Have A Nice (Guilt) Trip?

Just got home from therapy.  Feeling off..per usual.  My afather's birthday is coming up soon...May 25th to be precise.  And historically, in the almost seven years since he's been dead, my family has gathered at the cemetery to plant flowers and clean up around his gravestone on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death (September 12th).  If you recall, I didn't want to go plant flowers in September..but I went anyway.  And now, I've gotten the dreaded question posed to me by my amother.

"What day works for you to go to the cemetery?"

Fuck.

I've been stressed out the past few months, waiting for this.  I don't want to go...I deserve to say "Look Mom, I need to be truthful with myself and recognize that going to plant flowers at the grave isn't helping me, nor is it healthy, so I'm just not going to go...".  But it doesn't feel safe to say no.

Doesn't feel safe, you ask?

Speaking as the adult Christina, I realize how stupid that sounds. 

But to the child that was taught to NEVER say no to her mother because there-will-be-Hell-to-pay-when-we-get-home-and-noone-is-listening-to-me-scream-at-you-while-tearing-you-a-new-asshole..no...it's not safe.

My asister has no problem telling our mother no.  She feels no regret..and can graciously refuse the one way ticket to Guilt that I always seem to be traveling to.  And I know, through therapy thankyouverymuch, that I am the one allowing myself to get on the train/plane/automobile for the journey, but it's just really hard to just say no.

She Lives....

in my mind's eye.  Guarding the huge wooden doors..pacing back and forth...never speaking, just expressing her emotions through her actions and facial expressions.

Behind those doors are the secrets of my soul.  Secrets that I'm not even privy to..because of Girl. 

Girl's probably about eight years old...dressed in a long white nightgown with flowing dark hair and barefeet.   Piercing eyes pleading with me to leave it alone.  Don't worry about the secrets...Girl will take care of them...forever.

But I am realizing more and more that I need to know what is lurking beyond those doors.  Until I know everything, I can't fully heal.

She offered me a sneak peek into what I am dealing with...through a small window high up on the door.  On tiptoes I look, and see...

Darkness.  Just darkness.  But it's the scariest thing I've ever seen.  Because who knows what could be hiding there.

She shuts the window and shoos me away....and commences her frantic pacing again.

I just am so confused and tired.  Therapy is definitely helping, but I just feel like it's an impossible dream.  To be 'normal'.  I don't know any different way to be except ABnormal. 

What if I do see what's behind the doors and it makes things worse? 

Can I take that chance?

Can I afford not to?

Reflections

My name is Christina.  My name would have been Elena Katherine.  I grew up with an older adopted sister.  I would have had a younger brother and sister.  I grew up in central Massachusetts.  I would have grown up on the North Shore by the ocean of Massachusetts.  I grew up emotionally, physically and sexually abused.  I might have had a happy childhood.  I grew up odd and alone.  I might have been normal. 

I wish I were normal.

Six days after my birth I was "chosen"...errr...I was "given with love"...ummm....fuck it.  I was given up.  And it wasn't until I was contacted last July by my natural mother that I realized how deeply that has affected me and has made me the person I am today. 

It's like I've been the captain of my very own ghost ship..drifting aimlessly at sea.  And now, the clear sound of the foghorn is bringing me safely back to the harbor. 

I've started other blogs about this journey before...but I've stopped and restarted too many times to mention.  No more.  I will be open and honest about my feelings for the first time. 

I'm ready.