Its all your fault…

It’s all your fault I’m this way because … you got divorced and now I have abandonment issues. You didn’t get divorced and I was scarred for life from the bickering in the house.

You moved around too much, depriving me of having a stable family home so I feel rootless. You lived my whole life in the same small town.  I never got to go anywhere or do anything.  It was the end of the world and you stifled my development.

It is all your fault for taking me to the doctor too often so I became a hypochondriac. It is all your fault for not taking me to the doctor when I needed to go so now I believe my needs will not be met.

You didn’t get me pets.  You did get me pets, they died and I was traumatized

If you will only read these books that will demonstrate how bad a parent you were and how you screwed up my life then, perhaps I will speak to you from my lofty perch of judge, jury and executioner and potentially deign to communicate  to you, directing your actions and supervising your visits.

I ponder that when I was a kid my Dad screamed and yelled and waved his hands around in the air like a helicopter, his face got red and he was literally spitting mad.

Somehow I grew up and learned to cope without abandonment feelings. It was more like “don’t let the door hit you in the arse on the way out” feelings.  Dad belted me and I punched him back. He broke the tone arm off my record player and I cut his favorite tie in half.  We glared at each other and reached a grudging Mexican standoff.

Half the time when I was hurt I never got to see a doctor because it was too far to town and you made do with a band-aid, except when I got a really bad cut the doctor chewed me out for waiting too long so he could not give me stitches and I have a big scar. One time I almost did die from the wasp sting, but I didn’t, so that’s that. I tend to be tough about things like that – it is paper cuts that drive me nuts. And the time I got the serious second and third degree burns on my lower arm – that was bad.

My Dad and his sister had to get up in the dark in the morning and walk across a field and get water for the house. They were scared little kids. And yet the did it every day. Strangely enough they did not grow into addicts, drunks, street people, nor anything else particularly  bad … although I admit my extended family tended toward the odd side now and again.

Everyone plays the blame game sometimes. And sometimes others do things that really do leave a mark. Remember, though, that the same flame that melts butter tempers steel. You could be steel instead of butter.


  1. We blame because we learn that we can. My mother and father are what they are, and the older I become the more clearly I see how there really is no one to blame. It just is what it is.

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