I Yam

 

And in spite of how hard I try I yam never enough. 

I yam a watchdog, I yam a protector, I yam a defender. But nobody wants those unless and until they need them.

I yam a teacher, I yam a Shishou, I yam a student. I am constantly learning, always trying to gain knowledge, to teach myself more. I am not a master of anything, but there are skills where I am very proficient. This works for others if and when they want it to. The only time I will be forceful with my teaching is when I can prevent harm or injury. If you are miserable, I am miserable too. I may make you take steps to protect yourself, to prevent you from coming to (once again) harm or injury. Most often, this results in resentful appreciation.

I yam trying to be better. I yam trying, albeit taking small steps, to improve myself physically and mentally. I struggle physically because I broke and damaged parts of my body over the years that are coming back around to say "You cannot do that any more" or to remind me of all the things I hurt every time it storms. Also, heredity apparently has something to do with some of this.Mental mprovement is a discussion for another time. 

Mostly, I yam wrong. I yam intrusive. I yam forgotten until something is needed.

I yam just not needed.

Voices From The Past

Many times in an investigation, witness testimony is, while important, sometimes

taken with a grain of salt. The adage is “There are three sides to every story: Your

truth, My truth, and the REAL truth. I have heard so many stories about me that

were hand-on-a-bible/swear to God, the gods, or The Great Spirit truth that were

just that – stories. Friends, mostly former friends now, co-workers, bosses, and the

hardest cut of all, family, have fabricated their versions of truth about me.

For the most part, I really do not care. Sticks and stones may break my bones,

but whips and chains excite me. Or something like that. The only time that it

bothers me overmuch is when someone is trying to cause me harm by their

words. I have walked away from all of the above, friends, employment, and

family to protect myself. I will do so again.

The past few days I have been blessed to be able to speak with someone who shares

a lot of history with me. It has been wonderful. It has been cathartic for me, and I hope

for them as well. There has been much laughter, some tears, and a fair amount of anger. 

Comparing our two truths, we have been able to piece together a lot of the “story” that

is closer to the real truth than what others have voiced, much to our collective relief.

There have been many questions answered. There have been many revelations and realizations.

Now, she does not have any shared history with any of my friends, nor my co-workers,

but there is a treasure of shared history with family. Obviously, this was where our focus

has been. We both laughed when we commented that there were a lot of family that

wanted nothing to do with us (often with blatant hostility) and were only “nice” (read

that as courteous or polite) when they wanted or needed something from us. And since

we have both outlived so many of our family members, the ones that are left have no

issue with assigning their hatred and anger with other family members to us. It is almost

as though the ones that have died slighted them once again by not living to be a target

for their feelings.

Blame it on the living, the dead do not care.

As more parts of the cartoon are colored, the picture is more clear. Regarding the laughter,

tears, and anger I mentioned previously, a lot of very ugly truths came to light. The amount

of mental and sexual abuse, along with the neglect and reckless endangerment that

happened of the decades is disgusting. The alcohol and drug abuse that has plagued this

family is abhorrent. The fact that this was all allowed to continue that long is shameful.

Generations have been drawn into all of this. I still have many questions.

She believes she has grown past what happened to her (and so many others) and is

getting stronger every day. She is happy now, and getting happier each day. She also

struggles each day. The trauma, the PTSD, the anger, and the hurt, drag on a person.

She is a better person than she has any right to be. 

I, however, am still not a good person, although I try. I try every day. I still fail every day, but

I try every day. 

I was asked for advice recently regarding raising kids. I was asked how you raise them, how

to be a good parent. My answer was “Teach them kindness and courtesy. Teach them to

think of others and to not be hurtful or mean. Do not bully. Teach them that if you are going to

do something, do it right.” If you teach people these things and they choose to be a lesser

person, at least you taught them what they should be. Anything after that is on them.