….a continuation (there’s too much to say…)
The unholy trinity abandoned us knowing all of the dangers, without any warning, without a conversation; devoid of an explanation, without a care in the world. They were like sisters to me. I’d grown up with them from a baby. They were all I knew and I loved them with all my heart as sisters and second mothers. That’s what aunt’s are aren’t they – second mothers, surrogate mothers. It’s a special relationship, a different one to that you’d have with your mother. The things you can say or do and get away with and the giggles you can have. My heart shattered into a million pieces the day I came home from school and discovered they’d helped themselves and left. I haven’t excavated all of those pieces to this day.
Yes, it’s true, we were living with acrid daily tension with a ‘them and us’ situation that had taken hold, fuelled by malicious gossip against my mother instigated by one of them. An acrimonious feud would ensue from time to time between my mum and her sisters, and I witnessed the vicious and vitriolic feuding on many occasions. But the sudden abandonment that day I didn’t see coming. Neither did my mother. Carefully planned and executed in true narcissitic style.
It hit me like a runaway train.
The unholy trinity, conspiring together, scurrying around steathily like rats behind our backs, helping themselves that fateful day to whatever they wanted as rats do (including my sentimental collection of birthday cards from when I was 1 years old – to this day I’ve never had them back and I still throw birthday cards away). In their stash or should I say loot was also mum’s clothes, money from a joint account that was fraudulently appropriated and mum’s solid gold wedding jewellery which was never returned who I am the rightful beneficiary of but which was probably sold to fund their all inclusive cruises and holidays that they revelled and regaled in telling me about when I saw them very fleetingly in 2015, a family reconcilliation that was never going to happen.
I was aghast.
Whilst me and mum lived in fear of our lives, the unholy trinity went on all-inclusive cruises and holidays to far flung destinations – interesting juxtaposition wouldn’t you say?
Really, I’d rather NOT have known that. Ignorance IS bliss.
Seeing cat poop aunt again at 39 years old stoked the small flame into a roaring blaze with kerosene poured on top. I couldn’t catch my breath as she unrepentantly regaled in what a wonderful time they were having on all their wonderful holidays whilst the fact that they fed me and mum to the wolves remained unuttered and unacknowledged, left on our own to fend for ourselves, sitting ducks to constant harassment and victimisation, no family to support us, no community to turn to, no one to save us. Those years were the most punishing and painful of my life. No child should have to grow up in constant, daily fear. It is any wonder even to this day I grew up with a black, burning rage that hasn’t quelled to this day? It’s unforgivable that we were literally left to suck it up and perish by our own family. I am 100% sure that knowing this contributed to my breakdown in 2017. That and waiting for a heart-felt apology that never came.
There was never an admission of wrong-doing, not even the slightest sign of remorse or repent.
There was a window for them to atone, words that I was so desperately waiting to hear: “I’m sorry we left you”, “We shouldn’t have done what we did”, “It was wrong”, “What can we do to make it right?” They would have been absolved. The little child in me could have rested in peace to play in fields of green and gold.
Those words never, ever came.
When the unholy trinity appeared in my life in fits and starts, on and off from around 2009-2016. I waited. And waited. With baited breath. The apology, the acknowledgement, the signs of remorse or regret never came. On the surface I sucked it up. But deep down it was too much for the traumatised child in me to bear. So I spiralled into a breakdown. Yes there were other major factors contributing to my implosion but this topped me off. And to be honest I don’t think I’m fully out of that breakdown – it ebbs and flows like the tides with each situation that comes along…inner truths exploding like land mines, and each, unhealed gaping hole drawing me into it like a vortex to shake my world, triggering me into realising that the pain body has not had enough attention. I come together and fall apart, come together and fall apart, each time, finding more and more pieces of me floating about and each time healing a little bit more; perhaps that what integration is about? A lonely path that takes time until one day you wake up feeling different, more whole, more complete, more together? I’m still waiting for that day.
I’m actually crying as I type these words. Those are her tears, the child part, not mine. I don’t remember crying the day I came home from school and mum telling me they’d taken what they wanted and gone. I don’t remember how I felt but maybe the pain I feel now is the repressed pain of that just turned 14 year old girl who couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. That night, the day they left, I recall they’d taken all the ‘nice’ cutlery which had thick, blue riveted handles; nothing posh but it was out best. There were no dessert spoons left for us, only teaspoons. So I ate some cornflakes with a blue plastic spoon from a picnic set we’d never used. They’d taken the better crockery as well and left us with the old scratched clear glass plates; mum took the whole blue picnic set out which was in an insulated ruck sack for going on picnics (not that we ever did, we never knew how to thrive); so we used the blue plastic plates and bowls too. My 14 year old heart was shattered that day into a million pieces. To this day I havnen’t mended that broken heart fully (which probably explains the breaking down). I think my soul was held hostage by a darker energy that day and I just shut down.
It is her, that girl, trapped and frozen in time who cannot digest how cruel, wicked, calculated and conniving her caregivers were, those closest to her who she loved like sisters and second mothers. Even when they came back for fleeting moments they were unrepenting, my childhood remorselessly stolen by abject self-service. Soul-less narcissistic revisionists who deflect any ownership for transgressions, oscillating between malignant and covert narcissist when it suits them; malignant when they’ve slung the shit and covert when they want to cower in victimhood, turning inside-out their own merciless deeds. My heart bleeds. I feel the pain in solar plexus – that’s where she lives, the little girl. I’m in tears as the pain is alive and kicking, her pain, that innocent girl. I’ve comforted the child part to tell her she’s ok and that she’s safe now, that none of it was her fault, that we have a gorgeous fluffy cat that we can stroke now and that she’s safe and loved. That is something I’ve learned to do with therapy. To soothe the part who was never soothed or comforted when her cry for help went unheard. I have to go back in time and defrost her, breathe life into her and to release her.
But part of me wants to fight. So… this is how my undigested emotional pain shows up in my body. A big, huge, bloated, stomach. It’s psycho-somatic for sure. This is the most painful post I’ve written yet. I’m crying as I sit here. Her tears, not mine. It’s good to let it out and let her cry, let it express so it’s no longer repressed but part of conscious you.
My ode to my inner child…
Little girl, I’ve cried you a river; you’re safe now, you can go and play and write and draw and do all the things that you loved to do….you’re safe to go outside; no ones’s going to hurt you. No one’s going to call you names. I’m looking after you. It wasn’t your fault what they did. You shouldn’t have gone through what you did. You’re safe with me. You’re loved. There’s no need to be scared any more…
If baring my soul to you (and the world) has moved or touched a part of you in any way, then your support would be very welcome. To help me on this healing journey, perhaps you’d like to buy me a coffee (although mines a tea) via the link below:
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