Dear Grandfather

Have you ever wondered why? Why something isnt adding up. Something doesnt make sense about my family. The slight intuition even as a child, and soon as you start asking….
The ignore. The shhhh. So non chalently, you think your just making it up. Your life has already been labeled with, “overdramatic” and thats even what you see in the mirror, so you dont believe yourself. You stop asking, not just out loud, but stop asking even within yourself. You chop it up to life. Life doesnt make sense. It doesnt always end up working out for everyone. People get lazy. Thats the only reason why siblings dont talk to each other, why I sense awkward energies all the time.
It became so quiet, I completely thought life was normal. Disoriented became normal. Until it became so thundorously violently loud inside.
My “crazy” came out. Familair with that term? Was it said about you? Do you say it about someone close?
The life I was supposed to live and want to live and the desparate rebel within my bones. A chaotic dance between strong internal voices of 2 characters who detest each other. My life bleeding out as an immoral party girl, reputation destroyed with the cliches, death breathing down my neck waiting for me to spread my legs once again.
What does this have to do with families and secrets? Generational Trauma. Trauma bonding. Words brand new but instantly understood. 4 words that without further explanation other than language, I knew I could write books on.
I no longer am asking for what happened. Im demanding answers. For each secret shaped me, each secret embedded into my DNA. I made theories, the more I asked, the more my theories were correct. The first, that my grandfathers were abusive. This happened within the last year. One insomniac night and it was as if I could see old memories. Leaving me queasy and nauseated, a whirlwind of dizzy, a part of me floats half out of my body and my toes tingle. Though that sounds flirty and free like, it gave me great fear, for it both meant my intuition was spot on and it meant that in one second, I felt the pain of 17 children, and over (40) grandchildren, all at once. It was too much for my untrained body to bear.
I have just started. I carry no hatred. I will love fiercely and forgive even the undeserving, for they are gone. I will however, uncover their rottenness poison and break this generational ghost that lingers. I will send them off with love for they too, im sure, a part of generational truma. Their pain and shame does not go un noticed.
In this journey, the pain I feel is intensifying, but I for the first time, feel a love for my bravery, and I trust the river within me to get me through the upcoming hard stones, I will create a waterfall and carve rock so that future generations will feel peace and refreshement admist rocky shores.
I write these stories for those who hunger for real stories, so they can possibly understand and journey through the chaos within themselves. My stories wont be eloquent. They may not flow. Prepare for it to be a bit messy and scattered, I trust that for the one who will enjoy, you will follow right along. We will share the deepest joys and pain simultaneously, that we will wonder if we have found the key to filling the insatiable void or just made the numb so intelligent, our black hole has become us. You in?

Published by Mellie Massey Woolsey

When you wake up at 33 and realize you were an artist all along... Finding my craft through messy endeavors. Creative writing from my heart. Humor, darkness, love and some awful content.

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