Whilst driving home last night with my son, in the silence of the car and the silence that exists being in the presence of my beautiful, silent son, I realised that I have spent the better part of the past 12 years being confused, bereft and totally miserable.
Why on earth do I profess to love this man?
Why does a heroin addict love the substance that is slowly killing them?
Am I just addicted to being needed; to having a body next to me in the bed that gives me the illusion that I am cherished and loved?
Reality is, I'm not. I am a foe. I am a opponent to be squashed and annihilated. Any form of independence or free thought...or anything that is intrinsically me is questioned, given an autopsy and examined to the point where I question my own right to be different to him. Do I really feel what I feel? Should I feel what I feel and think what I think? Feeling what I feel and thinking what I think only gets me into a world of trouble and the moody, broody, disapproving silences are the worst punishment one can inflict.
Give me a quick slap across the face any day. It's quick, it's painful, it's over.
But to be punished simply for not staying in the box he would have me in simply confuses me.
I wish I was loved.
I wish I was loved like Ryan loves Cole.
Oh Leisa this breaks my heart.
ReplyDeleteYou are loved - your son adores you.
You need to adore yourself so that you can do what you need to do for yourself so that he or another will adore you as well. We all deserve,need and want that.
((cyber hugs))