First, I've started listening to the Audible version of Hillbilly Elegy, by J. D. Vance. His family in Kentucky lived 70 miles west/southwest from Maggie's family in West Virginia, both older generations having toughed it out in the hollers, and the younger having moved to a larger town and looking to advance in the world. I think I'm all of four chapters in, but the people are very much the same. It's a little wild and a lotta scary, but he carries much of the same mix of respect, love, and woundedness that I feel towards Maggie's family. It wasn't easy, they had to be strong, but that toughness can and did turn right around and slaughter their sons and daughters after them. We don't get to pick our parents or the generations before us, it's neither fair nor unfair, it's just how we all got here. We have to move on.
This morning I stumbled into a review of Borderline Personality Disorder in a mother this morning, which is what I knew about Maggie before I knew anything about narcissism. I'll start you off with this video where he reads a poem he wrote for his mother's funeral. It's a good place to enter into thinking about how these things work out in real life. My experience was very similar to this man's growing up, which surprised me, but you never know who's been where. After this one, go to Part One, then to one made a week later on children of BPD's, all by the same therapist.
It's good to go back and review the raw material sometimes, especially after several years of exploration and refining. I haven't been back this far at all in about two years, I've tidied up quite a few things in my mind now, but it's good to take a morning's walk thru the old trash back when it was in its raw state.
If I don't, I deceive myself into thinking this isn't what it really was,
that this isn't the chaos that I has been passed down to me thru many generations,
that my soul can just walk away and start new.
In truth it all has to be acknowledged, sifted, and then cast out. I laid my hands on every single thing left in her house and dealt with it all, will I not now have to do the same with what is in my own "house?"
I'm finding I'm having to get very ruthless with old affections and likes and dislikes and familiarities and plans and purposes and comforts and all of me that's ever been until now. I'm tired of carrying everything I've ever been and everything I've ever thought. The sheer tonnage of stuff that Maggie never dealt with or parted with was staggering. I know because I was the one who hauled everything that had lost all value to the dump over the county scale. It feels very much the same as I keep hauling out bits of myself to either refinish or turn loose of, no matter how long I've been storing it. But I can't stop, I'm too tired to quit now. If I sit down, I may never get back up again. Best to just keep working.