bloody marty mix
91/365: 1972-1973
Monday, 25 August 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 5: 1972-1973
I don't know how to write about this, at least not in such a public way. Very few people know about this part of my life. My husband, two of my ex-boyfriends, and the people who have been involved in my 11+ years of therapy. That's it.
A lot of stuff happened during this time of my life, plenty of it wonderful and fun and worthy of celebratory remembrance. My mom met my stepfather (my "dad"). We had long days that stretched into long nights of fun and frivolity with the hippies who had taken us in. I started kindergarten, and loved my little yellow reading books and my printing exercises. I had my first little crush on a boy I used to see on the playground. I can't remember his name now, but I had a screaming match with him over the word "gas." (Don't ask... I have no idea!)
But overshadowing all of it is an event that I've spent the rest of my life trying by turns to reject, assimilate, and make peace with as I trace its tendrils through the vines that have grown up around it. Even now, as I write this, I am not sure how much I want to say. Perhaps it is enough to say that its impact was profound enough to alter the very shape of my identity, and to complicate and reverberate outward in waves of loathing and doubt.
I would also like to say, for the record, that this did not involve any member of our household, whether family, step-family, or friend.
Who am I?
I am a survivor.
I am, in many ways, defined by my struggle to avoid being defined by this event. This is the paradox of the survivor. I've worked very hard, for many years, on reaching a level of self-awareness that is, quite frankly, tedious. The vigilance with which I've had to monitor my own emotional impulses is something akin to air traffic control at O'Hare. The longer I've been at it, though, the more natural it has become. With setbacks here and there, I've almost gotten to the point of not having to furiously gaze at my navel 24/7. Let me tell you, metacognition gets really old after awhile. Occasional ignorance is bliss.
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Texture Credits
"Sunflower Field 1" by hazylium.
"textures (3)" by Ceece.
91/365: 1972-1973
Monday, 25 August 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 5: 1972-1973
I don't know how to write about this, at least not in such a public way. Very few people know about this part of my life. My husband, two of my ex-boyfriends, and the people who have been involved in my 11+ years of therapy. That's it.
A lot of stuff happened during this time of my life, plenty of it wonderful and fun and worthy of celebratory remembrance. My mom met my stepfather (my "dad"). We had long days that stretched into long nights of fun and frivolity with the hippies who had taken us in. I started kindergarten, and loved my little yellow reading books and my printing exercises. I had my first little crush on a boy I used to see on the playground. I can't remember his name now, but I had a screaming match with him over the word "gas." (Don't ask... I have no idea!)
But overshadowing all of it is an event that I've spent the rest of my life trying by turns to reject, assimilate, and make peace with as I trace its tendrils through the vines that have grown up around it. Even now, as I write this, I am not sure how much I want to say. Perhaps it is enough to say that its impact was profound enough to alter the very shape of my identity, and to complicate and reverberate outward in waves of loathing and doubt.
I would also like to say, for the record, that this did not involve any member of our household, whether family, step-family, or friend.
Who am I?
I am a survivor.
I am, in many ways, defined by my struggle to avoid being defined by this event. This is the paradox of the survivor. I've worked very hard, for many years, on reaching a level of self-awareness that is, quite frankly, tedious. The vigilance with which I've had to monitor my own emotional impulses is something akin to air traffic control at O'Hare. The longer I've been at it, though, the more natural it has become. With setbacks here and there, I've almost gotten to the point of not having to furiously gaze at my navel 24/7. Let me tell you, metacognition gets really old after awhile. Occasional ignorance is bliss.
[ view previous | view next ]
Texture Credits
"Sunflower Field 1" by hazylium.
"textures (3)" by Ceece.