I remember that I reached one chapter in one of the previous manuscripts I am working of for “The Demise of Mildred” series during which I struggled – really struggled – to get through it. I did get through it. I will need to face that chapter and its contents again as I move through editing stages. But right now I am more concerned with finishing another chapter for the manuscript I am working on now that I found to be equally as difficult as that other one.
This chapter will also need editing in the future, but for now I leave it behind and move forward. It was at the point toward the end of it as I struggled through my commentary about what my mother wrote about my 6-week checkup that I fell down. I know I fell down. I am not at all happy with what I have written there. So I have to remind myself it’s OK to not be able to find words sometimes, especially when the title of this book is (as it has morphed again), “Story Without Words: The invisible silence of Mildred’s abuse of me.”
Why would I think that it would be easy for me to give words to a story about my severely abusive mother as I write about me being a newborn? Feel free to read this if you like, adding any comments you might care to make directly at the end of this link:
In this chapter I do my best – again not good enough as far as I am concerned – at describing how I now see the operation of my Borderline Personality Disorder Mother’s psychotically abusive mind.
I look forward to the future. My professional editing daughter is going to take the week off work after Christmas to edit toward epublishing this manuscript and “The Up Down Mountain Waltz” manuscript. We still need to get the photographs worked out for these books, which will hopefully also be done by this week my daughter will do her end of this job.
I wish us all well!! At this moment I just feel sad. So very very very very SAD!!! I pulled myself back today from another piece I was writing because my sense of helplessness and powerless during what was done to me so MANY times over so MANY years was more than I could bear to have touch me – today. Will I go back to the writing of that part of my story later? I do not know. I am clear that there are parts of my invisible silent story that will always have to stay that way. I am clear about what degree of suffering from my abuse history I am willing to experience today – and believe me – it isn’t much.
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