I woke this morning feeling so much better of health, mind and spirit. Pain is such a thing that completely controls when you are engulfed by it. Some pain is a natural occurrence of say perhaps having a bad tooth removed, the after effects of which is excruciating pain. Perhaps you waited to long and the pain had already taken its place. An extraction was the only option you had to make.
Pain surrounds us. The pain of losing someone you love. The means can be by separation. Temporary, fleeting or permanent as in death.
Our lives are made of happenings, occurrences, trials and tribulations. These are what make each individual’s story.
Many persons choose to keep them hidden. Not only from their selves; but any curious minds that tend to want the satisfaction of the probe. They have a morbid fascination with needing to know, to dissect what made the person he or she is or was.
Being part of the Human equation we all have the predisposed story. We are born, we are nurtured, loved and protected. We grow into wisdom by experiences we have. We die.
The adopted child is in someway, not always given unconditional love, nurturing and protection. They are chosen ones. The biological parent chose to place them for adoption. The reasons sometimes given at some later date in the child’s future. Perhaps the parent was too young, the child was conceived by rape. The child was better off with a more loving family. A Human that would show them so much more love and opportunities in his life.
The ultimate reason is always they loved the child so much they knew they personally would never be enough.
In actuality, we all have essentially the same story. Our feelings on love, life and all the inbetweens. The chapters, turning the pages on the experiences that make each individuals story (the unique one ) that it is and always will be.
The adopted child. How they felt when they discovered their parents were not there biological parents.
The child raised by abusive parents. The fear of losing the only thing they knew if the truth was revealed.
Drug Abusers, Addicts (Elicit and Street), Alcoholics. The paths they took that led them to addiction and recovery.
All stories. All sounding so similar yet so different.
I am a recovering addict. I never told my story or shared at a N.A Meeting. In recent years I have shared through my blogs and writings. I have been clean since 1998. I have chosen the path that works for me.
I came from a loving home. I had a family, a mother, a father, a brother and two sisters.
When religion became the mainstay of my mother’s life when I was 12 years of age my life took a dramatic change. I wanted to please both my believing mother and my disbelieving father.
It changed me. I always was looking for acceptance from them.
In later years my rebellious nature took over.
I was eventually disfellowshipped from the church and in their retribution shunned from all I loved in life.
I never have understood how a person of faith can say they love you unconditionally yet cast you away like a moldy piece of bread or cheese.
When I felt I could no longer give my daughter the life she deserved I made the choice to take her too her father’s. That decision changed me in ways I find hard to accept at times. I no longer felt responsible for anyone, not even myself.
My life was reeling so fast and furiously out of control there was no other option too me.
Now, I see the selfishness in my actions. I deprived her of me, her mother. I was never abusive too her, I loved her.
Everything in my life escalated afterwards. Relocating, new friends, jobs, habits.
I never lost contact with her. She was forever part of my heart.
Now, years later my daughter is back with me. My parents are both of the air and mist. My grandchildren are thriving in adulthood. I have constant correspondence with my siblings.
Both my ex husbands are deceased.
I am feeling very blessed.
Most important of all. I steer my vessel now, I plan and control my destinations.
A poem I wrote many years ago.
From a dream these thoughts arose and upon arising finding pens and
paper I began this prose.
Life in almost every instance is chosen.
Not at the moment of birth but from each moment henceforth.
You have control of your world and surroundings.
Your Chosen Ways
In the first years, you in a sense control your parents.
They feed, dry, and clothe you when you cry.
Then in your teens they try to almost no avail to control you because after all it’s your life.
Your Chosen Ways
As you find your way into the world, you and your Chosen Ways find joy, happiness, pain, depression, and helplessness.
You swim at times, others have sought your Chosen Ways.
You sink at times under the influence of their Chosen Ways.
In the name of love, you destroy your loveliness with drugs and alcohol.
In the name of faith you lose your parents love for twelve years of your Chosen life.
Your Chosen Ways
You wander aimlessly, seemingly without purpose, chasing an elusive butterfly for years.
Live in shelters, on the street
Not missing a beat.
You submerge yourself in self-destructive Chosen ways with the same Chosen people
You are a product of your parents, and there parents and on and on and there Chosen Ways
You want, you don’t want.
You laugh, than cry as if the milk spilled or your cup is well filled
Your Chosen Ways
One day after living this Chosen life for so many DAYS OF YOUR LIFE, you get hit as if from a thunderbolt.
You begin to smell the roses, the wetness on the rose petals from recent rain.
There is No Right way, nor is there a wrong way.
You awaken with light in your eyes and joy in your heart.
It is after all,
Your Chosen Ways.
written by Cyndi
October 2nd, 1999