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Family of Origin
That "why." Do we ever really know? Why does it matter?
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<blockquote data-quote="New Leaf" data-source="post: 673286" data-attributes="member: 19522"><p>Ah Cedar, there you go again, that incredible mind, thinking, writing, how fortunate and blessed we truly are. I shall never forget the way your words look and feel, how they dance and stir the heart. You have a true gift.</p><p></p><p>Copa, Serenity, Insane. It is like the longest and best never ending sleep over.</p><p></p><p>I miss Feeling, I hope she is okay, but Feeling, if I write anymore to you I feel like a stalker. Just know that I miss you and hope you will come round and check in.....</p><p></p><p>SWOT<em>- We are in their play....</em>How expressive and true are your words, and you speak of <em>others intelligence</em>.</p><p></p><p>For me, it is one person. One person so ruthlessly dominated, so cunning, that it is not until years, no decades later I see it. I don't even know if ruthless is the word, maybe subtle, a subtle dominance.</p><p>Is there even such a thing?</p><p>Have I imagined all of this?</p><p>My sister.</p><p></p><p>I am being shunned as I write this. I didn't even realize.</p><p>Huh.</p><p></p><p>I spoke with my mom, she sounds much better, not coughing so much. She asked me about Rain, and Tornado and her great grands. I talked about Viktor Frankl and Brene Brown. I told her how difficult it has all been, but that I could be strong and vulnerable at the same time. That after all of these years, I am learning my vulnerability is a <em>good thing.</em></p><p></p><p>She was there, my mom was, in the room when Attilla screamed over the speaker phone that she did not want to hear anything of my family, anymore. That she was<em> done</em> listening to me cry. That she had helped me so many times and she was done, <em>done</em>. I made the unladylike gesture, several times. I had helped her, too. I thought we were sisters, and that is what sisters do.</p><p>I suppose, I was not a willing, subservient general to her Ghenghis Kahn, I would no longer accept her spit in my mouth (that was gross Cedar, really, really gross.) I can't believe I just went there. Ahem.</p><p></p><p>I would not follow blindly behind her, and do her bidding. I saw her nakedness as she paraded gleefully down the road, flowers and cheers, thrown at the beauty of her style, the magnificent attire, exposed, to me, naked.</p><p>I shouted it back to her in the van that day. YOU ARE NAKED! I see you! (Okay that is imagery, she had clothes on.)</p><p></p><p>I faulted in my fealty.</p><p></p><p>So, she does not call. I do not call. What am I supposed to say? There is nothing I can say.</p><p></p><p>Thank you sisters.</p><p></p><p>I have my glasses on, and they are not fogged up.</p><p>I am going to do some more thinking.</p><p></p><p>Yuck, hock, spit in the mouth, yuck, and <em>that was an honor? </em></p><p>Ewwww.</p><p>Just ewwww.</p><p></p><p>leafy</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="New Leaf, post: 673286, member: 19522"] Ah Cedar, there you go again, that incredible mind, thinking, writing, how fortunate and blessed we truly are. I shall never forget the way your words look and feel, how they dance and stir the heart. You have a true gift. Copa, Serenity, Insane. It is like the longest and best never ending sleep over. I miss Feeling, I hope she is okay, but Feeling, if I write anymore to you I feel like a stalker. Just know that I miss you and hope you will come round and check in..... SWOT[I]- We are in their play....[/I]How expressive and true are your words, and you speak of [I]others intelligence[/I]. For me, it is one person. One person so ruthlessly dominated, so cunning, that it is not until years, no decades later I see it. I don't even know if ruthless is the word, maybe subtle, a subtle dominance. Is there even such a thing? Have I imagined all of this? My sister. I am being shunned as I write this. I didn't even realize. Huh. I spoke with my mom, she sounds much better, not coughing so much. She asked me about Rain, and Tornado and her great grands. I talked about Viktor Frankl and Brene Brown. I told her how difficult it has all been, but that I could be strong and vulnerable at the same time. That after all of these years, I am learning my vulnerability is a [I]good thing.[/I] She was there, my mom was, in the room when Attilla screamed over the speaker phone that she did not want to hear anything of my family, anymore. That she was[I] done[/I] listening to me cry. That she had helped me so many times and she was done, [I]done[/I]. I made the unladylike gesture, several times. I had helped her, too. I thought we were sisters, and that is what sisters do. I suppose, I was not a willing, subservient general to her Ghenghis Kahn, I would no longer accept her spit in my mouth (that was gross Cedar, really, really gross.) I can't believe I just went there. Ahem. I would not follow blindly behind her, and do her bidding. I saw her nakedness as she paraded gleefully down the road, flowers and cheers, thrown at the beauty of her style, the magnificent attire, exposed, to me, naked. I shouted it back to her in the van that day. YOU ARE NAKED! I see you! (Okay that is imagery, she had clothes on.) I faulted in my fealty. So, she does not call. I do not call. What am I supposed to say? There is nothing I can say. Thank you sisters. I have my glasses on, and they are not fogged up. I am going to do some more thinking. Yuck, hock, spit in the mouth, yuck, and [I]that was an honor? [/I] Ewwww. Just ewwww. leafy [/QUOTE]
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