I’ve always felt I didn’t belong to anyone or anything. I was an outcast, even the outcasts thought I was strange I think.

I didn’t have friends until high school. Jr. High was very very long for me, until I met Penny right before 9th grade. Before Penny- I talked to, looked at noone all day. On weekends when friends did things, I went to my nana and paps house.

Lonliness is really the theme of those years, that and outcast. I drank. Vodka in drink containers.

Who does belong?? I used to think that I just had to say or do or wear the right thing, then suddenly I would belong. Now that wasn’t ever going to happen. THere is no right thing, no right word.

I am different I am a we, I suffered abuse bad enough to cause splits in my mind. And yes abuse is subjective….. Still it was bad enough for me. That makes my life different than all others. I was different, thus how I felt. I got used to it I guess.

Maybe I even loved that being different for awhile. I was abused- i’m different than you, special.

But now?? I will always be abused, No I will always carry that with me, But it won’t be a visible part of me, won’t be what all see immediately. What then I won’der will they see. What would I want them to see? I have no idea. It’s soemthjing Im suppoosed to journal/think on for therapy. Also am to dialogue with Cheyenne. Hopefully the other thing, will come back to me.

I feel like i’ve lost my identity as the survivor/victim/healing person

and it’s good to loose that identity. It’s good to not need to wear it ALL THE TIME anymore. I keep it handy as I know I am not done with it totally.

Now Though I feel naked, raw to the world, exposed in every way. With no idea what to do or where to turn.

I have this life, hubby, child, pets. I am wife, mom, not for me though. Titles I take on for the benefit of others. What about me??? What am i for me? I am a reader and a cross-stitcher, an exerciser. Those aren’t me though are they?? Just things I like. So then what and where is me????

Thoughts anyone?

I don’t know if I have a porpose. Maybe not.


2 responses »

  1. I've had this open all day long. I keep coming to it and sort of feel overwhelmed because I could say so much but then don't really know how to begin or what is needful. Rather than try to figure out the perfect thing to say, I'm just going to start typing and maybe something will click. But I'm going to be a bit stream-of-consciousness here so if one paragraph doesn't seem to logically flow from the previous one, it probably doesn't.Teenaged angst is deeply rooted in this realization of wanting to be part of the whole but being unique within it. I, personally, have never understood what people mean when they say I am strange or weird. How is being myself either strange or weird? Is it not more peculiar for any two people to be alike when we know that we are all our own people, unique individuals? To me it is far more strange to suggest there is anything weird about being unique.Most women reach a point in time when they don't know who they are, so lost are they in being a wife, mother, daughter, etc. Are we defined by our roles? Should we be defined by them? Or should we be defining ourselves while allowing the roles to inform us? Our essential "us"? In my journal I often find myself working through the dross to get to the gold of my being.Admittedly, on some statistical level, you (all of you) may be "more" unique than not. Albeit, more unique is an oxymoron. You are unique. Period. Not more so. But should we be defined by statistics? If statistically there are fewer sufferers of child abuse than there are those who grew up in typical homes, does that define you? Not just a part of you but the whole of you? Surely it does define some, not all, in the way my childhood defines some of me. In Buddhism there is a meditation where the practitioner pauses to ask "Who am I?" This article suggests one form of this meditation: could also be done in a journal, now that I think of it.)For a mantra/Buddhist approach: key to asking the question is to allow all answers and to keep asking, the way a child will ask "Why?" over and over again.Who am I?The body/mind will want to answer in some way.Who am I?Not denying the previous answer, the meditation pushes through the immediate seeking something deeper, something more. something essential.

  2. interesting the first paragraph. I think for us the feeling of strangeness, of weirdness comes from outside of ourselves. People- parents for instance commenting on our strangeness, people looking at us weird upon hearing different voices from the same body. But then I think and wonder- perhaps the idea of us being weird is our own. That could very well be a huge part of this. We were talking about this with Carolyn last week, our therapist. It is as though we are only a wife, only a mother. And there is no us, no anything else, no me, no we. And we wonder, no we know that is not enough. We love being moms don't misunderstand but we need more, need apart time, and we feel oh so guilty for that. I think we have always felt defined by our roles. Moreso always been what others wanted/needed us to be. Now that we are working our ways away from that, there is a sense of being lost, a sense of how do we even begin to do different. I think for awhile being victims, being survivors did totally define us. But now?? no it doesn't. It is like you say a part of us, but not the whole, by far. Thanks for the links. We will have a look see at them.

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