Hello Faithful Reader,
I hope this month’s editions of the Black Birdseye View finds you well and in good spirits. The last couple of years have been extremely difficult for me. 2020- 2022 almost broke me. There were moments of complete and utter despair. I cried more in two years than I have cried all my life. I had to talk myself down off the ledge more than I care to admit. I was wounded in ways that made me lose sight of the point of living. I became afraid of my thoughts. That's how I ended up back in therapy. I hadn't talked to a therapist since the late 90s. Until this point, I was self- medicating and soothing, and none of it worked. It took the whole bottom falling out to make me finally take my healing seriously. Before that, I was just healing myself in bits and pieces here and there. I celebrated empty victories because I never got to the source of my trauma, the source of my depression, the source of my anxiety, the source of anything that I embraced that did not allow me to be fully living. I skipped over it and, for a spell, pretended that I was OK. I wasn't OK. I carried the invisible weight of unlimited tears on my shoulders. In my mind, I am always in the back of the room, watching myself knowing how detached I am. I am broken in a way that cannot be repaired. The only thing I can do is learn to live with the reality of my mother. There is no need to wonder why another does as they do. There is no need to wait and hope things work out...no need at all when you can just put the dead weight down and soar. Easier said than done. If you are reading this book, this time, I did it. I did it. I did the one thing that needed to be done, even though it is the one thing that leaves me responsible for forcing my mother to live the reality she created...where I was the prey to her glory or whatever it is that she gained for allowing me to be this way. I'm not fixed. I'm just better able to receive and process information. I am more aware of how long I dwell. I am conscious of the notion of isolation. I'm learning to foresee triggers. This is better than I have ever been before.
“Secrets on a Hill in Chocowinity, NC” is a book about the proverbial elephant in the room. It is about guarding the skeletons in somebody else's closet and sweeping things under the rug. It's about people accustomed to pain, suffering, and pretense on a level that creates legacies of dysfunction. It shows how like whispers passed down the line, truth becomes distorted over time and is replaced with a façade of normalcy.
The thing about "the truth" is it never changes. It can be pushed down and to the side, but it always has a way of resurfacing. People make up excuses to keep the truth a secret. The truth, for some people, is hard to look in the eyes, especially when delusional eyes must be forced open to see.
Know what you are doing when you do it. Everything that heals you will not feel good. I made a choice. All that is left are the chips falling where they may. All the preparation in the world will not prepare you to stand up to the predator that preys. If you decide to do so, be prepared. If you choose to heal yourself, and in doing so, paint people in their true light (that's not good). Be ready to be on the outside. Be prepared to have moments of utter despair from time to time. Be prepared for tears that come when they want to, that you cannot control. Be ready to be unable to look at your eyes in the mirror sometimes because some memories only make you weep. Be prepared for the fallout. The secrets you refuse to keep will tear your heart wide open. Prepare yourself for sorrow like no other because the only thing that can fix it never will. Get used to saying, "I'm OK" when you are not. Be prepared to embrace that pain, not fight it, or just bear it. Be prepared to face the elephant in the room and know you are stronger. Be prepared to walk away from the dysfunction you call family. It is disappointing that sometimes to heal yourself, you must hurt yourself first.
The last words my mother ever said to me were, "Keep it real." How much more real can I be? The night after I saw my mother for the last time, I cried the heaviest tears and heard the "thump" of each one. It was as though I was purging sorrow and disappointment from my being. I wept until my pillow was soaking wet. Then I woke up. Right now, I am aware that when I close my eyes to sleep tonight, it will be done. When I awake in the morn, I will know what it feels like to wake up knowing I did all I could, and now it's out of my hands.
“Secrets on a Hill in Chocowinity, NC” will be available for pre-order in the coming weeks. It would do my heart good if you read it. I will put the link to purchase on my website (www.blackbirdseyeviewnews.us) when it becomes available.
Until next time,
Always,
Robin
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