Family. Pain.

It’s been awhile since I have written. Clearly. Between med changes and life changes it always seems impossible to keep steady footing. What gets left in the dust? The creative stuff. My writing, my art, my music. Even my journaling slowed way down and that is unheard of. I enjoy writing because for the most part I am not worried about how it sounds. It’s the only time I can hear myself talk in my head where I don’t sound like trash. It’s like there is some secret person in there who knows how to talk but never shows up when I open my mouth. I also hate writing because it’s my egg doner’s outlet. I don’t want to be like her, and I struggle to know that no matter how hard I try I will always bare some resemblance to her and her flavor of crazy. I have been thinking about what family has always been to me and I think the answer to that is, pain. Family has always been pain. My heart hurts from the things my family has said and done or not said and done to me, with me, for me. I have always been invisible and that’s just the way it is. I mean I existed in the way I was able to fill whatever role they needed me to play that day. They told me how I felt, what I thought, and who I was. And I would have died for any of them. Why? Why was I never important enough to be apologized to? Why am I still not important enough to be apologized to? Why am I so tired from fighting to keep relationships going in my life when the people I fight for never fight back to keep me around? Where are the people who would have my back in this life? It’s no surprise to know I was sexually abused during very young years in my life. One of my uncles was one of the predators. As I have sought out answers within my family over the years it has been made very clear that the family knew of issues this uncle dealt with. He was clearly a child predator. This didn’t stop my family from having him over for holiday parties and other gatherings. He’s dead now but I wish he wasn’t. I wish I could address him now in the flesh. I wish someone would have addressed him then in the flesh. Maybe it would have stopped the abuse. Maybe I would have seen that I was important enough to protect even if it called for uncomfortable discussions between the adults. I promise those conversations would be less uncomfortable than the abuse I endured. I am still uncomfortable but I am so glad none of the adults had to be adults. THERE’S that sarcasm. Can’t write without some of that sprinkled within. My uncle’s wife sat along side him the entire time he abused children and said NOTHING. NOTHING. IN GOD’S NAME. The interesting thing is she still goes to the family reunions. She is still accepted while I am forgotten and talked shit about. That’s how MY family works. And this is why I choose to stay away from most of them. Those who never protected me, never apologized to me, never loved me, never stood up for me, never wanted anything for me other than destruction. Well, while I still struggle to make it to shore I won’t be doing it with anyone who doesn’t actually care about me. And I am not crazy or wrong. I am me. And all of me is valid. If anyone has a problem with that they can either come fight me or stay the fuck away from me.