I can’t tell if I’m losing ground on my book writing project or not. I fear that I am. I fear I will give up completely.
The woman, Joe Anne, who knew Mildred from her August 1957 arrival in Alaska until her death in 2003 just called me and talked for 1 1/2 hours about her history with my psychotic abusive Borderline Personality Disorder mother. Joe Anne just finished reading book 4 of Mother’s writings to be published in the Mildred’s Mountain series, The Up Down Mountain Waltz. Joe Anne had a lot to say, but I am not sure today was the day I wanted to hear things like my father very nearly killed his wife twice after I left home. (I know the abuse done to me prevented Mother from turning on Father and then he on she until after I left home — one helluva burden for me — I was only a CHILD!)
This conversation coupled with how clear it became to me through my brother’s visit that he is so NOT PRESENT in any possible way with me in my writing work about our family leaves me at this moment having my memories of being SO ALONE with the abuse I suffered for 18 years while my siblings lived their entire different all-good life in Mother’s psychotic split world.
I felt so alone as a child because I WAS alone. I feel so alone now with this writing because I AM alone. Why should my siblings care? Why should they have cared then and why should they care now?
I have one of five siblings who can tolerate even thinking about Mother. She has told me she will talk/write something at some point down the road, but she is busy with her own life. At least her support helps me.
I was not prepared to have this reaction to spending last week with my brother. If I can’t get past how I feel right now what needs to be written next will never be written. I am OK with taking a break now — but I have no way of knowing if I am headed toward abandoning my work or toward finding a new place inside of myself to return to it. If I have lost my way I would say the timing of my brother’s visit was devastating to me.
If I become swallowed in the family denial my book writing is done for. I am dangerously close to giving up. I knew I needed at least one of the nine books in the editing queue to be finalized and epublished to help carry me forward in this awful work. My daughter is too busy to give any time to this project. This has been very, very difficult for me. I wait. Those books wait. And I have always known there is a line beyond which — if I cross it — I will NEVER finish these books.
Where is my commitment and determination? I feel as though I’ve been hit head on. I fear I have crashed. Yes I am strong, but without even the remotest encouragement or remotest interest, concern, compassion, support or assistance from my siblings I am not sure today that I am strong enough to write what needs yet to be said.
My siblings suffered. We all had an insane Mother. But as the child chosen to be the target of Mildred’s psychotic abuse my suffering so far surpasses theirs that I cannot understand why they would not WANT to help me in any way that they could. I am deluded. I live in an idealized world. This one is real.
I am feeling discouraged. Stupid for caring or trying. Is this a low spot I am in or is this a bottom? I am angry, feeling my siblings have turned their back on me as surely as Mildred made sure that they did while we were growing up.
Maybe I am damn sick of caring.
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