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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 659629" data-attributes="member: 18958">First, my thoughts about the thread. I have no problem continuing on this thread. Like SWOT, I will find you where you go, if needed. What are the dangers that others may be afraid of that keep from doing so?  I would like to know.QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 659615, member: 17461"]I just don't know how to see myself, in this story of my own life.</blockquote>This is simple. Just put yourself in the Center.Start visually. There are so many fun things you can do. Google Life Maps or something like that.I do not think I have trouble in how I see myself in my life. (Well of course I do. I lie here. What I mean to say here is that I see myself as the protagonist of my own life.)My trouble is that my sister holds pieces of my life (I had mis-typed lie, that too)  that I still treasure.  Mostly my mother. I own my history.  Well, clearly I am a bit confused about the above paragraph, typing first lie, and then life. And lying, too, about how I see myself in my lie, I mean life.  Is this sense of being me, then, itself a lie?  Returning to the narrative, of which I had thought I was the author:Except that she (my sister) does not treasure them (those pieces). She never did. That is the difference between us and them.  And of course, all that does glitter is not gold. And being an educated woman, I know that treasure, too, can have it's underside. But that does not take away what I wrote to you:From the time you were a tiny girl, you protected a piece of you. And you never stopped. And our sisters did not do this.It is like how you talk about locus of control. No matter how powerless you were you kept a piece of yourself clean and safe, if only to WITNESS. And with that, it was everything.While they acted in way that looked self-protecting, making this and that alliance, ratting out this or that sibling...they did so lacking this solid center. Whoever was the powerful figure had to be placated. So that their welfare was always contingent upon doing someone else's bidding, always with an external locus of control.So their lives have seen a progressive weakening of self, a losing of vitality and strength and meaning. Not a consolidation.But yours has not been this.  For some reason, however, you persist, as if that solid center is not fully there. But it is.Cedar, I cannot remember having met people with as solid sense of self as have you and SWOT. I am Daffy. In fact, I may change my user name. Right now.Cedar, I always made myself a little bit of a joke. A Ditz. A Chestnut-haired now dull grey Dumb Blonde. And other women really did not like this quality. And I would not give it up. Except now I cannot translate this quality into Spanish. I mean, a most cherished part, is lost in translation. My Mother could play this part privately, but in public she was elegant and warm and self-assured. But I played the role in public. Because I felt that I would not be as vulnerable if I damaged myself first, before others had the chance to do it.But it worked out that they went after me more. After all, the blood was already in the water, why not pile on?And, still, if I could translate Daffy into Spanish I would do so, in a heartbeat.Me, too.Me, too. Deadly afraid.Less, afraid but still substantially so. But I was afraid of her. And that is worse.There is a quote somewhere of yours or SWOT's that I want to find and put here but cannot find.  You can imagine it here:I was the strongest in my adult life with my sister, when in middle age I made myself gloriously gorgeous and sexy.  Stunning. *Like my Mother.Cedar, get this: 4 inch Alligator stiletto heels. Italian. Willowy thin. Hair. Let's not even go there. Pencil thin wool skirts. Legs. Get Outta Here. Armani Jackets. Or Italian Leather. I made myself a VAMP. Nothing, nobody could touch me. I mean they flopped and flipped like with Plague Spray.This was when I was flying back and forth from Rio and any place in the world I wanted....Like THAT.OK I spent everything I had doing it. But do I second guess myself. NEVER.SWOT, I not only dominated the room (OK, in my own mind. But isn't this all of it, really?) I held it in thrall.So, I am trying to get back there. But I got old. And I gained 60 pounds. And everything about me got grey. And tired, And used up. And sad. And scared.(They do not list in Instyle Mag or Vogue, living as dead, as a beauty hint.)I am trying to lose weight but so far it has only been 1 pound a month. And sustaining my hope is not easy.Yeah. Come and get it. I'm ready for yuh.This morning I put on my imaginary boxing gloves and I started to punch out M (stand-in for his sister, and mine and yours *X2. I gave him blow after blow to the gut.It felt great and I wondered if in big cities there is boxing for the women over 60 set. You cannot imagine the satisfaction.And I have always wanted to have a street fight. I mean grabbing hair and stomping.  Yes. I never got to have one when I was in Junior High, but watched them in the sand lot. What a worthy goal.M is going through something horrible and I with him. It wakes up all of the fear and fear of victimization while my Mom was vulnerable to my sister.Except then, I could act to protect us. And now I cannot do one thing.I wake up in pain.A sister convinced his father to sign over the parents's house to her NOW. And she has taken power over the whole family, after robbing her parents. She kicked out of the house a sister, who had a little storefront in the living room window. This sister helped and watched and protected her mother who is STILL at 85 beaten by her jealous husband who will not let her leave the house because of lovers who only exist in his demented head.Except he has always been this way.And the scariest thing is the handicapped brother (I think he was a sniffer of paint) who will have nowhere to go and nobody to care for him--if this sister throws him to the dogs.Except M will not allow this. Except what can he do?  He cannot leave the country. And come back.He feels defeated by evil. I know he does. And it is a horrible sight to see.  And feel.The sister with the stationary store in the window takes responsibility and is loving and honorable (but M says she is a little foolish, too) would  have cared for her brother for his whole life (even though he carries around sh-it in his pockets because he is afraid of people.I do not know why evil wins.And I tooooold M that he needed to talk to his Dad and explain that the house needs to be left to the disabled son or stipulated that everybody has the right to stay there until their death, and who cares for the brother as well.So I get frantic that nobody listens to me. And now I feel like I too am being tortured by that sister. Whose daughters are now threatening everybody that if they fool with their Mama and they, they will spill all of the family secrets and ruin everybody.And they are threatening a street fight. Yes. This is why I had to put my boxing gloves on. They said they will get on a plane and go down there and fight everybody. These are Senoritas. NOT. And they will spill our secrets too, if we do not respect their mother's right to destroy the family. Because once as my Mother was dying, not knowing who this young woman really was, I told her a couple of secrets about us, and asked her not to tell.And this is the story of what happens in families...where abuse is not confronted by naming it and rooting it out. Or leaving.M tried to tell his sister...you are giving your daughters schooling that they will use to do the same thing to you. An escuelita in abuse are what your daughters are receiving.After all, my sister learned at the knee of my mother. As did yours. EVERY LITTLE THING.And she repeated it against her teacher.So when the daughters of the sister, his nieces, came to cozy up to M. Hola Tio. Kiss Kiss Kiss. He said: "Just like Judas."And he felt good, because his mother who sat beside him, said not one thing.But sometimes, being on the side of right is not enough. I would do anything to crush this sister. Anything. So I will have to learn to box.While I still cling to Daffy.  Excuse me. I must for a minute attend to my tail feathers.Yes. And I believe this is just. But you are not withholding yourself as just deserts. You are doing so because you know now who she is and you know so irrefutably. Because I cannot imagine that you will ever, ever, be with her as you once were.Cedar, it will never be different. Those parishioners in South Carolina have each other. They have a community of faith which they share.  However much your husband understands he cannot defend you completely because he does not have imprinted in him the key code.And the fundamental issue is this: do you really want to make and share that dinner that really is a street fight.  And you are the only one who does not know it. Because it will always be that.Except for me, if I lose 50 pounds.[/QUOTE]

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