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Forced myself to be productive on the book writing today.  What a strange story this will end up being.  I’m not sure there’s another Borderline Personality Disorder severe infant-child abuse story out there that includes a mother’s own writings to the extent this one will.  Never will I be comfortable reading the words my mother wrote.  Her voice is in them.

I ran into anger at my mother today – and when that happens I always stop dead in my tracks.  In some ways I think that if I ever FELT the anger I truly have against what my mother did to me I would evaporate like steam or fry into ashes or disintegrate into cinders and blow away.  I also think in some ways that by NOT ‘being’ angry at my mother, by not letting anger at her stick to me as I live my own life, I am SO NOT LETTING HER WIN!

I have never yet seen a benefit to returning her anger with my own, her hatred with my own.  I know I am bigger and better than that — and not sick like my mother was, sick like a raging rapid bear — wolverine — or badger.

So when I encounter one of Mother’s nasty snide verbal snipes she took at me when I was a child in the letters she wrote to her mother, I simply note my flash of anger where it appears and move on.  I trust when it is time for my daughter to become involved in the editing process that we will have some ‘interviews’ and discussions about some of this writing process that is troublesome to me.

For now my story is far too complex for me to rest with any certainty anywhere along in its telling.  My job right now is to find and define the skeleton of my childhood story.  Eventually I will take myself to task on some of the finer points I just don’t wish to deal with now!!

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