In my family, like I’m sure others, we dance around uncomfortable truths.
For most of my life, my family has enabled not just my mother’s but any others mental illnesses. I still remember the day she stabbed my dad. Amid moments, like recent ones, my decision to remain around them modes deeply questioned & earnestly hoped to end. The religion in them refuses to see how I’m protecting them. The reality that an element of mental illness is still lingering around me helps me define varying areas of my creativity, inner wealth, & strength.
Before I came back around, there were agents of their religious cult f***ing my siblings with another on his way toward my mother. Such was a conclusion to my mother hand f***ing herself to me. I did n’t think she knew I knew what she was doing, but the memory or even thought of such is enough, trust me on that.
Life teaches you things amid committment to it. Like how mundane usually exposes itself, especially if you give it time. My mother the saint she believes she is was also demonic in ways. She ushered abortions, extended herself to the same very church officials who not only tried to molest me, but even one who tried to murder me. So amid seasons like today, my strength exudes not only expertise, but promise.
Promise that if there is a God or Universal Law, then I will succeed. Why? Just because after everything, I still exude faith.