and it prevents me from doing anything else. This blog has served as a release valve for the din in my brain. Words and sounds repeating and ricocheting off the sides of my skull like a a squash ball being slammed against the walls, the floor, the ceiling of the court.
I woke up sad and angry and ranting this morning. Filled with hatred towards former friends who abandoned me. Some days I can proceed in ignorant bliss, enjoying the life i am building now. Every once in a while (less and less as time goes by) I am struck by how little sense I can glean from my environment.
The words I speak do not have the meaning I intend. The responses I hear do not match what I thought I said. I demand clarity because I am sure if I get the response I was expecting it will validate that I am making sense. It feels like I am hitting a tennis ball over the net and anyone who has played knows the feeling. The ball sometimes comes back exactly the way you were expecting and sometimes surprises you going faster or beyond your reach or with a crazy spin. That is the nature of the game. I used to love that about conversations (not so much about tennis since I was pretty bad at it. Big surprise since I had a growth lodged against my cerebellum). Post surgery talking to people feels like I hit a tennis ball over the net and a football comes back or an egg or a helium balloon that just floats away or sometimes someone just walks around from the other side and gives me back the ball. I want to scream (and sometimes I do), "Just hit the TENNIS BALL back to me like I am expecting. Why is that so hard?" I try again after explaining and when I still don't get back what I am expecting, it is frustrating. From the other side of the net ( I can only imagine) they are tapping the ball back so they don't understand why I am upset. Or perhaps they are wondering why I threw a bowling ball at them. Inevitably they think I am being combative or bizarre and they walk off the court saying, "I don't want to fight."
I want to find forgiveness. I know I will be free when I can. It is hard though. I am not sure how many people there are who can relate to the way I grew up. My childhood was chaos. Physical, verbal, psychological abuse combined with poverty instilled in me a strong survival instinct. Self-preservation at all costs. Get what you can and then get out of the way. Empathy is a luxury for people with plenty. I imagine if you are a child growing up loved and cared for, fed and warm, then you have room to develop good will for others. I heard that many people in the helping professions come from abusive households. I know it was a huge reason I taught and became a mother. I knew I give more than what I had. I wanted to make a difference in a child's life by letting her know she is important and heard. I love children and animals. I hate the people who were once my friends and now treat me worse than if I had died.
I will stop now because my brain is beginning to go back to normal. The volume is going down in there and I can think again. It's been quite awhile since I've written. That is a good thing. Goodbye for now. I will write again when I have no choice.
20 minutes ago