Her Charmed Life

I’ve been thinking a lot about my childhood lately. The pain in it is prevalent as the memories overcome the forefront of my mind. There is definitely some happiness too but of course it’s easier to focus on the negatives. I’ve been disassociating more recently too. I can’t tell if I have a big depression episode coming up like I used to get or if I’m still just down from being so sick the past two weeks. The snow storm isn’t helping either. I can’t go outside and I adore little hikes and walks. I have been settling for opening my window currents until it gets too cold.

Anyways

So my sister moved out. Fled the house really. No one knows where she is or if she’s okay. I’m sure she’s fine but I just hope that she really listened to me when I told her that she can always call me to come help her. She left just like I did and I see the pain it has caused my mom. I feel so conflicted about that. My mom has really been putting in the work to try and rebuild our relationship, the only issue is she thinks that money is the answer. She doesn’t take any accountability for anything of the trauma I had growing up. There is no and never will be an “I’m sorry that happened to you on my watch,” and that’s really all I want. A genuine apology from her and a true conversation. I know that she was trying her best and she didn’t have anyone to teach her how to be a better mother. But… that doesn’t matter. She still calls me to talk shit and gossip about my dad. I tell her more often than not that that topic is something I can’t talk about. For so many reasons, each she knows, and she still does it every week or so without fail.

With the development of my sister leaving, traumatic memories from my own youth plague me once again. I remember them with extreme clarity but as an onlooker now, rather than a victim. I feel so sorry for the little girl that I watch from my overhead view point. She is lost and afraid, finding attention from creepy older men and random adults who enter and exit her childhood. The mother of a girl in her girl scout troop, the mother of a girl in her 5th grade class birthday party group chat, the grandmother of her best friend. I shift through the memories like sorting through junk DMs, opening ones that I think are important only to find something distasteful, vaguely watching others from a disinterested view point. The younger me soldiers her way through them all. She has a huge smile that crinkles her eyes and round cheeks that are way too big for her face. Her laugh is loud and contagious, when she laughs it makes other people laugh. Her tears are hot and silent when they run, the blood on her thighs and the bruises that freckle her body are invisible to others. They all keep laughing so she does too. What else should she do? I watch as she is bullied and parentified, abused and sexualized. I watch her grow and throw herself into increasingly dangerous situations. I feel so fucking bad for her. I want to shout and scream at her to just find one person who can show her what real unconditional love is like. It wouldn’t matter though, she’s too young and too strong willed to listen. So I watch the memories pass me by and feel bad for my childhood that was too fleeting.

I wish a lot of it was different. But I’m very happy with my life now. I have a great romantic life, a very sweet cat whom I adore, and a brand new house that was designed with me in mind. I hear Spirit whispering to me in small quiet moments. It’s not bad anymore and I am finally safe.