This memory has surfaced in the last couple of days so I am writing it down and letting it go. It seems that writing out painful experiences helps me to get past them so here goes.
Many years ago when I was 11 or 12 I went away on Girl Scout camp…and when I got back I had a fight with my mother. Fighting with my mother at that stage was hardly unusual, I could never please her and I was desperate for the make up for a fight where for once she would tell me (and more importantly, make me feel) that she loved me unconditionally. That still has not come. I don’t think it ever will.
But that is not the point of the story. I had always believed until I got back from that camp that my sister had my back, that she, at least, loved me. After the fight a card got shoved under my bedroom door.
On the front of it was a picture of a bunch of roses and some sheet music. Part of the text on the front (or perhaps all of it, I honestly do not remember) read:
Always my sister, always my friend.
On the back of the card in my sister’s neat curly handwriting was the message:
Go on camp more often, but you can stay home if you fight less with mom.
That memory hurts. The rejection hurts. The insinuation that everything that was wrong at home was all my fault. That was the first time that I truly felt alone. I always believed that at least there was one person at home to make it a safe place and who believed that I had a right to have a haven.
I am crying as I type this, because I don’t quite know how to forgive my sister for her teenage insensitivity. And she was and is as much a victim of our dysfunctional family as I was/am. But that memory, in this moment stings and gnaws at my very soul.
I did something unusual for me just now, I actually took a step back from what I was writing. I went and grabbed some water from the fridge and had a drink and I feel better, calmer.
I am letting this memory float away…I just needed to dump it somewhere.