Category: Hyde’s Bride

There is the thought that it would be a relief to share the load of responsibilities, to have an equal partner capable of contributing.

Since no one had taken the time to know and see her clearly, she took the vacancy this afforded and invested in herself.

Maybe the reason that what is left at the end of the day as self criticism is because those things I could not change might not resolve – and somehow, I still feel responsible.

In a land dominated by arbitrary men.

Hello *****,

To my instructor’s outdated and again insensitive comment, “employers expect blah blah blah…” I replied that I would not work for one who would not support my succeeding despite disability and life emergencies.

I guess that means I must aim for eventual return to self-employment – hahaha!

Dodge script-implied auto retort of, “Well no one would put up with ‘this behavior’ or hire you!”

I did not complete the project by the arbitrarily-shortened timeline, but made quality, complex progress to where can be seen developing capabilities, and I took screen shots showing expansive developmental progress.

I am biting my tongue and trying to “check” my brain to not let out a torent of vexed verbality over others’ projections and unrealistic expectations of my performance.

It is the kind of subtle but insistive passive-aggressive and insidious gaslighting outdated messaging designed to make a person turn upon their self as if they are the problem.

Those projecting are likely even blind to what they are doing, after likely surviving such treatment in the workforce and life circumstances – coming from their own personal background “traumas” and having to self modify to their own detriment.

No thank you.

I will not join in being a mouthpiece – nor another puppet forced into compliance of dancing to and passing on this negative message self-defaming encoding.

We are all “carriers” of brain washing viral behavior imprints to some extent.

It is up to each one of us to decide to wrestle with these internal demons turning us against ourselve;, not let them pressure us into infecting others; and break the chains of propagation being continually passed onward to future generations.

And now, back to our previously scheduled programs…

Being in a relationship has never been safe for me because I have to give too much to reinforce any stability.

I am not interested in being built up nor torn down by any person attempting projection!

Whenever she tried to get ahead, something would arise to try and push her down again.

She had experienced way too many moments where love had began to blossom – but then was cut off.

I’m just done.

Done with being josstled.

Done with being pushed around.

Done with beung mistrusted and projected upon.

Society can have it – because I sure as heck don’t need it!

There had been a time when she had had buffered layers – whether by youth’s inexperience, well-disguised denial, or remnants if innocent faith still pouring from an ever-flowing well, open to possibilities.

A predilection, to be sure.

She was newly learning that her children could now see her more clearly and that they supported her endeavors, whereas before, their father had defamed her capabilities and character so thoroughly.

I do not flourish when others have it at my expense.

When people project onto others, they can end up having the effect of gaslighting.

Then, when the person goes into therapy having been wrongly accused and “persecuted,” tbey might at last “show their “teeth” in their responsive defense to get out the “heat” in what is supposed to be a safe environment.

But, because what the therapist then sees mirrors the projections – which were false in the first place but had driven the innocent person into an internal frenzy – the therapist then reinforces this projection’s reality by admonishing!

Identifying the self is not an easy task if one is a complex-dynamic thinker surrounded by societal bombardment’s brainwashing.

Though consistency was good, maybe a dose of unpredictability was needed.

“Stop telling me that my way of adapting for continuing to be possitively productive in my functioning is wrong.”

Who was she to be, if not herself?

Spouting countermeasure cusswords in her self defense toward societal atrocities in presence of her most trusted confidants. yet dealing with beyond fairness to the world when it came right down to it.

Just go pick your younger version.

I’ve got better things to do than pine for past seasons.

It wasn’t about self disgust or anything like that.

It was a pushing back against societal messaging of who and what she “should” be.

It was about reclamation of her identity’s space, and the right to liberate her spirit from the chains of conformity.

It must be enough to maintain my own, rather than being required to account for others’ lack of responsibility.

In order to be allowed to stay with a brilliant man, I needed to not exhibit my own brilliance.

She had fled in order to not
Experience that pain again.

Bereft and somewhere deep insane, I wandered the streets between parlors of damnation and intermittent toilets tossed from buckets as streaming liquid sheets of putrescence.

Stumbling lost, dismissed as just another dreg for the dogs to feed upon or the wretched to bed, I was somehow left unaccosted and fumbeled through those darkly smoke-ridden, dismal streets until they one day just faded away into the open, rolling green vales of countryside.

As the rain washed away all traces of stench from me as if cleansing my soul for redemption, I happened upon an elderly farmer needing help with his dairy cow’s milking.

Since then, I bathe in the light of sunshine.

When she’d had her own someone, the nights had not seemed so long, and the days gave meaning to enthusiasm.

At least she could still return to the Garden and experience delight in nature’s laughter.

She had fought for so long to keep pushing back against the influences of psycho-logical influences programmed into her internal messaging that when the migraines came, all she could do was fight harder in anger and extreme vexation, challenging the pain.

“Though I could not change what was happening to me, I could stand up for others.”

“I am marked by this original wounding – of greater impact than my other in my childhood because of how it shook every foundation.”

Had her mother or grandparents supported her trying to protect those other children?

She couldn’t remember due to the pressures causing her memories to fold inward into convolutions.

The angry calls and accusations at doors, the implied if not direct chastisement in deztroying a dream for everyone at the clubhouse once deemed “picture perfect.”

Not surprisingly, it was the misdirected ire of the wives which did the most gossiping damage.

(Title ref to “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…”)

Maybe had she stayed with her grandparents instead of moving North with her family, the spell would have been broken sooner and she could have regained her status.

But, as with the life pattern she seemed destined to keep repeating, disruption and missed timing kept winning.

One of the most conflicting presents she remembered getting for Christmas for the holidays was a beautiful polkadotted, flared skirt party dress meant as the crowned jewel icing for any event.

Yet she had thought it the most cruel, tainted joke of at her expense, even though she could feel her grandparents’ intentions had been loving.

For she had been branded pariah, outcast.

She did not belong to the poorer society where her mother had obtained housing, and she was no longer included in highborn  because of her legacy.

Even as a child, she’d had an intolerance for predators harming innocents.

“You have such a brilliant, instinctual and natural emotional intelligence – but you need more windows in your mind for an open view.”

Shivering in pain and yesterday’s fears projected onto today and tomorrows, she tried to console herself that it was better to be alone and bear these imposed burdens, rather than be wrongly accused for crimes that she hadn’t committed.

The impression found her and emblazened its messages upon her parasympathetic empathy, thereby compelling her to see what she could not easily believe while forcing her to carry the torch for others who could not flee.

It has been said that to find the key and illuminate the lock may open cealed doorways to the soul for claiming one’s redemption.

But what awaits on the other side, and why were those doors barred in the first place?

Buried too deep and supressed by centuries of intimidation by terror tactics, memories of abuse’s atrocitities enacted against children echoed throughout spectered and darkened hallways.

“I know who the ghosts are now, mother,” whispered the child the demons stalked in occluded dreams who’s mother could not  acknowledge the truth to help and release her.

For she had also been branded and harmed by these sins.

“A friend commented today that dogs have been bred to love and serve man.

I acknowledged this and then added, “‘So have women.'”

Whilst we might not experience the progress we desire to see and are striving for in our own lifetimes, by being aware and present – by being diligent and contributive – we may turn the odds to future generations’ favor, and live each day knowing that we are heroes.