It has been nearly two and a half years since I made this blog, intending to faithfully chronicle my experience with helping to send my father to jail, my recovery from an abusive childhood, and exploring my feelings about it all. Along the way I got dumped by a man I was in an open relationship with, and I also faced the reality of being “dumped” by my family, literally and figuratively, practically since birth. I also had a breakdown – there’s no other words for it, because I stopped functioning, leaving my house, eating, interacting with life, and I also took time off work. I’m pretty sure it was a breakdown, though I didn’t end up in a psych ward.
At some point early on in the journey, I found this blog too painful and confronting for me to update. Exploring painful memories, whilst struggling to make sense of a long history of being abandoned by just about every person I loved in my life, and dealing with the fallout of it all, caused me to become afraid, and unwilling to engage with people. It took all of my energy just to continue to go to work so I wouldn’t starve, to attend counselling because I desperately wanted to heal from the wounds others (and myself) had inflicted on me; to live.
So I stopped journaling.
I’m unsure why I kept this blog online. Perhaps because I uploaded so much of my creative work, and maybe I didn’t want my words and recollections, painful though some of it is, to be lost to the ether. I spent so much of my young life trying to get “lost”, to disappear, particularly when around my abusive father, or when newly arrived to a foster home, or another strange family that had me foisted upon them; that I didn’t want something else in my life to disappear. So I left it here, hoping that my words might comfort somebody.
And I feel there’s so much more for me to write yet. I sometimes feel terrible anger towards members of my family, and I know I am still dealing with this. Every bad thing in my life can be traced back to my family. It helps me to process by writing things down.
I’m pleased to say that I’m good, nowadays. I held down my job though the fracturing, and I’ve mostly kept the same small circle of friends. I lost a lot of my family – I don’t keep in contact, not even with my bipolar sister whom I’ve cared for in my home at various times – and I’m still working out what to do with this “family” – these people who are strangers. Life isn’t perfect, but I’m still here, still chugging along. I don’t have that much longer to go with counselling, I’m at the point where my counsellor is about to ask me: “Is it time to apply for more funding to continue our sessions?” and I’m feeling like I don’t need that crutch any longer. We’ll see.
That’s it for now.