Forums
New posts
Search forums
What's new
New posts
New profile posts
Latest activity
Internet Search
Members
Current visitors
New profile posts
Search profile posts
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
New posts
Search forums
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Forums
General Discussions
Family of Origin
Relationship Patterns / Dysfunctional FOO Issues
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 670979" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Painting and art and creation of all types, in all media. Dancing, performance, textiles, photography, writing, music, fashion, all of it. Are ours for the claiming.</p><p>She must have had the illusion that she had silenced me, by my leaving. That was her rage that I had returned.</p><p></p><p>I had no idea that was what she had wanted.</p><p></p><p>How dumb a thing to want. To believe that <em>away </em>means non-existent or beaten. When it is just the opposite.</p><p>Yes. I did. I remembered and waited. Until he came. And that proved almost worse. I will talk about that more. Later.</p><p>I was a beautiful little girl. Anybody with half a heart would have loved me. Sweet. Sensitive. Imaginative. Inquisitive. Friends with storekeepers, barbers, police on horseback. Painting and drawing and making music with every little thing I could ring or beat. Playacting and making theatricals at 5 or 6. Friends of bugs and beetles and moths and caterpillars. Dolls and paper dolls. Running and jumping and climbing. Loving outside.</p><p>Cedar, I have much work to do about my father, and it frightens me lest I fall into the same kind of morass as with my mother.</p><p>I have to think of it as a red badge of courage. I do not have to accept her definitions. There is a wonderful book, I think by Philip Roth, The Human Stain. If any of you are interested, I will read it again with you. We can have a cyber book club. The series of Philip Roth's books, I have always wanted to read. The main character is named Swede. One of the books, American Pastoral.</p><p></p><p>But right now I will open up <u>Cooked</u> to honor my promise to M to stay off the computer some *although his TV is back on.</p><p>They did. Horrible things. I was broken to bits. But I stood up and did not allow myself to be defeated by life. And now I am putting myself back together again. Thank you.</p><p>Yes. How sad for her that her well-being is dependent upon the destruction of another, or others. Imagine a life based upon such a thing. What she wishes for me has not a thing to do with me, if I choose It. I do.</p><p>I have a lot of grief and guilt inside me about my father. That I fear looking at. I will begin, but not today.</p><p>Yes. What would it be to have a life defined by such? I really feel done with her. I do not have to go there anymore. She is Germany. I am Argentina. I have Borges and the Tango. And myself.</p><p>Cedar, how I love this line. I can see myself. And love myself, in this line.</p><p>I am, Cedar. I am.</p><p>Yes. I am beginning to almost hate her, except I do not hate. There is not the energy or motivation of hatred. More like a quiet disgust. Like one feels towards other disgusting things. (There is a famous book by the Anthropologist Mary Douglas about disgust. I will look for it, again.) Is it wrong to feel disgust? That is, should I seek another feeling or attitude?</p><p></p><p>The remarkable thing is my sister has lost so much of her power within me. When I think of her I feel disgust.</p><p></p><p>It did buy them survival. Happiness, no. Contentment, no. Meaning, no. Nor did they really buy esteem of others or self-esteem. What they got? Survival at the expense of others. Like the stoolies in the concentration camp that Viktor Frankly writes about. What kind of survival is that? To have a character type that is willing to sell others out and off, especially one's family?</p><p>It is the worst and most primitive kind of "win."</p><p></p><p>I am about to write something horrible. Once I was walking a pier in Berkeley. There were fishing huts along each side. And in one on the bench there was a pile of <img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/2012/censored2.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":censored2:" title="censored2 :censored2:" data-shortname=":censored2:" />. That is a memory of 45 years ago that never leaves me. And that is the kind of stain delivered by my sister on my new, clean, white, down comforter. Like a horse head in a bed. Imagine lumping an act of a sister in such a grouping.</p><p></p><p>I am thinking now, just a little bit, of what bad things I may have done to her, that she feels justify an act that delivers such a degrading message.</p><p></p><p>Except I know it has not at all to do with me. And it never did. I was just trapped for a long while. Now I am not. Neither are you.</p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 670979, member: 18958"] Painting and art and creation of all types, in all media. Dancing, performance, textiles, photography, writing, music, fashion, all of it. Are ours for the claiming. She must have had the illusion that she had silenced me, by my leaving. That was her rage that I had returned. I had no idea that was what she had wanted. How dumb a thing to want. To believe that [I]away [/I]means non-existent or beaten. When it is just the opposite. Yes. I did. I remembered and waited. Until he came. And that proved almost worse. I will talk about that more. Later. I was a beautiful little girl. Anybody with half a heart would have loved me. Sweet. Sensitive. Imaginative. Inquisitive. Friends with storekeepers, barbers, police on horseback. Painting and drawing and making music with every little thing I could ring or beat. Playacting and making theatricals at 5 or 6. Friends of bugs and beetles and moths and caterpillars. Dolls and paper dolls. Running and jumping and climbing. Loving outside. Cedar, I have much work to do about my father, and it frightens me lest I fall into the same kind of morass as with my mother. I have to think of it as a red badge of courage. I do not have to accept her definitions. There is a wonderful book, I think by Philip Roth, The Human Stain. If any of you are interested, I will read it again with you. We can have a cyber book club. The series of Philip Roth's books, I have always wanted to read. The main character is named Swede. One of the books, American Pastoral. But right now I will open up [U]Cooked[/U] to honor my promise to M to stay off the computer some *although his TV is back on. They did. Horrible things. I was broken to bits. But I stood up and did not allow myself to be defeated by life. And now I am putting myself back together again. Thank you. Yes. How sad for her that her well-being is dependent upon the destruction of another, or others. Imagine a life based upon such a thing. What she wishes for me has not a thing to do with me, if I choose It. I do. I have a lot of grief and guilt inside me about my father. That I fear looking at. I will begin, but not today. Yes. What would it be to have a life defined by such? I really feel done with her. I do not have to go there anymore. She is Germany. I am Argentina. I have Borges and the Tango. And myself. Cedar, how I love this line. I can see myself. And love myself, in this line. I am, Cedar. I am. Yes. I am beginning to almost hate her, except I do not hate. There is not the energy or motivation of hatred. More like a quiet disgust. Like one feels towards other disgusting things. (There is a famous book by the Anthropologist Mary Douglas about disgust. I will look for it, again.) Is it wrong to feel disgust? That is, should I seek another feeling or attitude? The remarkable thing is my sister has lost so much of her power within me. When I think of her I feel disgust. It did buy them survival. Happiness, no. Contentment, no. Meaning, no. Nor did they really buy esteem of others or self-esteem. What they got? Survival at the expense of others. Like the stoolies in the concentration camp that Viktor Frankly writes about. What kind of survival is that? To have a character type that is willing to sell others out and off, especially one's family? It is the worst and most primitive kind of "win." I am about to write something horrible. Once I was walking a pier in Berkeley. There were fishing huts along each side. And in one on the bench there was a pile of :censored2:. That is a memory of 45 years ago that never leaves me. And that is the kind of stain delivered by my sister on my new, clean, white, down comforter. Like a horse head in a bed. Imagine lumping an act of a sister in such a grouping. I am thinking now, just a little bit, of what bad things I may have done to her, that she feels justify an act that delivers such a degrading message. Except I know it has not at all to do with me. And it never did. I was just trapped for a long while. Now I am not. Neither are you. COPA [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Forums
General Discussions
Family of Origin
Relationship Patterns / Dysfunctional FOO Issues
Top