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Being who we are, even if FOO is different and doesn't like it
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<blockquote data-quote="New Leaf" data-source="post: 671880" data-attributes="member: 19522"><p>Oh my goodness guys, there is so much here. I will hurry to answer as I must get out in my yard...but thank you so very much, for your kind intriguing input and your conversation.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>I am so sorry for this hurt Copa. But am glad we have such wise sisters here, to help us through it.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>This is true. It is funny, my sister used to rally up my brother against me. Now I see her upset that we all are talking. It is a sort of game, this. Much like abusers isolate their victims. I do no think it is even an intentional, plotting thing. </p><p>How odd is that? </p><p>Have we been gaslighted all of these years? (As I am now learning about this thing, this gaslighting.) There is something very tricky about the pleasure of Attillas company..... and the danger of it.</p><p>It would be much simpler if she was more outrageous and easily disliked.</p><p>But, then again, tallying up her actions, she is outrageous.</p><p>She is just spurts of outrageous, inter twined with an amazing strength and sense of self.</p><p>Okay an over sense of self.</p><p>And it is amazing that she has been protected.</p><p> Mom sighs and says, "She has always been this way, you are all different, and that is the beauty of life."</p><p>I have protected her, defended her.</p><p>When Mom discovered her beautiful gold bracelet, a marriage gift from my Dad, missing, I was visiting. </p><p></p><p>I knew immediately it was Attilla. I texted her, not accusingly, a query, 'Mom is looking for her bracelet"</p><p>a pause, then an answer "I have it", then a story, "I was going to get it cleaned to surprise her." Then a confession, "I took it. I was afraid when I moved I would never see Mom, so I took it."</p><p>So we went with the cleaning story, to protect her, to protect Mom, from the horror of her mistake.</p><p></p><p>We all knew, including Mom, what had really happened, but did not broach that, to keep the peace. </p><p></p><p>Looking at it now, this is an example of what has happened with Attilla, over and over again. The family history and dynamics of it. Huh.</p><p></p><p>Transgress, forgive.</p><p></p><p></p><p> You are right Copa, it does not have to be devastating, there is power in the knowing of what is. I think this is why she does not want me speaking with my siblings. Through our individual experience with her, we know too much.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Thank you Copa, not so much grace, <em>this unladylike gesture pointed towards the phone when I see it is her calling.</em> But strength, yes. I have come to see all along it was my strength that she has feared the most.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>The emperor with no clothes, that is the perfect example. The false bravado, and pretense, the hidden agendas, the puffing. All fluff and nakedness, underneath a very strange, self oriented, shrinking person. The wizard of Oz with the curtain pulled. He had good, kindly intentions, but he was a trickster, just the same.</p><p></p><p> You are too funny, Copa I laughed a hearty laugh at this. How delightful you are sister.</p><p></p><p> But, Copa, it was your survival, you detached. Physically and mentally. You had to sink or swim, you swam, then you came back at just the right time.</p><p></p><p> Thank you Insane, May I call you Sane? </p><p>I cannot think of you as Insane, you have such good thoughts and energy.</p><p>I think Mom was trying to give us something while she is still here. That, in of itself, saddened me deeply, because it was a tangible reminder of her soon departing. I would rather have Mom, than things, but that is not possible. It is true that objects hold a part of a person, a memory of a beloved one.</p><p></p><p>What comes to mind in the forefront "Thou shall not covet."</p><p>I cannot bring myself to ask. It is hers to give.</p><p>Attilla, is already planning and speaks outrightly of it, what is hers.</p><p>She had already acquired things, then brought them back to Mom when she moved here. (very, very briefly)</p><p>Mom and Dads things, that held a meaning for her.</p><p>Looking at them on my recent visit, she quipped, that was mine, that <em>is </em>mine.</p><p>Like the seagulls on "Finding Nemo"</p><p>Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.</p><p>I cannot, will not join in on this.</p><p>It is ugly to me.</p><p></p><p>I know that Mom would not think of it as so, but I do. </p><p>I shall keep my integrity with this.</p><p>But thank you Sane, for your suggestion.</p><p>My Mom would not mind.</p><p>But it feels as if a feeding frenzy, when all I want for my dear Mom is to have some peace in her last days.</p><p></p><p>So my concentration will be on what my Mom has already given to us. Her love.</p><p></p><p> Huh, how similar this is to what we have experienced, different yet similar in characteristics.</p><p></p><p></p><p>That is the unanswered question with my fathers hospitalization. Was he truly saved from the country bumpkin facility, by moving to the far away inner city one? No one knows, but sister is sure she was the champion, the <em>savior </em>in this instance. Strange, in my fathers ravaged mind, the words he said as they closed the transport ambulance door<strong> "I go to meet my maker."</strong></p><p>He had suffered a stroke, on top of everything else.</p><p>My sister again said, "You must come"</p><p>In between the days of making plans to again go home, my father slipped in and out of himself. A stroke had taken his mind to places that we will never know. He wafted in and out of reality. He became combative and had to be restrained. He railed on and on about <em>Attilla</em>. </p><p>My sister was very hurt and hurled back to her teen aged years, a memory of when the defiance of her caused my stoic Dad to <em>flip her off</em>.</p><p></p><p>It wasn't until a few days later we found out he was raging over a nurse with the same name.</p><p>One who was stern with him and tied him to his bed as he was ripping out his lines.</p><p></p><p>Or was he railing against the nurse? In his mind, in and out of the veil of life, death and reality, was he railing against the nurse, or did the reality of the power my sister had, her dominating, come to light?</p><p></p><p>We will never know. We dubbed my father "Captain Ahab" in this mysterious angered phase, for he would sit with furrowed brow, looking like that crazed seaman.</p><p>He was searching for his senses, his memory, but that is another story.</p><p></p><p></p><p>My hubs does not like Attilla, well he does, but remember, he exterminated her move here, by inviting Volcanoe, Tornado and the grands over for the weekend,(<em>he has never done that</em>),</p><p> when my children and I traveled for a paddling event. </p><p>It was as if saying, "This is what you are in for, you better run, now." </p><p>He protected me, by forcing her to open her eyes </p><p>and realize it was all a lovely, impossible dream, </p><p>us living together.</p><p>The hubs is quiet, but very, very wise.</p><p></p><p>Yes, my sister has "urinated" on many of my parents possessions. She is incensed when Mom has given things to brother and little sis. Huh.</p><p></p><p> Cedar, as the song says in "I Wont Give Up" how old is your soul? You must know that I am astounded by your perspective. </p><p>Yes, the courage and assertion Copa, revealed the truth of your sisters actions. You were the child yelling, "The King is......naked"</p><p>Just as when I, filled up with hurt at what had happened to me under the rough, prickly wing of my sister, let loose and exclaimed this. </p><p>She is enraged. She cannot think of it. </p><p>So now, when pushed to the brink by her meanness and insensitivity, </p><p>I cry, she is repulsed by my tears. </p><p>My tears wash away the facade she has created for herself, and me, that she has always been a good sister.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>My sister abandoned me in the worst way, building me up with a dream of friendship, companionship, till death do we part. </p><p>She moved everything over here, everything, and then took a vacation. </p><p>She was then, after the reality check by the hubs, <em>angry at me for "duping" her to come here</em>. </p><p>When all along she was duping herself. </p><p>She knew my circumstances with my d cs, she was my "go to" for many tear filled phone calls. </p><p>"Why didn't you tell me?" She sputtered. </p><p>"I did tell you, <em>over and over again,</em> come for a visit, to see if this is what you truly want." </p><p>Instead she insisted this was her destiny, that we would be by one another's side, that I was too long alone here, separated by distance from family. </p><p>"We will be family together, sisters and friends." </p><p>Oh how excited and happy I was. To be her friend was what I had yearned for when I was younger, even as she admonished me not to even greet her in school, or speak with her friends. </p><p>I just wanted to be her friend. </p><p>She moved over slowly in boxes mailed. </p><p>She arrived on my birthday. Then left a little over a month later.</p><p></p><p>I felt abandoned, I did Cedar. </p><p>I could not even look at her, speak to her. It was a week before she was to leave, "Can't we just spend the last week doing fun things together?"</p><p>After a lifetime of swallowing my feelings, I could not do it this time. I would not. </p><p>I was civil. </p><p>But I would not put on the happy face in the misery of it.</p><p></p><p>She had done it again, left me to go make a life with her friend. </p><p>Abandonment.</p><p></p><p>In the end of it, it was a good thing. We would have killed one another, I fear. </p><p>For I was not the person she had made me out to be. </p><p>I was already growing stronger. Strong enough to show my feelings.</p><p>Strong enough to stand up to her.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>This presence you speak of this Eckhart, I must read. </p><p>It is all important, isn't it? </p><p>To be fully present in all things?</p><p></p><p>Thank you, so much my sisters, my friends, for sharing your knowledge and experience, it is most helpful.</p><p></p><p>And now the yard is calling......</p><p></p><p>Good Sunday to you all</p><p></p><p>leafy</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="New Leaf, post: 671880, member: 19522"] Oh my goodness guys, there is so much here. I will hurry to answer as I must get out in my yard...but thank you so very much, for your kind intriguing input and your conversation. I am so sorry for this hurt Copa. But am glad we have such wise sisters here, to help us through it. This is true. It is funny, my sister used to rally up my brother against me. Now I see her upset that we all are talking. It is a sort of game, this. Much like abusers isolate their victims. I do no think it is even an intentional, plotting thing. How odd is that? Have we been gaslighted all of these years? (As I am now learning about this thing, this gaslighting.) There is something very tricky about the pleasure of Attillas company..... and the danger of it. It would be much simpler if she was more outrageous and easily disliked. But, then again, tallying up her actions, she is outrageous. She is just spurts of outrageous, inter twined with an amazing strength and sense of self. Okay an over sense of self. And it is amazing that she has been protected. Mom sighs and says, "She has always been this way, you are all different, and that is the beauty of life." I have protected her, defended her. When Mom discovered her beautiful gold bracelet, a marriage gift from my Dad, missing, I was visiting. I knew immediately it was Attilla. I texted her, not accusingly, a query, 'Mom is looking for her bracelet" a pause, then an answer "I have it", then a story, "I was going to get it cleaned to surprise her." Then a confession, "I took it. I was afraid when I moved I would never see Mom, so I took it." So we went with the cleaning story, to protect her, to protect Mom, from the horror of her mistake. We all knew, including Mom, what had really happened, but did not broach that, to keep the peace. Looking at it now, this is an example of what has happened with Attilla, over and over again. The family history and dynamics of it. Huh. Transgress, forgive. You are right Copa, it does not have to be devastating, there is power in the knowing of what is. I think this is why she does not want me speaking with my siblings. Through our individual experience with her, we know too much. Thank you Copa, not so much grace, [I]this unladylike gesture pointed towards the phone when I see it is her calling.[/I] But strength, yes. I have come to see all along it was my strength that she has feared the most. The emperor with no clothes, that is the perfect example. The false bravado, and pretense, the hidden agendas, the puffing. All fluff and nakedness, underneath a very strange, self oriented, shrinking person. The wizard of Oz with the curtain pulled. He had good, kindly intentions, but he was a trickster, just the same. You are too funny, Copa I laughed a hearty laugh at this. How delightful you are sister. But, Copa, it was your survival, you detached. Physically and mentally. You had to sink or swim, you swam, then you came back at just the right time. Thank you Insane, May I call you Sane? I cannot think of you as Insane, you have such good thoughts and energy. I think Mom was trying to give us something while she is still here. That, in of itself, saddened me deeply, because it was a tangible reminder of her soon departing. I would rather have Mom, than things, but that is not possible. It is true that objects hold a part of a person, a memory of a beloved one. What comes to mind in the forefront "Thou shall not covet." I cannot bring myself to ask. It is hers to give. Attilla, is already planning and speaks outrightly of it, what is hers. She had already acquired things, then brought them back to Mom when she moved here. (very, very briefly) Mom and Dads things, that held a meaning for her. Looking at them on my recent visit, she quipped, that was mine, that [I]is [/I]mine. Like the seagulls on "Finding Nemo" Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. I cannot, will not join in on this. It is ugly to me. I know that Mom would not think of it as so, but I do. I shall keep my integrity with this. But thank you Sane, for your suggestion. My Mom would not mind. But it feels as if a feeding frenzy, when all I want for my dear Mom is to have some peace in her last days. So my concentration will be on what my Mom has already given to us. Her love. Huh, how similar this is to what we have experienced, different yet similar in characteristics. That is the unanswered question with my fathers hospitalization. Was he truly saved from the country bumpkin facility, by moving to the far away inner city one? No one knows, but sister is sure she was the champion, the [I]savior [/I]in this instance. Strange, in my fathers ravaged mind, the words he said as they closed the transport ambulance door[B] "I go to meet my maker."[/B] He had suffered a stroke, on top of everything else. My sister again said, "You must come" In between the days of making plans to again go home, my father slipped in and out of himself. A stroke had taken his mind to places that we will never know. He wafted in and out of reality. He became combative and had to be restrained. He railed on and on about [I]Attilla[/I]. My sister was very hurt and hurled back to her teen aged years, a memory of when the defiance of her caused my stoic Dad to [I]flip her off[/I]. It wasn't until a few days later we found out he was raging over a nurse with the same name. One who was stern with him and tied him to his bed as he was ripping out his lines. Or was he railing against the nurse? In his mind, in and out of the veil of life, death and reality, was he railing against the nurse, or did the reality of the power my sister had, her dominating, come to light? We will never know. We dubbed my father "Captain Ahab" in this mysterious angered phase, for he would sit with furrowed brow, looking like that crazed seaman. He was searching for his senses, his memory, but that is another story. My hubs does not like Attilla, well he does, but remember, he exterminated her move here, by inviting Volcanoe, Tornado and the grands over for the weekend,([I]he has never done that[/I]), when my children and I traveled for a paddling event. It was as if saying, "This is what you are in for, you better run, now." He protected me, by forcing her to open her eyes and realize it was all a lovely, impossible dream, us living together. The hubs is quiet, but very, very wise. Yes, my sister has "urinated" on many of my parents possessions. She is incensed when Mom has given things to brother and little sis. Huh. Cedar, as the song says in "I Wont Give Up" how old is your soul? You must know that I am astounded by your perspective. Yes, the courage and assertion Copa, revealed the truth of your sisters actions. You were the child yelling, "The King is......naked" Just as when I, filled up with hurt at what had happened to me under the rough, prickly wing of my sister, let loose and exclaimed this. She is enraged. She cannot think of it. So now, when pushed to the brink by her meanness and insensitivity, I cry, she is repulsed by my tears. My tears wash away the facade she has created for herself, and me, that she has always been a good sister. My sister abandoned me in the worst way, building me up with a dream of friendship, companionship, till death do we part. She moved everything over here, everything, and then took a vacation. She was then, after the reality check by the hubs, [I]angry at me for "duping" her to come here[/I]. When all along she was duping herself. She knew my circumstances with my d cs, she was my "go to" for many tear filled phone calls. "Why didn't you tell me?" She sputtered. "I did tell you, [I]over and over again,[/I] come for a visit, to see if this is what you truly want." Instead she insisted this was her destiny, that we would be by one another's side, that I was too long alone here, separated by distance from family. "We will be family together, sisters and friends." Oh how excited and happy I was. To be her friend was what I had yearned for when I was younger, even as she admonished me not to even greet her in school, or speak with her friends. I just wanted to be her friend. She moved over slowly in boxes mailed. She arrived on my birthday. Then left a little over a month later. I felt abandoned, I did Cedar. I could not even look at her, speak to her. It was a week before she was to leave, "Can't we just spend the last week doing fun things together?" After a lifetime of swallowing my feelings, I could not do it this time. I would not. I was civil. But I would not put on the happy face in the misery of it. She had done it again, left me to go make a life with her friend. Abandonment. In the end of it, it was a good thing. We would have killed one another, I fear. For I was not the person she had made me out to be. I was already growing stronger. Strong enough to show my feelings. Strong enough to stand up to her. This presence you speak of this Eckhart, I must read. It is all important, isn't it? To be fully present in all things? Thank you, so much my sisters, my friends, for sharing your knowledge and experience, it is most helpful. And now the yard is calling...... Good Sunday to you all leafy [/QUOTE]
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