The older she got, the more she thought things might change, that the past might be left not forever sitting in her pocket.
But it didn’t work like that, the past stuck to her like glue and wasn’t showing any sign of being anything other than that.
Her past life crippled her and she knew it. Try as she might to lessen its impact she came to the realization that the past for her was part of her living.
She spent ten years writing her story, putting down the painful moments that were not too painful to mention but acknowledging there some events she would never be able to record.
Who would have thought the abuse of childhood would have dictated so much of her life? The constant craving as she grew older for affection and acceptance resulted in greater and more horrifying abuse from which she would never recover.
She found some solace in the arms of a man who like her was damaged. They forged a co-dependent relationship, knowing the other was there for them, they were able to separate the physical from the mental and knew in each other they had a supportive partner.
But always in her mind were the words of a spiteful mother who told her so much of what was wrong in her life was her own fault and that she was cursed with ruining not only her own life but the life of anyone she interacted with.
With this echoing in her mind, was it any wonder she fell into deep depression, surviving by believing ‘one day at a time’ was her survival mantra. One day turned into another just like the previous one, she found she was painted into a corner of life that corralled her and gave her no way out, at least no way out that didn’t involve a risk of her ending up on the street with nothing.
Each day meant picking up the pieces of the previous day and wondering if she had the resilience to make through another day and into the next.
The haunting question remained for her, could she love, could her own children see the love she had for them or was she to be forever shunned as a woman incapable of love and affection. Already she had suffered the ignominy of having to bury a wayward daughter, one she loved but her love was never enough in the face of the abuse and adversity met upon the girl by an abusive father.
She rises in the morning looks to see the coffee awaiting her, the garden needing her attention, the little dog her most faithful companion looking at her with the love a pet imparts and she wonders if this is all there is?