This is the truth. I lived through and have been firmly wrapped up in my filtered view which is the bad shit that happened to me and how I warped my own sense of reality to embrace and survive. I made myself out to be helping because my cousin’s life was so fucked up. I heard my parents talking about how much they were protecting him and that he required so much protection. So when he and his brother Billy V were babysitting me at the Trading Post, they had me on a bean bag. When my parents came home from the bar, I told them that they were being mean to me. I was a toddler. I didn’t know the right words. My parents cussed those boys out and told the they had to be nice to me.
So when he kept on doing that to me, I never said to my parents again that he was being mean to me. Because they didn’t stop having him around me. I was too little to know how to say it and my parents never thought of anything as vile as that to be aware of.
“Experts” love to talk about communication and two-way communication; and the lack thereof.
Communicating is wrongfully defined as talking and expressing
Communication is so much more.
Communication is listening, receiving information, coming to a conclusion about what the message was, and reacting, acting, or brushing off the message.
The silent message that the toddler/child receives because of the lack of action from their parents because they are a toddler and do not know how to say the exact thing. That disconnect warped my reality of feeling protected, safe, or secure. They don’t even know if what is happening to them is wrong after the predator wins over the parents and takes pleasure in the confusion the child is abandoned with.
He Carries Me