So where am I at?

I feel inside pretty blearg. I'm angry, because I can see the pain each one of my sisters (as well as myself) are currently living with - and it's because of my parents. It's like each one of us is trying to live with the fact we were abused. The abuse wasn't sexual, but it was still abuse.

And it makes me really angry.

I called my next oldest sister (I'm the first born) on Friday night. I told her what I had seen in therapy two weeks ago where it wasn't her fault that she had reacted so much to dad resulting in slaps, whacks, and general misery. She had done nothing wrong. She told me that she appreciated me calling, had missed me, had always missed me, knew that she had been claustrophobic with me, loved me, was ready whenever I wanted her (?), didn't want to put pressure on me (phew). I told her that the last time we'd met she had told me that she had a Mark shaped hole in her life that nothing else could fill. I told her that that was some pressure on me, and not one that I could fulfil. She sounded depressed, and after the call I just felt sorry for her.

I can not meet her needs. I can't even attempt to which is why I never call or visit her. Never have since I've been married (over 20 years).

The sister (no 3) who is staying with me is so scared of anything trying to control her that she's a control freak and very prickly. She has very similar symptoms to number 4.

My youngest sister (no 4) has been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) and ME. She hasn't worked for over a year and is in a mess.

Sister number 2 can't make a decision to save her life, is desperate to have a family but can't find the right man. She appears to judge all men by my parents criteria which means she will never find a man. She's lonely, has few friends, can't make any decisions on anything (literally) and from time to time hjas panic attacks when she realises she is on her own.

Dad - you messed us up. Why don't you say "guys, I messed up, and I'm really sorry". Instead he bristles with his own defence mechanisms, blames each one of us when we don't see him, thinks it is because we don't care.

Bollocks. Truly. Bollocks. Each one of us is a walking sore. With our parents we try and have a level of relationship which revolves around talking about nothing. But on one can offend anyone, because if we offend dad it's just repeating history all over again.

BOLLOCKS. BOLLOCKS. He responded to my email. A long justification of why he was ok. G AGF JAKG JDG JDKLG JJSG JDFK G JJsgjSG JAKGFJ sg jSG JSG Js jgkasfg k;gsdfg sfjg ksg 'kfjgk'sfjgklsfjgk\fjgsf jgs\ jgsf jgsgsg js jgasg jworg iwrg irog iwrg iiW Iwigsid,f',CF,cf#SD,GF SDGFS \D.G LSD\g lK\SDG LSD\GL S\DL GASLGK, AFJ FG FG JJL;dKL;DKÁKl:SDKGZSDG S\G SF\GJ HJ J HZDFZDFJ

Bolliocks. Crap. Crap. Bollocks. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Dad - it's your fault. Why didn't you try and get some help? dfkkkkkkkk kl kl;l;';

AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

It's not us. It's not me. Yet we all have the same. We are all damaged. All fearful of being controlled, dominated. Fearful of getting it wrong. Fearful of making decisions. We bristle with our own defence mechanisms. We believe everyone else is at fault. We are ok, everyone else isn't. We have to fight for our space. Fight for what little identity we've got.

WE ARE ALL DAMAGED. WE ARE ALL SCREWED UP. IT'S NOT OUR FAULT. WE DID NOTHING WRONG. IT WAS OUR PARENTS.

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