Sometimes, we compare our experiences to what others go through, and we decide how others should react.We often put a hope in our own lives based mostly on a fairy tale, though. We rarely hope others have that fairy tale if we didn't get it, though.
We decide all sorts of things about others in our narrow or broad views. No matter how broad, our's are our's, and they are what our pedestals are made of when we think of others.
We love to judge from our own stand point. Our story is more sad, more happy, more successful, more trying, more or less and always something else and different. We forget the last parts, though. Different. Different lives and people.
It is how a lot of us decide our own value: how do we compare to others. . .stronger, nicer, more quiet, less ashamed. . .whatever?
They don't. But I did.
They haven't. I have.
I do. They will not.
I am not sure how this helps us as a collective group of people, but it is what we all do.
So I was raised a daughter of one mother and father who had many children together. A child who knew these people together until she was over twenty. A girl who never had want as a child. A person who knew we were incredibly blessed financially. A child who never a parent on drugs, a parent drunk or a parent to harm the other. A girl who was intelligent and didn't need to study. A girl who was charming and had her way. A girl who was molested. one who was quiet when her smaller sibling was molested, too. who was pregnant and scared. raped and shamed and young. alone and then there was a baby and no one who seemed to have their wits around me. broken. crying. begging. cold. unkind. desperate. So angry. sorry but unable to say it. . .a person who stopping believing. a person with all the answers for someone and none for herself. A person who wanted an easy way out.
You cannot keep the good and leave the bad easily or at all, though. You have to leave it all, I fear, and that carries too high a price.
When we talk about experiences, lives and what matters and what makes us . .it is the bad more than than good that molds.
The nightmares, the crushing things, the "I am barely making it" times. . .they made us all. They are what beat us into people worth knowing. How can we forget and leave those memories?
Leaving MY past means leaving a sister, two brothers, a daddy and papaw in a distance too far. It means a goodbye to the knowledge they had of me when I was growing, when I was stupid, young and selfish, and when I was silly and coming together. . .the awareness that they would have been able to remember parts of my life I've forgotten.
They are weights I carry, and sure, I know others feel the weight (or sometimes just wish they could feel or wish would go), and these are stories others tire from knowing and hearing. Some days, I suppose no one could wish they would go as much as I, but they all stay while being so very gone.
I remember how voices and the moment fell and broke on and into my heart. There is a level of regret and hindsight that lingers, and it beckons me to forever be better.
So, I can say, "Life, you Suck."
Sure, I mean, it can. For a bit, for forever, for awhile. I can decide to judge everyone else based on what I've gone through, too. I can decide so many things based on what life gave me, and if I did those things, I would fail. I would fail in a real way. A singular way without a way to blame others or anything else.
And with that said, I will end with a rarely heard "Christian tone" in my posts that seems valuable at this time.
I grew up in a Church where they didn't teach that life can suck. They said God meant riches and happy, happy stuff. They also failed to teach love. They taught what was self righteous and easy. They also failed to mention we are here to love the World, not condemn it all to hell in a hand-basket.
I didn't listen to preachers who spoke. I read what was actually said, what he actually said, and I already believed, as a young person, life is full of troubles. I knew it because I knew him. The life of a person is full of troubles.
I knew troubles would come. And they did. When they did, I could withstand them, though barely. Perhaps in a troubled way. Yet, never was there more than I could withstand.
When my sister died, I didn't ask why. When my baby brothers laid under a blanket with a bible in their arms in a fire where they would ultimately perish, I didn't ask questions. When my daddy gave out from age and sadness a few years later, I was glad his time here was over because he was too sad to stay. When my second son was born after weeks in the hospital and months early, I wondered nothing. I was never angry. When they told me my heart defect was such I would not live through my 3rd pregnancy, it was whatever it was. And as time unfolded since, life did what it would do. I have not been angry or asked why.
Unkind things happen. They have happened to me. They will happen to you. Less or more or the same. It is how it works.
And through it all, I have found that people are individuals. We have different stories. We are weird and strange and do all types of things that never make sense.
No matter what one is dealt, it can, if you allow, make you grow and learn and be better. It can, if you allow, destroy you. You can decide to not be bitter, angry or to feel sorry for yourself.
Someone, anywhere. . .somewhere. . .has a sadder tale and made it.
LIFE can suck. I mean, it often will. In small, large and unimaginable ways.
Be tough. Be of Good Cheerful. Keep some Faith. Iron comes through fire and the like, right?
We decide all sorts of things about others in our narrow or broad views. No matter how broad, our's are our's, and they are what our pedestals are made of when we think of others.
We love to judge from our own stand point. Our story is more sad, more happy, more successful, more trying, more or less and always something else and different. We forget the last parts, though. Different. Different lives and people.
It is how a lot of us decide our own value: how do we compare to others. . .stronger, nicer, more quiet, less ashamed. . .whatever?
They don't. But I did.
They haven't. I have.
I do. They will not.
I am not sure how this helps us as a collective group of people, but it is what we all do.
So I was raised a daughter of one mother and father who had many children together. A child who knew these people together until she was over twenty. A girl who never had want as a child. A person who knew we were incredibly blessed financially. A child who never a parent on drugs, a parent drunk or a parent to harm the other. A girl who was intelligent and didn't need to study. A girl who was charming and had her way. A girl who was molested. one who was quiet when her smaller sibling was molested, too. who was pregnant and scared. raped and shamed and young. alone and then there was a baby and no one who seemed to have their wits around me. broken. crying. begging. cold. unkind. desperate. So angry. sorry but unable to say it. . .a person who stopping believing. a person with all the answers for someone and none for herself. A person who wanted an easy way out.
You cannot keep the good and leave the bad easily or at all, though. You have to leave it all, I fear, and that carries too high a price.
When we talk about experiences, lives and what matters and what makes us . .it is the bad more than than good that molds.
The nightmares, the crushing things, the "I am barely making it" times. . .they made us all. They are what beat us into people worth knowing. How can we forget and leave those memories?
Leaving MY past means leaving a sister, two brothers, a daddy and papaw in a distance too far. It means a goodbye to the knowledge they had of me when I was growing, when I was stupid, young and selfish, and when I was silly and coming together. . .the awareness that they would have been able to remember parts of my life I've forgotten.
They are weights I carry, and sure, I know others feel the weight (or sometimes just wish they could feel or wish would go), and these are stories others tire from knowing and hearing. Some days, I suppose no one could wish they would go as much as I, but they all stay while being so very gone.
I remember how voices and the moment fell and broke on and into my heart. There is a level of regret and hindsight that lingers, and it beckons me to forever be better.
So, I can say, "Life, you Suck."
Sure, I mean, it can. For a bit, for forever, for awhile. I can decide to judge everyone else based on what I've gone through, too. I can decide so many things based on what life gave me, and if I did those things, I would fail. I would fail in a real way. A singular way without a way to blame others or anything else.
And with that said, I will end with a rarely heard "Christian tone" in my posts that seems valuable at this time.
I grew up in a Church where they didn't teach that life can suck. They said God meant riches and happy, happy stuff. They also failed to teach love. They taught what was self righteous and easy. They also failed to mention we are here to love the World, not condemn it all to hell in a hand-basket.
I didn't listen to preachers who spoke. I read what was actually said, what he actually said, and I already believed, as a young person, life is full of troubles. I knew it because I knew him. The life of a person is full of troubles.
I knew troubles would come. And they did. When they did, I could withstand them, though barely. Perhaps in a troubled way. Yet, never was there more than I could withstand.
When my sister died, I didn't ask why. When my baby brothers laid under a blanket with a bible in their arms in a fire where they would ultimately perish, I didn't ask questions. When my daddy gave out from age and sadness a few years later, I was glad his time here was over because he was too sad to stay. When my second son was born after weeks in the hospital and months early, I wondered nothing. I was never angry. When they told me my heart defect was such I would not live through my 3rd pregnancy, it was whatever it was. And as time unfolded since, life did what it would do. I have not been angry or asked why.
Unkind things happen. They have happened to me. They will happen to you. Less or more or the same. It is how it works.
And through it all, I have found that people are individuals. We have different stories. We are weird and strange and do all types of things that never make sense.
No matter what one is dealt, it can, if you allow, make you grow and learn and be better. It can, if you allow, destroy you. You can decide to not be bitter, angry or to feel sorry for yourself.
Someone, anywhere. . .somewhere. . .has a sadder tale and made it.
LIFE can suck. I mean, it often will. In small, large and unimaginable ways.
Be tough. Be of Good Cheerful. Keep some Faith. Iron comes through fire and the like, right?
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