stories

Want to keep track of my past, part of the trail of breadcrumbs, reconstruction that helps me make sense of it all. Putting all the puzzle pieces together to complete the picture, stitching in every last detail into the tapestry of my life.

I sometimes wonder, if I had a more 'connected' circle of family and friends, would all this be necessary? The blogging, and everything? The years of journaling, the many attempts to be 'heard' and seen, via whatever means or media are available to me. To chronicle everything that's happened. It seems to be an essential part of feeling 'real', of knowing that one has existed, that one's passage through time and space has been recorded somehow, somewhere, that one has made an IMPRESSION and been NOTICED, taken note of.

Answer: No. If I had a supportive, caring, concerned, involved family, none of this would be necessary. But that's a fantasy life I don't actually live, so instead I'll carry on with the writing, and hope for the best.

[Edited to add: It occurs to me, based on some recent experiences, that if I'm just aggressive and insistent enough, I can MAKE myself heard. The problem is that that kind of aggression is just not in my nature, so it's exhausting, daunting, draining. Basically, I don't want to do it. But I'm *learning* how to do it, in spite of not wanting to. As a survival tool. And guess what? It's working! Yayyyyy!!!!! And I'm even learning how not to spend so much time and energy *fretting* about it, feeling guilty for standing up for myself, and just DOING it. More yay. Onward.]

I imagine being part of a clan where all the stories were passed on by word of mouth, and EVERYBODY knew all the stories, to the point where some became legend, with time. I'm sure that happens with lots of folks - I hear people telling stories all the time, and have told a few myself. In fact, one of the moments that brought me closest to tears was when my middle (and currently estranged) brother told a story about *me* that I didn't realize he even knew, and told it with some details that even *I* hadn't been aware of, because I'd been so traumatized by the event itself (falling under a wagon and being dragged along on some gravel when I was about 8 or so, leaving me bruised and bloody while my brother cried and cried that I was 'dying'! Who knew that my most vicious tormenter once had great feelings of fondness for me? And what happened to change all that? I'll probably never know.)

Anyway.

So today's story is picking up from around the time of dad's death - that whole period is hazy because of all the changes and emotional trauma and stress and the horrible loneliness and complete lack of any kind of support - physical, emotional, financial, mental - from ANY source whatsoever.

I'll just start throwing bits of it out there, then maybe fill in the gaps later. Maybe retell it a time or two for continuity, to smooth things out. I like this idea :-)

***
Putting this out in 'public', as it were, makes me aware that my brothers (or their kids, or somebody connected to the family somehow) may someday read some of this, and it makes me want to be fair. To tell the truth, but not be hurtful - not to exaggerate, but to tell it as simply and clearly as I can. When I'm angry it's hard to do that - some of the things I've written while angry shock me when I read them later, but I don't want to edit out my feelings, so I leave them up as is and hope that someday, if and when there's ever an opportunity to *discuss* all this, I'll get to actually *explain* how I was feeling and *why* I was so angry (if it isn't self-evident from the stories themselves.)

I'm getting side-tracked just now by playing a bit with Microsoft Paint, it's WAYYYY more fun! :-) So maybe I'll come back to this later. To be honest, it's all a bit of Pandora's box, and *I'm* as scared of what I'll feel and say as my brothers might be. I think.