Written January 19, 2015
The more I venture into the waters of my consciousness the more I’m aware of how polluted they are. Contaminated by the limiting beliefs of others that I allow to exist there.
I could scoop em out. I could deny their existence (cuz I’m the only one experiencing their reality, anyway) but instead, I just sit and watch them float around and pollute my life.
I’ve been having these totally awesome and fucked up visions of bashing my mom’s face in. It is terrifying. It is graphic and it makes me feel horrible, ungrateful, and guilty. But why? They are only fiction. I cannot act upon them. It is the manifestation of some deep anger welling up in me. Some contaminated emotion rising to the surface of my awareness saying, “Lookey here! You thought you could ignore me!!?? I am Anger. I will never be ignored.”
How very right of the flotsam and jetsam to report. Their accuracy is profound.
So now, I get to go swimming with that emotion. I’ve decided to embrace my anger. I’ll allow it. I’ll feel no shame or guilt. I will just be pissed.
Dear Mom, You suck. You were mean and heartless and cold and controlling. You continually told me what a worthless piece of shit I was to the point that it has become part of my consciousness. I hate you for that. I hate you for doing that to me. I hate you for doing that to me when I had no way to protect or defend myself from such an onslaught of verbal and emotional abuse as a child. What you did, knowingly or not, was cruel and unfair. Your voice inside me is limiting me. I want it gone. I banish it. I want your ghost to leave me alone so that I can live my life. I don’t want to be haunted by you anymore. I don’t need you to approve of my actions or decisions. I release you. Let your malignant spirit die with your flesh. I only want to keep the happy and fond memories of you. I only want to keep the wonderful attributes you prescribed to my life. And let me tell you lady, those “happy thoughts” are few and far in between. Maybe… just maybe, when you get out of my head, I’ll remember more happy things. But that can’t happen till you leave me alone. So, get… the… fuck… out.
What’s That Smell? or Why I Don’t Like Elephants
This Stop: Funky Town
Hurt, Grief, And All That Fun Stuff
Mad Tears
I Don’t Really Like My Mom