Loss

[Guest guest]

From the daughter of a BPD mother and alcoholic father:

I'm here in this place, so similar to places I've been in the past

with my parents. This sea of barren trees with its crisp, tattered

carpet of dead leaves rests hidden high above the fast, frigid,

flowing dangers of the river which travels below. I have a sudden

urge to go home and do something else as I sit here trying to

concentrate on the feelings I'm having. I walk through the maze of

this place to find somewhere to write. I come to a large rock

positioned perfectly to sit upon. Several worries rush through me and

I notice how similar my hands look like my mothers, dry and worn with

occasional scars. I feel my body taken over with fear of my

surroundings. I leave the rock and go back to my car where I lock

myself inside. I feel safer there looking out from the inside instead

of being out in the open. I feel safer knowing the seat I'm sitting

on is what's behind my back and nothing can come up behind me.

I begin to cry as I did while I drove here. The tears flow, like the

river below, for the loss this place brings to my awareness. I feel

as if I've been to places such as this hundreds of times with one or

both of my parents. Sitting here I feel a strong presence of both of

them. Yet, at the same time I remember nothing at all. The essence

of their presence here brings feelings of sadness, fear, and anger.

Sadness for all they should have been to me as parents but weren't.

Fear because their actions were fearful at times. Anger for all the

memories and feelings they gave me without thought of the impact. The

loss I feel is as barren as the hibernating trees and the dead bed of

leaves which lay in wait for their reincarnation into spring saplings

of the future.