Un-coping Strategies

I had a thought earlier, that perhaps I write because it helps me make sense of myself.

After some considerable consideration, I've decided it doesn't. The more I write the less clarity I seem to have around 'living.' This is possibly a coincidence.

This journey to the center of my grief has left me somewhat incapacitated.

Weeks ago I felt more positive and hopeful. But more recently I've felt useless. There is so much judgement and shame here for not making the 'most' of my life. For not taking the opportunities. For constantly being embroiled in the abuse.

I feel like a miserable self obsessed adolescent. I simply cannot give myself a break. My self assessment is that I'm a fucking idiot, a loser.

Can I really blame the abuse from my childhood for these thoughts and feelings? I suppose I can but my lack of self compassion means it mostly makes little difference to how I feel.

On a cognitive level I understand the impact abuse has on the neuro biological systems. 

On an emotional level I believe I am the weak link. There is something inherently wrong with me. I feel like I'm a poor father, a less than adequate partner, an absent and isolated friend. In my head I know none of that is necessarily the truth but in my body it's a different story.

The rare beauty I can presently locate can be found in my tears, the head bobbing sobs that engulf me in an instant are my most real connection.

These tears are for myself as a child. When I cry in the car, in the toilet at work or on the step of the deck surrounded by chickens I find the truth. The deep overwhelming reality about the impact my fathers frustration, violence and fear had on this small boy. That child still struggles with the facts as a grown up.

My partner says I'm very capable yet I don't feel like it. I've achieved very little whilst focusing on survival. Can I let that be O.K? I cannot hope for advocacy from my culture and society. Even from some friends and family. It's down to me. 

There's so much pain in the beautiful defenseless child I was. I can see the fear in his eyes, I can feel his confusion, his questions. Why is this happening to me?, Why does the man that's supposed to love me the most hate me so much? And what did I do to deserve this?

These words can only go so far. This song (click here) is closer to how I feel. It won't be what you might expect.

Another part of my hope exists in an undelivered pair of handmade gypsy boots. Made in Belarus they are the basis of a wedding outfit that symbolizes a home and a unique union with a beautiful and courageous woman. The boots are amazing, as is the woman who wants to marry this imperfect broken spirit.

I will get through this as sure as I have all the thousands of other tough times. And I will experience this hideousness many more times before I'm done with this world. That's just the way it is.

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