity in the midst of crazy is… what’s the word? Exceptional, miraculous?

The FEAR in a little girl’s heart, the fear in me decades later, an old… no, no, I am not old. I am still this little girl, scared.

My life suspended, frozen in a half a century of life that’s waiting to be LIVED.

A little girl screaming so that someone will hear her.

No one hears.

Now, I am starting to hear so many others screaming, first loudly, then… silently,

Screaming to be heard.

We are millions, billions of people screaming to be heard- loudly at first, and then silently.

The yearning to be heard, to be noticed, to be understood, to be… oh, how precious it could be, to be respected.

Me? Being respected… me???

If you are reading this, are you judging me negatively?

If you are, it’s okay, I have judged you, I misunderstood you too.

Humanity Misunderstanding Humanity has been the Theme of Humanity for too long.

I was born in a country known as Israel.

To a lost man born in Romania, and a lost woman born in Morocco.

Neither one capable of hearing me, neither one was heard by their elders.

And so, the Unheard Legacy fed itself.

Unheard and not hearing others, humans can and do become monsters,

Human Monsters.

I am in the mix of Victim and Monster, and I want to be neither.

I understand now. I understand how universal my pain is and has been. I understand that there is no such thing as too much empathy.

There’s been too little of it for too long.

It’s not about going belly up/ submitting, and it is not about angrily attacking others.

It’s about…

anita

Continued: Christmas Eve, Dec 24, 2024, 12-24-224: never again this combination 0f 1,2,4 to recurr. Just as- after you, after me- there will never be anyone like you, no one again like me. We are .. each of us is one of a kind, never to recur.

It is amaZing, isn’t it, how unique you are.. and yet, when we are gone, there will be another million of people, unique individuals who are to follow us, billions of unique ones to follow (if global- warming allows).

anita