silence

when i finally let myself start typing i was writing every day.  it felt good - getting the bile out of my brain.  call it kvetching, bitching, venting or processing - it's all because some things have to be purged.  the primary result of my purge, other than the immediate feel of release - letting the cat out of the bag is very freeing, was that my mother cut communication (see previous post "have i told you lately that i love you?").  i have wondered if i should still wait to publish the writing i've been working on for several years that are actually about my abuse.  if she grew so defensive of the man who took custody of my son, how would she react to statements about her family?  about her.

i have silenced myself again, because she doesn't deserve my truth right now.  not to mention, she can't handle the truth.  obviously.  she never has been able to - striving for the norman rockwell moments in life, she seems to have natural blinders to the hard stuff.  sometimes i wish i had them, so i could plough through the responsibilities of adulthood and parenting.  i wish i hadn't broken my fingernails trying to claw hers off her face.  but she just keeps rebuilding that crystal palace where things don't get dirty and voices don't get raised.  maybe children don't get molested there anymore either.  one can hope.

i am in my cave.  i am alone here, except for the child.  the child i focus each day to protect from the world at large.  sometimes by denying us both that world - but i don't think it misses us.  we are the ones missing out, but i tell myself it will be safe soon.  or someone will come to guide us.  to protect us.  someone will come to raise me, so that i might better raise him.  someone will come. 

and then the silence will end.  and we will hear music again.
we will dance.