I am a child of divorce, an innocent bystander at the age of eleven, a casualty of war.
There's no real way to describe the terror and destruction left behind:
The pain,
the guilt,
the anger...
remains long after they have left this world.
I heard a sermon that helped me see outside of myself, outside of my pain and gain a perspective on the other side: my mother's side of this whole thing.
I never gave her much credit while she was living. I never valued her then... or now.
She was a victim of a mental illness. Although she couldn't help the way she behaved, it still hurt and paralyzed me.
I respond in mean and hurtful ways to those that love me because of the years of abuse I endured. It's clear now to me that I fear acceptance, love and family. Somewhere in this brain I am afraid this will all come crashing down and explode; leaving me again amongst the ruins. I walk around with reptilian skin... anyone who touches me will be poisoned with my venom.
I never thought of her and her pain of rejection when my dad wanted a divorce. Even when they got back together a couple years later, she was still haunted... I can see how it killed her inside. She was dead long before she passed away years ago.
I have trouble honoring her in a meaningful way... then again she's another poor soul, a victim, another casualty of war.
Someday, I will let it all go and shed this skin.
