Did you hear the one about the blogger who didn’t have anything to say? It’s not funny, really. And not exactly true. I have so much to say but don’t know how to say it. I am at a crossroad. A transition, if you will. I’m restless. I look around and I’m not quite sure how I got here or where I want to go next. I’m scared.
A little while ago someone cornered me at a party and we started talking about life. She doesn’t get my occasional melancholy. We were talking about the past. My past. My childhood. The things I struggled with. She leaned in and said, “Yes, but you have a great life now.”
A great life now. Yes, I have many great people and things in my life. I have a job that I love. A husband and kids that I adore. I don’t want for anything material. But what she fails to understand is that there are some things that haunt you all your life. You can’t escape from them by hiding behind a big house or someone’s unconditional love. These things, these sad things are just part of your life. I should have explained to her that the bad things in your life are like thin black threads in a white knitted blanket. While the blanket may look white to the casual eye once you get up close you see those threads. They don’t go away. They are always there.
A few months ago I had a Facebook discussion with a family member. The subject of my abuse as a child came up. He told me he didn’t believe me. He told me he would only believe me if I took a lie detector test. I should go to New York City, find someone to do the test, and send him the results. Only then would he believe me. See, those black threads sometimes bleed over into the white yarn. And that person is an ignorant asshole.
Plenty of people have told me that what happened was ages ago. I need to move on and forget it. But I haven’t, obviously. Even with therapy. It continues to affect me. During the Facebook exchange one of my other relatives who was on the same thread defriended me. She didn’t want to get caught up in that nonsense, she said. I thought that one was especially funny since her mother had admitted to me that the relative in question had abused her, too.
My oldest turns ten this year. She’s never had a sleepover. Never. Well, that’s not exactly true. She’s slept at my mother’s house once and my friend’s house once when she was about 18-months-old. I am affecting her childhood, my husband tells me. Children sleep over. It’s one of the quintessential joys of childhood. She’s been invited once or twice, but we always say no. I hope she can forgive me. I hope she will understand.
And that’s just one of the things that makes me melancholy. The last three months have been brutal. My baby went to kindergarten. I’m still lonely a lot. I’ve had the lingering effects of food poisoning that’s kept me out of the gym and taken about seven pounds off of me. I worried about my big girl. To the point that I had a dialog with a few moms that did not go swimmingly. My husband thought he had a heart attack. My mother’s sister died. Her boyfriend is dying. My brother’s best friend died suddenly. A few of my friends who have cancer are not doing so great. My mother’s job ended. The 30-foot tree on the side of the house is dying after being under 18-inches of Sandy water. My husband has to travel a lot. I hate my new-to-me car. Friendships I really loved have changed. Bitch, bitch, bitch. It’s been a long summer.
Deep breath. My kids love their teachers and love school. They get the bus! My husband has a nice social life with nice guys — new friends and old friends. I threw a kick ass party for his birthday. I fit into my super skinny jeans. Work is awesome. I got to dance a lot this summer. I’ve recently laughed so hard I had tears running down my face. I watched my big girl settle in with a social group at school and at our beach club. I got a new-to-me outdoor patio set so I can sit outside and not worry about sunscreen. I rekindled relationships with a few of my oldest friends. I have nice newish friends who dance and laugh and know how to have fun. My mother came for breakfast today and we did not fight. I’ve been trying to make more of an effort with my siblings.
I’ve got about four or five posts that are sitting there half finished. I’ll probably finish them and post them this week. In the meantime it’s time for bed. School day tomorrow. And work. Maybe tomorrow I won’t notice those dark threads as much. One can hope, right?