I’ve always liked to know how things work. “Why?” Drove my mum mad when I was a toddler… my boys were similarly curious. Unfortunately, why? has been the root cause of much of my mental health issues.
Why did my dad have to die suddenly of a heart attack, aged 51?
Why did my mum let my stepfather terrorise me?
Why did my first husband cheat?
Why didn’t my dad pick me up from the train station when I would visit as a single mum like he did my brother?
Why am I not good enough?
It is this word than runs around my head when I am alone. When I am unoccupied.
My youngest brother once said to me “I think you need a grown up to be present when you go rummaging in your mind” and he was right. I can linger on the negative areas. Allow them to consume me.
I need a grown up to remind me to move on, to remember I can do nothing about it now.
I have learned to accept I will never know the answers to the questions I wished I had asked my dad when he was alive.
I have learned to accept I will never fully forgive my mum, but I accept she did the best she felt able to do. I believe she was scared for herself and so didn’t interfere.
But sometimes when the silence surrounds me, when MrH isn’t there to hug and reassure why raises its head.
Why do I feel anxious about leaving the house?
Why am I such a burden on those around me?
Why can’t I stop these negative thoughts?
A seemly innocent word is to me the devil in disguise and it beckons me down a dark path.
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