Recently my personal history suffered an edit. Family members found and well met. Others I have had to loosen my familial ties in order that their mental illness no longer becomes mine.
I am an unremarkable person at an unremarkable age, suffering the blushes of the feminine flush that we entering our “second stage” of life are given to weave into the a host of other changes that occur, in our lives, our bodies and our outlook.
The last 2 years have been an intricate web of tearing down what I thought was my life, past and present. It is amazing how altering a few basic concepts can throw you into a tailspin of the fragile hold you perceive your reason. If I am proven to have been so mislead for so long about basic precepts then what else have I gotten wrong?
It seems that even without the infallible truths, we review, revise and act on incorrect data analyzes if only altering the sources thru our own filters (hearing what we want to hear). So why is it so important that we know who are parents are? What our names were when we were born? Who are grandparents are and what they look like? Who we look like when we look in the mirror? and if that history is altered in any way we react as if someone has just murdered us and left the ghost staring at a life once lived. For myself and others I have known whom have found out parental units were exchanged at birth (one assumes that the one that came out of the box was damaged thus exchanged for a more functional parent) or that one side of events were vastly different from that of actual witness accounts. It seems so facile, so trivial that it shouldn’t literally shut a matriarchal women down, but it did.
It might be the hot flashes talking but I have started questioning everything and the beginning of letting go. First the legacy of mental illness and the guilt of never being able to cure or care for them anymore.
Secondly, that working for a living is just a part of life, but I do not have to proselytize my soul for its undertaking. I will survive, eat and be warm regardless of anyones elses thoughts on the matter.
Thirdly, I will blog about my journey. I used to write without rest when I was a teenager but due to excessive criticism I stopped. I was upset that someone was incessantly correcting grammar and spelling and not content.
To be continued