Though I just said no critique above, I'm already upset with myself. Looked back and saw my post about My Next 90 Days, which didn't happen. My post about Hope for 1 Year, didn't happen. But as a reminder, and perhaps giving myself grace, I also looked at my post I Get Derailed Easily and thought about all that occurred to make me immobile.
Here goes...
First thoughts here are I have nothing to say. Don't feel like talking about Covid19, or being shut in, or how tired I am while doing nothing. It's all so overwhelming. I know at it's core this is a lack of control for me. Though in truth we're never in control. "Bad things" can happen to anyone, any time, anywhere. Yet it was that perception that if I did everything "right" I'd be protected and OK. Nothing feels OK right now.
Talking to a friend recently and the words hope and faith came up. Two things I don't recall ever having. I've thought back as far as I can and there has always been hyper vigilance for survival, which got progressively worse as life tumbled into unimaginable hell. Even in childhood there was never a foundation of feeling I'd be taken care of.
I feel like I've already blogged about this memory but I'll do it again anyway as something else might spring up from it. When we were living in Louisiana and there was an outbreak of burglaries followed by arson. The burglars would watch the house and wait until the family was out of town, steal everything they could then torch the place. One night we were called outside to our neighbors home to see it engulfed in flames. It was a large beautiful home on a few acres. The fire department was called but they wouldn't come as we were outside city limits. Neighbors were scrambling to find some way to put out the fire. Attempts were made to take the water out of a swimming pool up the hill, buckets of water were thrown on it which did nothing, the garden hose was being sprayed on it but it was like spitting into a bonfire. As the fire got bigger you could hear glass shattering, guns going off and sounds of the structure crumbling. We all finally stood there helpless. Many were crying but I stood back in shock and unable to move. Not too long after this we went on a short week end vacation. Driving back I thought about watching our neighbor's house burn and became overcome with fear that we'd return to that. I asked my father as we neared our house, "Daddy, will our house be burned up?". He replied, "It could be. There many be only a pile of ashes." I was around 8 or 9 years old. To get to our house you turned a corner before going down a hill and couldn't see the house until you began the decent down the hill. I sat as high as I could trying to look over the hill and holding my breath. I sighed with relief as I saw our house was still there and not on fire. At no point in any of this did either of my parents give support or ensure I'd be taken care of.
Though my father was a pastor I don't recall ever feeling "God" would protect me. He was incredibly negative, as was his family, so the focus I felt from him always came back to obedience and fear of punishment. As my life went on the other shoe kept dropping. And dropping. And dropping. All the prayers and begging in the world didn't stop the trauma from happening and continuing. I get punchy whenever I hear someone say, "Well things can only get better!" No bitch, they can get much worse. They can turn into a nightmare you could have never perceived or dreamed up. And then when you think you can't take anymore it can all explode in your face.
My hope and faith is in myself. I believe in my own resilience. I know I can hustle like no other. I know I can survive what would have destroyed most others. It's not a happy place to be, to live a life with your dukes up and looking for the next thing to go wrong. It's exhausting but for this moment it saves me.
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