Certainly, the most significant change in the past year and a half for me is when I feel I was drained of what little personal strength I had left in me.
Having heard nothing from my guardian Linda for about a year, in the summer of 2014, I decided to try and be the bigger person and approach her. Despite all of the bullshit forever etched in my childhood by her and Ed, at this point there was still a sick, strong urge for familiar comfort. Even now, the fact that there is no different way to really word it sickens me. So many feelings that run to the very core of ones being lack satisfactory definition by words.
I met with her twice, both of us having friends with us, both for support, and secondly but unspoken, as witnesses perhaps. I brought my friend Bella on the first occasion, my friend Kay on the second, and my husband of course was there for support on both occasions.
Neither time seemed to make any head way.
While my friends had heard from me of many times of abuse from my childhood and teen years from both Ed and especially Linda...I suppose seeing it upfront, both in Linda's pretentious and unashamed attitude, and her callous and cool admittance to years of physical, emotional, and mental abuse...was a very eye opening experience for them into why I am always so guarded and closed off to people.
I felt nauseated when, during the first visit, Linda, in her usual pretension, played up the victim role, dramatically clinging to the persona of a mother to an overly difficult adopted child. More directed and spoken towards her friend, making it clear who she was trying to convince. I then brought up the constant over the top abuse, the fact that it had gone on as long as I could remember at that point (2-3 years of age) and that it had likely started soon after the actual adoption, days after I was born. I brought up key moments and memories of being on the floor, getting beaten by her...rage clouding her expression, like she wasn't seeing me, like all she saw was evil, a nasty little problem to pummel and smother out. The fact that I still had nightmares of that particular time along with other incidents; years of memories to draw from don't help. It's quite hard then of course to describe the feeling one gets deep inside once bringing up such raw emotional pain, to ask if she admitted to it, and for the emotion to cut out of her face, replaced by a cold steely glare as she replies, "Yes."
For the immediate and obvious plain fact, to her, it doesn't mean a damn thing.
Which brings me then to the final blow.
The final blow that brought me down...
Before this occurred, I still felt it was worth trying to salvage some form of relationship with Linda, as sick of an idea as it was.
Mid September of 2014, I received a text from Linda's friend, "Your Mom wanted me to let you know your grandfather has just passed away." I texted back that Linda wasn't my mother but thanked her for letting me know about my grandfather.
My grandfather had always been the male figure I looked up to most when I was growing up. Even when he and my grandmother became born again Christians, he always remained his usual quiet self and never preached to me or professed, like my grandmother and many others in the extended family, that I brought demons wherever I went. I'll never know for certain of course, whether or not he believed that I was hell bound from his perspective, but frankly it was kindness enough that regardless of what his opinion was, he kept it to himself.
Knowing how ostracized I was from the entire family over mental health, religious differences, and simply the fact for some that I was adopted, all together made me understand that the best thing for both myself and the rest of the family would be to make no attempts to go to the funeral. As someone who tends to think up ways that "the worst" could happen in the attempts to possibly avoid such situations, I had the idea of showing up and being glared at and being made to feel unwelcome.
Ha!
How wrong I was, thinking of that being the worst case scenario...
Trying to find some outlet for grief, I posted on my Facebook a status briefly mentioning the passing of my grandfather and that I hoped to visit his grave when I eventually could as it was hours away in another town.
In order to ascertain the information as to where he was to be buried, I sent a brief and succinct text to Linda inquiring the information, she replied and I left it with a thank you and a poignant goodbye.
A few hours later, I checked my Facebook and found that Linda's friend had taken the liberty to insinuate herself into the matter in frankly one of the rudest ways I would have never imagined if I had not experienced it as a possibility in social etiquette. She claimed that I was selfish for expressing an interest in going to the funeral when I was being so rude to Linda for things done in the past, that I was encroaching on Linda's right to solace and to grieve her father's death in peace,and that if I was thinking of showing up at the funeral to not because I was not welcome there.
A mixture of sad, hollow anger filled me; I replied with razor words, meaning to slice through the absolute cruelty and lack of compassion with the truth that this outsider was claiming some impossible perception of.
I wasn't selfish for wanting an apology for the years of abuse. I never had any intention or even a feasible way to get to the funeral, let alone the volumes that this also spoke to me about how little anyone had cared to know me, since it had always been common knowledge that I couldn't handle big family events and that I never went out of my way ever to be at them. And as for leaving Linda alone, she was at this point, after sending some stranger to banish me from my grandfather's funeral on her behalf, as far as I am concerned, she's dead to me.
My spirit has felt shattered ever since.
You hear and know that it can happen, but it's like a ****ing ninja.
You don't really even recognize it until it's completely over and you slump to the ground in defeat.
Completely disowned, by everyone.
What is family? I always desperately wanted to know;
wanted to find out...
Now, who really gives a ****?
What is family?
What is life?
It's a fight to the death, and we're all born to lose.
---
What is left?
After it all...what is left?
...perhaps...
A will of fire.
Something that seems so tiny sometimes it's hard to even say if it's been put out.
But it burns for justice.
For the strength I need to crawl forward when everything is dragging me down.
I just wish that it produced a more constant level of passionate vigor instead of erratic bursts every now and again.
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