Wednesday, March 28, 2018


I am always in pain; it's the severity that's the issue. But I bear it because I have no choice. It was inflicted on me by someone who should have known better. 

My son knows I have a body that's not sound and I am scared my rotteness passed on to him. But no, mine was gestational and not genetic so he will be okay.

He knows I'm in pain. He knows severity is the issue. He also knows I told him that I accepted what happened to me because then he happened to me.

He asked to show me a song; he chose "Believer". 

I'd never heard it and it came off the back of a brutal extended psych session where I had talked of my doubled over anger at childhood after my surgeon told me my mother did it to me.

He knew I would like it—and he chose the version with lyrics so I could take it in. It fit hand-in-glove—except for the god bit which he asked me to forgive because the rest of it rawked.

That he thought to show me that, knowing my pain but knowing I'd resonate to it because I'd embraced what happened because I got him. 

The song is religious in intent; the pain of life forged them for challenges and made them a believer in both themselves and their insert-spiritual-being-here. For an atheist I'd simply swap out "a believer" with "accept it".

I won. I told my psych my entire ancestral line from both sides wasn't fit to lick my taint then proceeded to tell her what that meant in case she wasn't across the slang. Pain, it made me a believer in myself and that I have the power to accept it because that pain made me consequential. 

The challenge she laid down was finding a path back to acceptance that it happened but without the burning snarl of "but it should not have". 

It's a big challenge. But it's made easier by my son who cares enough that when he finds something that will help me he offers it up.


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