The caves.

The caves are where I’ve been hiding. They left me here by myself when they couldn’t protect me. They left me hiding here in the depths of myself, because what was happening was too scary to see.

These caves can be scary if you don’t know your way around, but I’ve gotten a pretty good lay of the land - especially over the past 6-7 years. It’s been lonely and scary and I’ve been begging someone to come meet me here. Find me. I’ve been searching for my way back out, but the monsters lurk between me and the light. They’ve been allowed to stay in my room. They sleep in my bed. They sleep there more than I do these days, as I know not to expose myself and my children to their claws and fangs. Their stings. Their venom. Their ooze.

I realize now that they are not fully aware of their ooze. They are not aware that they infect others. They don’t bother themselves with sealing off their poison, and rather leave it dripping and sloshing onto anyone who gets close.

Now that I’m finding my way out of the darkness, I realize it’s beyond them. I must find my way over them. I must load my rocket and shoot for the stars that exist so far beyond them, they can’t even comprehend where I’ll be. I pray they’ll find their own launch pad one day and join me beyond the fuckery, but that’s up to them and how they choose to evolve during this lifetime.

Recently, I’ve made contact with the clan that rejected me. The queen answered my call and spoke honestly about where she stands on my fate. The fate she’s decided is my destiny. The part I’m to continue to play for the rest of my days if I want contact with the clan. I’ve recorded our two last conversations, so that I may revisit them with my therapist and friends who love me. I intend to calibrate my flight path according to my parents’ words and actions - no longer regarding their good intentions and inability t/o do any better. I’ve decided to do better for myself than they deem appropriate or deserved.

This is what was said when I reached out on 6/8/2020 to my mother to ask if she still wanted to know me. This was the first time we’d talked in a long time.

{insert first video of convo with mom}

I’ve listened to this recording four times now. Between each listening session, I forget just how incapable she is. I go back to assuming she’ll figure it out. I hear my dad telling me that she’s “doing her best.” I hear my sister saying “it’s just the way she is.” My insides tell me she’s just confused, there must be words I can use to convince her she should care. That I’m here to teach her about what she hasn’t gotten to learn yet. That there is still hope and still a place inside of her that wants to love me and protect me and my family from harm.

Then I listen again, and I hear her tell me exactly who she is.

I’m so thankful I recorded her. One of the most insidious stings of her abuse is the gaslighting. The denial. The inability to care about how I see things and how she and her family’s behavior is hurtful, abusive and toxic. They are not the problem, in her eyes. It’s me. I’m difficult. I can’t let things go. I’m hard to be around. I don’t show enough interest in her and I’m not accepting enough of her family.