Sunday, June 22, 2008

The part that I deleted

***Yay, for Google Cache. The part I inadvertently deleted. I feel better even if the story makes no sense. From  now on, I will use Microsoft Word or Works to type these bits. I was beginning to think it was my Karma and self-defeating personality that was sabotaging any attempts at writing.

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When I was 18, I took what little money I had and walked out the door thinking never to return. I swore off marriage. I was going to be a free spirit. But what did I know about being a free spirit? About as much as I knew about marriage and both have been a long and winding path that more often than not, concluded with a big dead end. A dead end that was a giant cliff. My choices, go back or jump. Why didn't I just jump? Going back certainly never worked. Would the net have appeared if my fear hadn't overtaken? Were my fears even warranted? Those questions can never be answered but here I am, at the cusp of turning that magical 50, facing yet another dead end. Do I jump? Do I go back? To answer those questions, I'll have to tell you the story that brought me here. Not the most exciting story, but it is mine.

Life as a small child is a blur. I don't remember any specific events. I remember a sadness. I remember whispered fights between my parents and feeling somehow at fault. I remember being just so different from my siblings. Always, I was quiet. My best friends were my stuffed animals and our dog, a little guy that more often than not would bite your hand. He was my dog, though, and never bit me. No, he looked after me until the day he died. I cried privately, where no one could see me. That made me appear cold and uncaring but I learned at an early age, it's best not to reveal what hurts.

My sister, a few years older, could take your innermost fears and torment you in ways you never could imagine. Were we a normal family? What is normal? Our family never really stood beside you unless it was to wait for you to fall and in doing so, have more to torment and use against you.

Dad worked hard and expected the same from his children. We learned to never over look even the smallest corners when cleaning. When Dad was home, Mom was always much more tense. Perhaps because she had to be both a wife and a mother.

1 comment:

Shirley said...

Yay!!!!!!