Bricks

 I am about 4 years old. I remember running around with no shirt on in the summer rain.  I remember loving my mother with all my heart.  I remember her getting up before us to 'put on her face'.  I remember thinking to never be afraid to just leave the house with no make-up on.  

There was always music playing even when I went to sleep.  I know the music from my childhood intimately because it's imprinted onto my soul.  That's what happens when you're raised by a depressed narcissist.  I remember sitting in the back seat and watching my mother's hand hit the outside upper part of the car window frame.  I would watch her hand, with a ring keeping time, tapping to whatever song was playing.  She was the perfect passenger.  I made note to be the driver and that it's okay to also be the passenger.  'And I ride and I ride'

I thought my mother's cooking was the best.  She could cook so good that you thought you could be bewitched.  Her bohemian ways.  Her artistic eye.  Her screaming insecurities. Her world and I was allowed to visit when I was young.  

All that music and manic afternoons and don't wake her up before noon.  I remember how much I loved school.  I loved the structure of it.  I loved learning and the KNOWING of something.  I loved that once you learned something it was yours forever.  I always had music in my head.  Just a constant stream of music until someone interrupted it.

I am making peace with what she did give me.  She showed me beauty both superficially and into your soul.  She showed me that making a home means the vibe of it.  I learned how to live with someone so moody that I entertained her with my intelligence so she might now slip into her darkness.  I grew to loved many of the same things:  books, good fresh food, art, discussions, radio.  So I kept the good parts and tried to sail away from the bad....the emotional baggage.

Oh and I almost forgot!  How she normalized drama so that when I saw people who were less emotionally charged I waited for the other shoe to drop.  When that is the norm well it's hard to train yourself to other environments.

When I was growing up I wasn't just imprinted with my family of origin.  There was a host of characters.  Many of which had no business being around children.  There were a few and I clung on to them for any intellectual companionship.  I would become really good at just telling people the truth and telling them what I need.  I didn't realize for a very long time that there were things I needed that I didn't know how to ask for.

When things got too complicated and or emotionally charged my mother just disconnected.  She began to disconnect for longer and longer periods of time.  I couldn't live like that.  I asked to leave and the powers that be said okay.  I went from a foster home, to a group home, to family.  I had my eyes wide open and I saw many things.

Don't think your children don't know what's going on in your home.  All children are psychic.  Even if they don't have words they have feelings.  I saw people who really cared for others.  I saw people do things just for the money.  I saw that when I was left alone I knew right from wrong.  I could read people well.  When you grow up around someone like my mother you learn quick.  I have always talked a lot.  Did I say a lot?  It was just so exciting to meet people and see places.  I talked a lot to cover my fear.  There was always a lot going on emotionally and talking for me was a defense mechanism. Since I was able to engage with strangers I learned things about those around me.

The older I got the more I realized how much in my life wasn't right.  Even when I was trying to do the right thing it was often with the wrong person.  So now I am careful.  I am careful with my feelings and with relationships and with strangers.  I used to be wide open and now I feel as if I am behind a reinforced wall.  With time I realize, the wall no longer serves any purpose.  What and who it was protecting me from doesn't even exist.  Trauma is like battling with people who are just ghosts but who can stab you.  Trauma is hearing or seeing, or hell-smelling something and you are triggered and you are in that place or situation and your mind picks it up and plays it out.  Not always appropriate or convenient but tough shit your on a trip.

So lately I remind myself to be kinder to me.  That for as much baggage that has been processed there is still so much more to do.  And I am okay with that.  I will do what I can in the time that I have.  I will try to nurture that scared child inside of me.  I will try to pry a few bricks every once in a while.