Waiting For The Sun

I wrote this a few weeks ago. 

As open as I am here, there are people in my family who, while they tolerate this hobby of mine, are extraordinarily private. I won’t say much, I will just say it’s been a very scary couple of days due to illness and the hospitalization of someone I love more than air. The storm has passed and all is well. Or at least on the way to wellness. 

I re-read this piece this morning and wanted to go back in time a few weeks and gather myself into my arms and whisper in my ear “Oh, sweetie…the storm is still coming. Hold on, baby, because this is going to be rough.”

It’s good to be on the other side of this. 

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The anxiety is as bad as it gets right now. I am typing these words and coming to the realization that my anxiety has gotten away from me. My hope is that when you read these words the storm will have passed. I have to believe this.

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Daughters Of Bad Fathers

Daughters of bad fathers have our own tribe, don’t we?

We had bad fathers who were distant, cruel, or abusive. And at their worst, monsters. The circumstances can be so different, but we share some common issues.

My narcissist father said he loved me. I think he might have even said the words often, but his actions made it clear  he was a liar.

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I Love You, Man

No. I mean it. I love you.

I LOVE YOU!

See? I can type it. Kind of. I still might not ever post this because it’s difficult. I don’t say ‘I love you’ easily. I don’t love easily. Even when I tell people I love that I love them, it’s rarely an ‘I love you’, it’s a ‘love ya’ or I say ‘I love you’ in a cartoony voice. And if I say it on the phone, then I hang up immediately.

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