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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 659237" data-attributes="member: 18958">If I never got up from bed, I would want to get up.  And I would. So there.So, the bed is neither here nor there. It could be a sofa. It could be a bar stool. For that matter I could have run away to some unknown place and be doing some undetermined thing.What seems to be so, is that waves of sadness and defeat keep washing over me. And I get afraid. Because I fear they will stay forever and I interpret, that is the important distinction, I react to them as if they will be forever when, in fact the next moment:I get frantic because I try and try to figure out what I know or what I see right before I get so afraid.So, afraid that I say I will give up. I will give up everything. Pay the ultimate and highest price if the hostage is freed.Because I am believing as I type this that going to bed I am paying a ransom. It is the price to be paid at that moment that someone dear to me be saved.I wonder if it is something about my father...some ugly secret of abuse. I wonder if I cannot permit myself to live...able and complete...when my sister is so damaged and flawed.And I fear it is my son.That as long as my son is floundering and vulnerable...and worst of all...that he feels I have rejected him...or I feel guilty that I have done so...and...This is it. Again. I fear that by setting that limit with my son, telling him if he continues to disrespect me, I would think about putting a block on the phone.M thinks I spoke too harshly, that when I am angry I speak in a voice that is not mine.But I think this is my voice, it is just very seldom used because I fear it.I have written before that when I was about 26 I decided to no longer see my father. By that time he was a real drunk and I could not back away from the idea that I was degraded by him.There were all sorts of boundary issues, some quite disturbing. When I would go to see him we would go to a bar together and drink until we were in a stupor.When I was that drunk I would spend the night.I think I began to recognize at that time that I was in danger.  I will not spell it out.So, I stopped it.  And I have posted before that when I chose to no longer see my father, he had nothing in his heart for me but hatred, and denounced me to my brother and I guess everybody else, as guilty of sexual proclivities that he invented.And then, the next thing I knew of him was that my mother (I had been estranged from her for 11 years or so) sent a letter telling me that my father had died maybe 4 years before.)And this was the first time of devastation. But this time I only went to be for maybe 6 months and had to get up to go to work.So, I think I fear that having set a limit with my son, means I may never speak with or see him again. And worse still, that when I set a limit it is almost killing in its' power. And I do not want to hurt my son by making a limit. And I did. And it's too late to protect him.  Or maybe I fear that my son is punishing me and that he will decide like I did with my father, that he does not want to see me or talk to me.And it will be forever. And that I could not bear. And I think I go to bed, because I could not bear to never ever see my son again.There have been so many terrible, terrible losses and assaults in my life. And I do not know how I survived intact, or at least alive.But then, when I fear I may not ever see my son, I remember that I should be dead. And I think I kill myself off again.  Because that is only way that I feel that he can be okay.SWOT pointed out that I seem to not feel as if I can be okay and thrive without taking care of others. And there is truth to this. I keep going back for survivors. Kind of like Frida Dickers Kramer, the artist in Nazi Germany I wrote about.Until this last time, when I went back, I died, too.So I cannot figure out what to do. M is here. With me. And he I think will stay with me and help me survive. Whether it is in bed or somewhere far away. And for that I am grateful.So, that is what it is. By going to bed, again and again, I am paying a ransom so that others live. And I think once that person was my sister. And now it is my son.  Or maybe the both of them.But then, maybe, I am trying to save myself. Maybe it is me.Thank you Cedar and SWOT.</blockquote>

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