My dad loved Johnny Cash, but he loved chaos and control more. My father would drink until his legs betrayed him and he was forced to give in; subdued only until his strength returned.
Denial became my gift as a child. Trust? That’s a fucking joke. Trust lived nowhere near our street and never came inside our home. You must choose which voice to listen as a child. That’s what it really boils down to. Who do I believe? Not, who do I trust. Not in houses like mine.
The gift of denial was straight from the throne of God. I wouldn’t have survived without it. The unreasoning web that my parents had built had no consideration for it’s construction other than to entrap. It was meant to have no way out.
Lunacy is probably built in this way.
To stay out of the destructive voices I found in my parents, I used the tool of denial as a child. It was my God given right. And, I am thankful for it.
Today, I’ve learned that I don’t need this tool anymore but I certainly did at one time. I’m grateful it was available to me. The sights, sounds, smells and experiences that were in a constant projectile towards my young body made it impossible to tolerate more than simply living through the it all. To sustain the memories then, would have been a demand too tall for my little frame.
Denial was my gift to survive. Denial was my gift so I could play. Denial was my gift so I could sleep. Oh, the truth still happened by every now and again, but at least for many uncalibrated moments, I got to live.
6 thoughts on “Sunday Morning Coming Down”
You showed such an incredible inner strength at such a young age and it carried you through to where you are today. My heart goes out to you.
God is good. I knew Him before I even heard about Him. He finds us. He’s my strength.
Yes he is and he certainly found you.
I can’t say any words that would resonate here. I just simply wish you fortitude, strength and love
What better words could you leave. Thank you!
You are most welcome. Stay well, stay blessed.