12 Days of Yule Candle Connection; Truth. My inner demon.

Here Rachael openly discusses what truth means to her, and where she is sat with it now. Using the theme of shining a light on that which we hold in darkness. she lays bear her greatest fears. That the ancestral demons which plagued her family, also reside within her.

The Truth is a funny thing. One man’s truth, is another man’s lie. It is, and always has been a matter of perspective. Hear two sides of a story and somewhere in the middle, is the truth.

That last thing, is hard for me to hear. I have an inbuilt sat nav which points to the truth, even if it’s gets me in trouble. Don’t get me wrong, I was no goody two shoes at school; for that matter I wasn’t one of the school popular, bitchy girls, (you needed to be rich!) or one of the bullies they befriended to make sure noone messed with them (Catholic school produces girls from all parts of society). But I remember telling the truth about fucking about in order that a couple of friends who weren’t involved to get out of trouble, and ensuring that a couple of mates who were in on it were! One wasn’t too happy . . .

I have always looked up to my dad and seen and listened to him behave in the same way.

Lying always grated away at me; even telling half truths for others to hear which kept them happy. Which I learned to do even though it made me feel ill at ease. Eating away at me. Illness which did creep up on me over the years. So maybe this is the reason why I now reeeaaally struggle with it now; it does not sit in my energy and I now pay attention to those feelings.

But these are stories and my version of the truth I tell myself. I often wonder, what if these truths which I hold onto so fervently are all complete lies; of the version of myself which I believe to be me, in everyone else’s eyes is just a complete fantasy?

I also wonder if anyone else ever thinks that about themselves like this? Looks at themselves from such an obtuse angle.

I suppose this is a time of that which sits in the darkness, being brought into the light, and so it is fitting that my mind strays across this set of thoughts and decides it’s time to shine a light on this shit.

You see, I was raised with a fairly grotesque family member. A narcissist; certainly. Undiagnosed autistic who was manipulated herself; likely. I learned very early on that the best liars were the ones that could lie to themselves; who present such an charming front to everyone outside, that you doubted your sanity over the emotional manipulation and gas lighting on the inside.

So what if? What if I have that too? She is of no direct line to me; something which is clear to me. The fact that she wanted to own me as though I was, really is of no consequence. But what if the personality disorder, which the adult, educated, me can quite easily see existed, also fell on me? Whether I like it or not? No matter what truths or stories I tell myself? About being healed from that? About being an empowered Empath who chooses to longer bear the burden of those who wish not to face themselves. What if I am just like her? Or worse still, producing a child which mirrors her; when I look at it, it appears that it missed a generation if the family stories bear true. Again, family stories; family truths.

When I look up from the dark hole I am sat in when my mind spirals take me to these places, I rationalise. I look for real evidence to support or deny my version of the truth in this moment.

When I look up from my deep dark hole, I see that I give myself a hard time, everytime, I behave and act like her. Which is ludicrous. As a human, we all have anger, we all have moments of despair and irrationality. Do I take it out too harshly on myself, because I can’t bear the truth that I may bear some of the same personality traits of her mother, my grandmother, or more likely, my great grandmother. Of course, I likely do have these traits. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe only if I view them as bad people still.

I worry that I learned to manipulate from her. That I sit in my narcissistic victimhood to ‘win friends and influence people’ in the most insidious manner.

When again I look at the evidence I realise that I loved her so completely as a child and was, as her little princess, so the centre of attention of her charm, that I never saw any manipulation. She never let me see that side of herself openly; I had to pluck it away as her veil started to thin in my teen years and beyond. From watching her direct effect on other family members that I loved.

I also know that in turning from that; maybe automatically due to my nature, or maybe as a subconscious attempt to never mirror her (likely both in reality) that my need to screw all of my needs, and wants and problems up into a tiny ball which I held within my heart and my stomach was so strong, that in truth, my independence has made my life significantly harder. My writing from the last few days bearing witness to that aspect of myself still playing second fiddle in my own personal orchestra.

And so I sit here with that; with the light shone on my fear of the darkest version of myself. Knowing on some level, that I have started to pick away at some of the themes laid bear over the last couple of days. Still with no answer at present; maybe I am a secret narcissist, maybe I am not? But with an inner knowing, which puts a smile on my lips, that I will likely have a clearer answer at the end of these 12 days. An answer which I feel in my heart to be the truth; I don’t just rationalise to be so.

I sit here with that. A child silhouetted against the smoking rubble of a landscape. knees hunched up to my chest, against the light of the horizon. It is dawn. It is dawn.

Catch up again tomorrow

Love as always

Rachael x