Learning to Walk

Been a little while since I’ve written a full blog to you.

That’s just me, ambling along, taking my time.

I was like that as a child too.

My mom must have gotten SO frustrated when as a very young child, I didn’t walk very early. Imagine her surprise when suddenly, I took off walking across a room that didn’t have any chairs around it. I must have known for months how to do it, I just didn’t FEEL like it and wasn’t going to until I was good n ready. That’s just how my personality works. I have to be in the right mood to do certain things in MY time table, not anyone else’s.

That also how I am when it comes to life, when it comes to singing, and when it comes to writing.

The abuse I went through was so painful then, it’s painful now (I keep looking over at my mother’s "Journal thinking I'll write more on it, but I am going to be gentle and be patient with myself as I'm doing it.) "(If your lost, here’s more on her so called "Journal" that she gave to my counselor to try to make me look bad- My counselor saw right through that as her trying to stab me in the back and gave it to me ) 

http://songsofaletheia.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-mom-deceiver-part-1.html

I will take my time. 

I’ve been writing a little bit every day, just enjoying the process, and sometimes bemoaning it. It HURTS. (Sometimes realizing things about myself that as a child, I was never allowed to stop long enough and think about.)

I was just looking outside and seeing the flower bulbs I've planted. It seems every spring that they take forever to bloom. What they go through in the dark to get to the point that they end up in the light is a miracle to me.

That I was in such a dark and lonely place, no one to confide in, being ignored and mercilessly tormented by my sisters, egged on by my father, being beaten down almost weekly,   I just realized not long ago reading something. They were feeling lonely too. Even though my sisters had each other and I didn't have anyone to confide in that family, my parents made sure that we wouldn't confide in each other.  If we did, their cover would have been blown and the truth which was SO conveniently put away would have come out.

It’s nothing to have a voice if you can't use it.

So now, I write.

And now, I think of those flowers. Ignored, neglected, beat on by the wind and rain. and still, They bloom.