I'm writing this at 8:00 AM. That's because that's when my day ended. Mom lied again and of course Dad believed her. I don't think he even bothered to listen to me when I used to try to defend myself. He'd just be brooding over Mom's lie.
Well I was sitting here writing and Dad came downstairs. I hoped he had a kind word - that he was kind of sorry or something. Silly, wasn't I? All he said was "Hey pigpen! Get that junk off your chair." I did.
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It would be easier to read this now if I had managed to be kinder to my own children than my parents were to me. But the fact is I also had my hard, sarcastic moments -- and then some. I replay them in my head, wishing I would erase them all.
Not that it's an excuse, but now I understand how much stress my parents were under and see how it played out with my brother and myself. Their marriage was falling apart, my mother was in constant pain and my father was being jerked around by an evil boss. My stressors were different -- upheaval at work, the deaths of my parents, emotional fallout from the murder of a close friend of my husband's -- but my attempts to bottle up the fear and anxiety were no solution. Inevitably, it spilled out, expressing itself in harsh criticism of the ones I loved the most.
This is the first time I've read your journal. Interesting!
Sorry to hear your life was so stressful when you were raising children.
It seems a scary thing to me to write about childhood thoughts. I'm kind of glad I don't know what they were.
The only journal I've kept is of my late teen to young adult years, before my 2nd child was born, which was mostly life details and not really feelings.
I just started a new journal that I write in only once per week that I would never air in public. :)
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