Who Am I Trying To Fool..

I’m just sitting here thinking about what I have just offloaded.  Why am I trying to kid myself and pretend that these situations of mine are all just stories?

They are just stories, but they are my stories and I wish they weren’t sometimes.

I feel totally used up by the people surrounding me,  my family, my ex.

It’s hard pretending most of the time, to most of the world that my life is ok.  It just isn’t.  I spent most of my childhood covering up for my families ins and outs.

I love my Mother dearly, of course I do, she is my Mother but it is tiring trying to paint out the bits that I know would shock or scare people about my family background.  I edit so much out.  Stuff that I don’t even understand let alone anyone else.

I get so angry sometimes at the way it all is.  Most of the time I make light of it.  It’s easier that way.  It’s not all bad all the time.  My Mother can be great fun, amusing, entertaining, but never my Mother.  

My story is so long and complicated it takes someone a long time to really understand me.  A chosen few know about my life and where I come from, the rest just think I have a rock and roll Mum and a mysterious family background.  I do, but it is so much more complex than that.  I feel like I hide behind the edited version of my upbringing, terrified of being judged, terrified of not fitting in, always feeling that in some way I am lacking because of what I had and what I didn’t have.

On good days, I take it for what it is, and think to myself that I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I hadn’t experienced the things I did.  I am unusual, open minded, opinionated, sensitive and worldly.

On bad days, I am fragile, confused, alone, insecure, disappointed and emotional.

I have learnt to try to be brave, but I’m not.

I learnt to play a role around my family members.  As a child, I was an entertainer, like a circus clown.  If I got a laugh I considered it love. As a teenager, I was a rebel, thinking that in some way I could get closer to my Mother and that we would understand each other more.  As an adult, I now don’t know who I am.  I just try to pretend that none of it has rubbed off on me in a dysfunctional way. 

I read the letter that my ex posted me tonight and I listened to the c.d.  Every sentence of that letter started with I regret.  It’s all very well regretting, but I am only interested in how much I regret at the moment.  

I regret that I let the relationship go on long enough for him to now regret.

I regret that I feel drawn to damaged people because I know that I too am damaged.

I regret that I have fallen into the trap on more than one occasion, and thought that all damaged people act and react in the same way, and that we would all look out for each other.

I regret not having the wisdom enough to know that this is not always the case.

I regret not having the ability sometimes to be able to process my feelings, making me feel unsure and unsafe.

 

And I am sure I will wake up tomorrow morning and regret writing all of this.