Facing The Hard Truths

after a point, my own history just ceases to interest me. i mean, it's all so huge and unmanageable that it's hard to keep the panoramic view in sight. although a closer inspection of any single event or time period can be overwhelmingly painful and the residual effects of such an examination can be difficult to shake. once i enter into the memory, flashbacks are inevitable. they leave me breathless with fear and it can take hours to calm myself back down. the other danger is that, at some point in many of my memories, i can fall into that great black void inside where the pain seems unbearable.it's not easy to live with the certain knowledge that i was never of much value to either of my parents. my father, psychotically narcissitic and sadistic, was never much interested in me. he used me for bolster his own ego and fostered in me a deadly drive to both achieve and die. my intellect and drive for achievement was, in his mind, just a reflection of his own intelligence passed on to me and further evidence of his houdini-like ability to mold me into the perfect child. of course, the molding is never really done and so it also gave him a long term project. even when i was 40, there was plenty of molding left to do. he also enjoyed hurting me. what a difficult thing to say. what a difficult thing to face. when i was a little girl, he was never happier with me than when he was telling me some sad story about himself and making me cry. i was a compassionate child, but i did not have a compassionate father. he liked to engage in all-day (or longer) torture sessions, whether that torture was physical or psychological or both. he must have found my pain and terror very gratifying. no one is easier to hurt than a little child, especially one's own little child. my mother was so focused on my father that there really wasn't much left over for me. she was doing her best to survive. i understood at a young age that there was a good possibility my mom wouldn't live long. i was committed to helping her survive. i did my best to distract or defuse rage when i saw it rising in him. i wasn't always successful. i've felt a lot of guilt over my inability to protect her.my therapist likes to remind me that i was the one who was supposed to be protected. i understand that. however, i knew that if something happened to my mom, the chances of my survival dropped precipitously.as usual, this line of thought is getting to be unbearably painful. enough for today. here's the quote of the day:"We can discover this meaning in life in three different ways: (1) by doing a deed; (2) by experiencing a value; and (3) by suffering."~Victor Franklamerica held hostage day 1790bushism of the day:"I am mindful not only of preserving executive powers for myself, but for predecessors as well."website of the day; Enneagram Institutehttp://www.enneagraminstitute.com/