Today’s Stream of Consciousness

crying woman

I feel ill. My stomach wants to heave. Thinking about my kids, my heart hurts. When will the pain stop? Will the pain stop? I hope the pain stops. My lamp went out for a bit. Hoping it’s coming back on. Just when I feel like it’s beginning to shine again, I remember and once again feel ill and alone. The house is quiet. The cats are sleeping. Only the sound of the aquarium pump and the refrigerator hum and the tap tap tap tapping of typing. I feel ill. My head hurts. My eyes are dry. The grey skies match my mood. The clouds obscure the sun. Obscure the Son? I wish I still had the faith to see me through these times, but I have no faith in faith. No faith in all things working for good. No faith in a benevolent Father who would never allow me to feel such devastation. God does allow pain. If there is a god. Which I now sometimes question. I used to have FAITH. All caps! Now I have doubt. Lower case. And pain. Was faith just a means to find relief from overwhelming guilt? What do I do now with overwhelming grief and pain? How do I survive day by day until that day when He wipes away my tears? What if that day never comes? What if all I have is now and now’s pain and now’s grief and now’s emptiness? I’m so alone. Not forgotten, but hated. Not ignored, but reviled. Not set aside, but forcefully put away. Dolls and toys have more meaning than I do. I am the beast that haunts their dreams and discolors their memories and stands in the way of them remembering their happy childhoods. They were happy. We were happy. Why can I remember but they can’t? Father God, you promise to bring all things to our remembrance. Could you bring the happy times to the remembrance of my kids? They have wiped their minds of any feelings of love for me. They’ve colored their past and rewritten the narrative of their lives. Of our lives. Rejection. A lifetime of rejection. Rejection at school. Again and again. Rejection of friends. Of husband. Of family. Of church.  And now this ultimate rejection by the very lives I brought into this world through my own blood and pain. Do they want me to bleed forever? My eyes are no longer dry.

Advertisements

Rewriting the Narrative of their Past


clock


This quote resonated deeply with me:

“Our lives may be determined less by past events than by the way we remember them.” – Catherine Ann Jones

I feel my children have been rewriting the narrative of their lives and of our family.

Consequently, it’s changed the way they feel about me and the way they relate to me.

Or in this case, the way they don’t relate to me.

Sigh.