The Separator

She carved me away like a blade to stone,
Splitting me from the world, from feeling at home.
Not just from music, or voices once known,
But from myself—left exiled, alone.

For decades, silence stood in her place,
Echoing loudly, erasing my space.
She took my belonging, my right to be whole,
Leaving a hollow, a severed soul.

And they said— Move on. Forget. Get over it.
As if pain obeys the passing of time,
As if wounds fade without leaving scars,
As if absence doesn’t still whisper in the dark.

Yet here I stand, truth in my hands,
No longer unseen, no longer damned.
My voice rises, unshaken, unbound,
She may have divided, but I am found.

anita

Continued:

It’s the strangest feeling—this awakening. To realize I was frozen in my youth, trapped there for more than half a century, and now, finally, waking up emotionally. Finding myself a beginning teenager in an older woman’s body—it’s… unbelievable. Bizarre. But not in the detached way that kept me frozen for decades.

I am not sorry for awakening, even though it comes late in life. It’s worth it—to rejoin life.

With this awakening, my hunger to socialize, to connect has returned with intensity, like a hunger for oxygen.

I see everyone—however old—as children playing, or wanting to play, on the playground. Wanting to be liked, to be acknowledged. SEE ME, HERE I AM! PLAY WITH ME!

But it’s a shame—too many people (and even one is too many) feel the need to put a stop to others’ living and thriving, trapping them in uncalled for, unjustified, abusive guilt and shame.

Someone reading this very post—my own words in my own space—may feel the urge to attack, to rain on my parade of awakening for no reason other than their own bitterness. I need to be prepared for that: an unjustified, uncalled-for attack… simply because someone feels like it.

This fear ties back to “The Betrayal”—the first two words of this thread’s title. I don’t know why it is, and it enrages me, that someone, somewhere, carries it in their mind and (lack of) heart to crush the joy of others. To rain on the parade of children—whether still youthful or awakened back into youth at any age.

I want to be prepared so to not be crushed, again.

anita

Continued (Trigger Warning): I have a problem with submitting to aggressors, going belly-up, as in, “I am at your mercy, Do with me as you Please, But Please, Pretty please, Don’t kill me!”

This kind of submission is so very humiliating. I don’t ever want to submit that way!

Anger is a natural emotion, it has a positive motivation: to protect the individual, and the group- to protect from harm, from untimely death.

I have lots of anger in me because I spent over half a century in the position of belly-up- submitting to my mother whom I perceived to have been my victim (because she told me so)- Crazy, because I was her victim while she portrayed herself as the Eternal Victim.

There is Anger that builds up as you spend too much time in the belly-up position.

Now, I am expressing this here, in my own thread, my own space. No need to attack me here, is there?

Living with my mother- there was no space for me, no space for my hurt, no space for my anger. None Allowed.

She Attacked me for .. feeling anything that inconvenienced her, anything that triggered her (and so much, so often triggered her).

I pushed down my feelings, suppressing them best I could, but it was so very difficult to contain the hurt, and more so, the.. anger.

It’s amazing how she’d tell me: “You are a Nobody, a Big Zero!” and then condemn me for feeling anger at being a Big Zero.. accusing me of not being.. humble enough to accept being a-big-zero..?

There was nothing that stopped her from attacking me, nothing… My mother was the most vicious person I have ever known, personally. And this is the truth, my truth: I heard of and read of evil people like Hitler, and current Hammas, but personally, one-2-one, I have only known one evil person, and that’s my mother.

I still see her, in my mind’s eye, looking at me with those very dark, black eyes and that mild smile, looking at me and saying these words, or no words: “I hate you! I will make you hurt, and I will enjoy your pain because I deserve this pleasure, because this is the least you can do for me- to allow me to enjoy your pain!”

This was- is my mother. This is my “loving”, “protecting” mother. It boggles my mind.. it’s so very difficult to put together- my own Mother, the only one I had- with Evil.

It’s Thursday night here. I am sharing this not to be judged as a bad daughter, a bad person, but to share that .. I would have been and done ANYTHING to help and better my mother.. only she didn’t, wouldn’t.. wouldn’t. Just wouldn’t.. what’s the word.. wouldn’t stop HATING me. Her one constant, message: “You anita, are a Big Zero, and worse, a Negative that deserves to DIE!”

How can I process this.. that my own mother has been my worst enemy?

It’s mind boggling. I see her now, in my mind’s eye, and she is looking at me with nothing but HATE. And that is what I internalized: Hate-for-Me.

I remember two adult women holding her, preventing her from getting to me as she screamed like a wounded animal: “I will kill her!’, me, that is. I remember: “I will kill her!”, or was it: “I will murder her!”

I was maybe 10, maybe younger.

I don’t remember the rest of that “lovely” evening, but I know the two adult women (an aunt and a neighbor) left and there I was left with the one who threatened murder.

That night, as in every night, I didn’t know if I’d live or die.

Every night it was liken that: will I live or die?

I tried my best, in my little-girl ways to help her.

But her black, unforgiving eyes were.. what’s the word when there are no words, that blackness in her eyes.. what’s the word or words, MURDER is what comes to mind. She hated me that much.

Yes, she hated me that much. This is truth: she hated me that much.

At night, I would listen to sounds: is she getting close, closer to me, is she about to kill me? How, what does it mean, to be killed?

anita