A Very Personal Journal

The past six years I've relied most on my Aunt Lia, who was the only person there for me when I got out of jail. She saw that my soul was amputated and she did her best to revive me. I looked for work, but I was mostly homeless with the exception of her allowing me to stay at her place or my husband (now ex) allowing me to stay at his place. Every trauma I've ever experienced has been twisting inside my soul for the past six years as I've tried to reclaim myself and my life. I still feel like I've done nothing and can do nothing even after all of my efforts for six years. I have nothing to show for my survival of the trauma and nothing to show for my survival of any incident where I was victimized --- except for my exceptional proverbial "violin" playing which has become cumbersome to those who helped the most (specifically Aunt Lia and my ex George). Yet for all their help, I know without an ounce of a doubt, that my lack of having anything else to share but a violin song is not because of lack of effort, or goodness, or "positive thinking". I know this without an ounce of doubt. It it simply because I had more enemies than friends. Perhaps I wore out the patience and kindness and generousity of the two most helpful friends I had (Lia and George), but when I have nothing but my violin song to play, what are my options? The only option I see at all, is to find new friends.

She told me today on the phone, "I am sick of hearing it." I know she is. I'm sick of saying it. I'm sick of hearing how I'm a monster when I'm not. I'm sick of having to defend myself in a cold heartless world when I can't see one person standing up for me. When even the "friends" who are helping me, are putting me down as they do. Lift me up so you can throw mud on me? What's the point of that?

People love to compare me to my mother and so do I. She was an amazing woman. Her accomplishments were profound as were mine. But she was used and abused too. No one wants to admit that part. They don't want to acknowledge how she was undermined, how people were jealous of her, and how they secretly were happy when she failed. They only want to question why she wasn't grateful and recipricol after she survived another attack. I was there. I know why. I have a scar on my leg for a fight I got into with my mother about it. They didn't accomplish her highs or her lows and therefore their judgements are meaningless. Same goes true for me.

So maybe my two most reliable friends (Lia and George) have no compassion or respect left to give me. Maybe they are worn out of listening to the same old violin song. That's fine, I can accept that. But I don't accept being emotionally beat up. I don't accept being put down for my best efforts. I don't accept a denial of all that I've done and accomplished that was good or even better than most. I don't accept that, and if you think I do, I've fooled you.

It was not my mission in life to be "better" than anyone. It was not my hope or aspiration to make others "jealous" or initiate a vicious competition. I just wanted to be happy like anyone else. I just wanted to be loved like everybody else. I just wanted to know that some relationships are trustworthy and that not everybody in the world is going to be a disappointment. If I asked for too much, I apologize. There was no way for me to ever know or understand that wanting what I wanted was asking for too much.

People can say whatever they like about me or my mother, but in my heart and in my memory, I know that we are the two best people I've ever known. They were lucky to know us. They were lucky to be loved by us. If we did anything wrong, it was a direct and deserved reaction to what loving them did to us. I witnessed and experienced this for 53 years and I know what I'm talking about. A victim can be turned into a monster just because no one wants to admit what was done to the victim. A victim can be turned into a monster, so that the real monsters can go on living their traumatizing ways.