cleaning out the closet last night, we gave a bunch of nail art stickers to the kids. rachel doesn't do anything so girly as nail art *giggle* so she is using them as mini tattoos. what a neat idea. so now i have a small red rosebud on my wrist over the place where you can feel the pulse. it's on top of one of the old scars. maybe having it there and being able to look at the red will help not to cut. have to tell charlie so he doesn't freak if he sees it. he'll think we cut and i don't want him to worry.
we skipped the EMDR with lyn yesterday. she didn't think we were physically strong enough cuz i guess you can just see how worn and tired we are. s'ok that we didn't do it. i didn't really want to. stephanie's writing about where we were going to start and maybe if she can finish the writing it'll be easier to go back there.
it's weird tho. almost stupid that it's caused so much fucking hurt but i guess, if i were like, john's age, it would be a huge thing.
see, the kindergarten teacher gave us a dollar cuz she felt sorry for us that we didn't have any spending money. she told us not to tell anyone so when the best friend asked where the bracelet came from marisa told her she found the money in the monkey house. the friend claimed she lost a dollar in the monkey house and so a fight started with the friend telling marisa she stole the money from her. well one thing led to another and then karen's dad called mum and mum told dad and that's when the shit really hit the fan. beatings with a belt and screaming while dad demanded that there be a confession of the theft. she stuck to her story of finding the money for the first hour or so and then tried to tell the truth. well, that went over like a lead balloon. finally after what must have been a couple of hours he threatened to call the teacher. when he picked up the phone and pretended to dial, she broke and admitted she stole from her friend. after that she had to give the bracelet to karen and apologize to karen in front of karen's parents and admit to the theft again. we didn't want the teacher to know we had told what was supposed to be a secret. would prolly have broken her heart to know how her act of sincere kindness ended up... all because of one white lie, "i found it in the monkey house", she was forever branded ( we all were in a way cuz we've all known we were 'bad') a liar and thief. it's weird too that trying to be what they wanted was impossible, but becoming what they thought we were was the only thing we could do.
so from then on, we lied, we stole. we shoplifted all the christmas presents for the family when the campfire girls troop had their shopping trip one year. 11 years old maybe? yeah, it was 11, cuz the year before was the year we had to make all our gifts. g*d, that's a whole other story. not even gonna go there right now.
nothing was ever enough.
the toddler who loved to sing demanded too much attention. the kid who could do cartwheels by 3 was a show-off. had her nose rubbed in a wet diaper in front of the whole family while opening presents on her 4th birthday because she still wet the bed. not feminine enough for mum but not tough enough to keep up with her 5 older brothers. called ugly by everyone whose opinion mattered. tho the first one in the class to read in first grade, she was lazy. everyone assumed that because she had an imagination and told tall tales of fantasy that everything was a lie. so when she told her teacher her dad's b-day was dec. 25, the teacher asked in front of the class if her father was nailed to a cross too? never knew when to keep her mouth shut. had none of the british stoicism required by mum. loved to entertain and steal the spotlight. selfish little show-off. when other people praised her for her charm or talent she was torn down in private and punished with isolation. the little girl who was terrified in the night had no one to comfort her because she needed to stop being afraid of silly things. the little girl who thrived on hugs was untouchable to the mother who never volunteered a loving touch until long afte rthe child was grown and married. everyone saw she was daddy's favorite but her. all she knew was she was the only girl in the family ever to encounter dad's fist. how could others see a love that was translated to her in nothing but broken promises and nightmares about his violent temper? no one ever said this, as she was always reminded she was 'chosen', but she was a bastard child and she'd always known it. the girl who cried when she didn't win a game at her 6th birthday party was punished by never having another celebration. from 5 she knew she spoiled everything. when the mother of two down the street hung herself, the girl watched as the body was taken from the house and idly wondered how to do the same. it scared her to think of death and it would remain her terror even when years later the desire to die would consume her every thought.
fuck. i'm thinking too much.