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Visualize a painting of a person standing on the edge of a cliff, many hands are grabbing and reaching toward them-not just any hands but hands that are made of silver and gold. You would notice that each hand represents a repressed vision, dream, or realization. Threads labeled ‘jealousy’ attach the hands together forming a net. The hands viscously grab toward the person and some hands have broken through, climbing over one another to dig into the person again and again. You would see a hand that is bigger than the rest. That hand, using only its index and middle finger has pierced the side of the person causing them to bleed profusely-written on its talons are ‘deceit’ and ‘love’. The person on the cliff is looking down to the hand noticing how effortlessly it may cause their death. Tears billow in the eyes of this person, their mouth is stapled shut and emotionally are unable to move away from the snares of the helping hands. Above the person is an array of cherubs with scrolls of the unknown waiting for the person to take a much needed jump. I’m sure you can guess who the person represents.

Hindsight is always 20/20-  It’s hard for me to understand what I really don’t want to see when it comes to family relations; if you were a fly on the wall in certain family conversations of mine-you’d probably intentionally fly into one of those hanging tape rolls. I was conditioned to believe that my feelings don’t matter at a young age- that my judgement was skewed, dreams were attainable for others and that my existence was a nuisance. I had three very active parents in my life- Three people to shape and mold my foundation that get very defensive when I speak on my upbringing. I had nice moments, yes, but feelings of love and acceptance, never.  For years I was table talk- ‘eh, she’ll survive,’ ‘she’s not good in school anyway’, ‘she’s a fighter’, ‘she likes drama’, ‘she sure has a mouth on her’, ‘she should be happy her father took her in’, ‘ugh, what a spoiled brat…‘ I was tainted goods within the walls of my own family well before Kimmie discovered my unconscious cry for help.

Family matters are the nucleus of so many of my attachment issues and child- like tendencies. When I found out that my borderline diagnosis was a behavioral disorder that could be reversed versus a chemical imbalance that required constant medication I was relieved; nature vs. nurture applied to my case. Thankfully, I am no longer an active Borderline. Basically, I snapped in 96- added alcohol and drugs to an already disturbed mind and was ‘off to the races’. Fortunately, I started to get a grip around age 28, instead of ending up in a casket. I’ve never given myself a chance to heal from my upbringing because the truth is scary and I had to get through the damage from all the lovely men I slept with first. Yeeesh! I turned to drinking and drugs at a very young age because it was the only way I was able to cope with the negative vibes within my family walls. It wasn’t just me experiencing-it was how I survived.

As a youngin I felt I had to place the weight of my world on other peoples shoulders. My family was emotionally unavailable and my melt downs were too much for anyone to handle. I can understand how confusing it must have been to those who tried to help me since the appearance of my life seemed so ‘white privledge-ish’. Trust me, I was fucking confused too and wondered why things just kept getting worse. Today, I have a tendency to fall back into the helping hands way too often and bad relationships have added to many financial hardships. You don’t have to get married to lose all your money-Just find a soul sucking energy vampire that looks friendly. At times, I feel that I should be more grateful, more compliant, more open to what a helping hand has to say but then its like, nawwwwww. For fuck sake it’s all so clear in these goddamn truth goggles! Isn’t an entire life of struggle enough? OR should I keep on teetering the line of poverty until I’m a senior citizen- just keep being a fucking victim of circumstance and at the mercy of tainted love?

I can work through daily challenges much faster alone so I keep my distance from those I don’t feel kosher around. Keeping my distance is necessary yet extremely difficult- Why? Again, I was conditioned to believe that my feelings don’t matter and whatever I say is hogwash or me just being dramatic… Finding a way to earn more income and break this cycle of running back to helping hands when the going gets tough is a must. It’s expected of me to wallow in my own shit and then cry for help, because that’s what victims do but what if I can break the cycle this time? What if I try just a little harder to make it on my own? Then what? 

–According to Joseph Prince (I accidentally became a fan of his teachings-he seems authentic) A child will be humbled by society, teachers and friends. It is a parents duty to be the one to lift their spirit up; not curse them….The literal translation of curse means to speak down.

 

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