Glass Castles

 I just saw a yellow butterfly, flying by outside the window.  The rain must have stopped for now.  It's been raining for about 3 days straight it seems.  It's summer solstice and the sun is nowhere in sight.  Sadly.  I love the sun.  I miss it when it when it rains.

In Native American culture the yellow butterfly symbolizes joy, happiness...sunshine.  They are seen as a symbol of transformation and rebirth into a new life.  They are often seen as a sign of positive events on the horizon, seen as a sign of good news.  They remind us that life is for living.

I have this intense feeling that something big is going on inside of me, regardless of a new partner entering my life, regardless of if I have to find a new home.  My psychospiritual self is undergoing a deep healing and transformation that feels frightening and painful.  I almost get to a place where I can look but then I say I'm crazy, I'm fine, there's nothing really wrong with me.  I have so much to be grateful for, what am I complaining about...but there's this annoying nudge coming from somewhere, I can't determine just where that says, LOOK. Tears flow from a depth that says I have no idea where this is coming from. I think I'm making it all up, being dramatic, being a hypochondriac, again.  What the...! 

But I know what triggered it.  I know what activated this cascade of enquiry into that ever-pervasive question, "What's wrong with me?"  The Glass Castle.  A movie.  A story. Someone else's story.  Alcoholism.  Childhood sexual abuse.  A nagging suspicion that this was present in my extended family.  A haunting suspicion that something happened to me.  Maybe not that horrible, but something I don't remember, either because I was too young, or because I just blocked it out.  Something that caused me to exhibit all of the markers throughout my teenage and young adult years that signal that a girl has been sexually abused in some way.  I just always thought it was me...the black sheep, the oddball, the difficult child.  Maybe it was...or maybe it wasn't.  

How do you know?  How do you know you're not just making shit up? Why would I just decide to make shit up now?  Why do I need this?  Why?  To heal.  Everything must be healed.  Oh my god this is going to take so much courage.  This is me having to be so brave.  Brave enough for my whole family.  For the ones who just don't want to talk about stuff.  Any stuff.  Not this stuff.  And if I'm wrong.  Embarrassment.  Humility.  Being that one again.  The troublemaker.  The shit disturber.  The one who has to go there.  The one who just can't leave well enough alone.  Me.

C'est la vie!