Writing is so therapeutic, yes? Like if I write down all the swirling thoughts and emotions they become more real. I didn’t think I needed any more validation. Hmmm. Who TF am I kidding? I’m a TRUTH junkie, crave it to my core…Maybe I write to connect with just that one person out there who may be struggling with being separate from bad, horrible, unreality, destructive energy – even if it is your parent. Even if it is the person who raised you, provided you with food, shelter, clothing. Are we indebted? NAH. Does this Mom/Dad have rights to your mind, thoughts? control over your life choices? body? The right to use you as a servant, use your energy to fill himself/herself because he/she is hopelessly empty, devoid of emotion, filled with fear, hate, devouring, control, crazy?
If I stayed a loyal servant, paying with my heart, body and mind, I am sure I would no longer exist. Separation saved my life. 100% sure of this. My soul no longer could withstand the insult, the snuffing out of my light, the no right to exist unless serving her needs. Separation is very difficult – especially when you are groomed to give up everything you are just to be noticed, loved, safe. I was trapped in a family unit that was suffocating and isolative. So many unspoken rules, to honor the Queen. If you stepped out of line or spoke unflatteringly of her – you felt her wrath. Even if it was the dead-nuts truth. She could deny and eventually convince everyone around that the lie is the truth. Nobody dare challenge her. No-one.
At the end, I absolutely got drunk off of watching her squirm. She could no longer control me and silence me. Her unreality meaningless to me. I exposed her game, her insanity. Unfortunately, my siblings chose the queen. And still do. Their allegiance is solid. I have been betrayed/tricked by all of them over the years. I wanted to believe someone would join me in sanity… still, I sit and wait.
So now, as the queen suffers from horrible physical ailments, I sit, unphased. I might react more if you told me a stranger down the street was ill. The queen, tragically has taught me that everything she does is a trick – just to reel me back in when I’ve strayed. Her existence is a big trap – just waiting for me to take the bait and be consumed once again. Me, drowning in lies and fabrications about reality. This would bring a fat smug smile to her wrinkled lips. The satisfaction of once again, capturing the “lost sheep” as she so grossly refers to me.
So even in your pain, my queen, I am separate. Not available. Not loyal. Not listening. Not honoring. Just separate. Just alive. Just celebrating – the absence of your influence on my life…. And suffering, let me tell you, suffering is the catalyst for growth – you, my queen, have taught me this. I paid attention. I have learned sooooo much from you – even if you hate it. You did good, better than you’ll ever know. Thank-you my queen.
A Fish Named Karen 