As I write this I ask myself the question why we all like writing about our childhood – can we not just let it go. However, within my childhood I see how I created myself and how I came to be – here now. So I will give insight into it: I remember my father was a very quiet, depressed man, my mom as she is now – angry, erritated and worked up. My father did not want to be here, he was caught in his head, worrying about feeding his family and child hood traumas. I of course only wanted him to hold me and play with me, but he was a troubled man and therefore stayed in his own room, cooked his own food and did not have much to say.
At some stage my dad had a mild heart attack and I remember standing just outside the doctor’s room, listening to the doctor tell my mom that if my father did not ‘stop smoking’, that my father would die. So, my major concern then became: when will my father die and what am I able to do to prevent this? I tried speaking about this to him, but he told me ‘to just ignore it’. I then realised a while later, from watching my father, that he was indeed going to die. I just knew it. He was always sad and alone and always smoked (at that stage I was of the opinion that yes smoking does kill you). From this I came to understand that he was going to die. The rest of the time, from that point forward I spent watching and waiting. If my father came home from work in the evenings, I experienced a flood of relieve. If he was late from work, my little brain would be wrecked with fear, I would be consumed, fearing that any minute the phone was going to ring….
Then one day I was doing homework in my room and my mom walks in. She appeared worried, sad. My heart was racing because it had been doing so ever since the conversation between my mom and the doctor. She stood before me and told me that my dad had another heart attack and was in hospital. Of course the realisation that the moment was there just sunk into me, how inevitable it was. That evening we visited him in hospital and I would hardly speak to him. I was angry because he was aware that this was going to happen, yet it did not stop him from ‘smoking’.
I remember vaguely praying to Jesus or God that night and begging for my father not to die, same shit different story. Early the next morning, angels did not descend down from the heavens as my father was fighting for his life in a hospital bed, instead he suffered repeated heart attacks and died. I experienced what any young child does, when they receive such news, I was shocked, I did not cry. I waited for my father’s funeral before I cracked inside the church and became hysterical. That day something in me snapped. I was very angry. I was tired. I had been waiting and fearing his death for many years and i just wanted my father to hold me without me worrying about when he will die, or me feeling his stiffness and depression.
After his funeral, I became very angry. I had decided that God ‘betrayed’ me and that he was no good. What kind of world do we live in where a God, gives a child a father that hardly speaks to her, then has her spend here ‘childhood’ worrying about when exactly he will die and then like a sick, prolonged joke, he… dies. It came out years later that the bank he was working for was joining another bank and that on that particular day they were going to retrench people. My father was so worried that he was going to loose his job, and had told my mother that he was not sure how they were going to cope if he lost his job. Apparently the day of his heart attack, he already left the house having the first heart attack. My sister noticed that he was sweating and looked pale, but he asked her not to say anything. He did not want to upset anybody. So after i heard that my anger at myself and the money system started. I ‘blamed’ myself because I caused his death and the money system drove his body to death.
I tell this part of the story because in a way it was a blessing and a curse. That was unfortunately a path that i took of self-hate and self anger. On the other side, that was the first day I questioned the existence of God. I was eleven and I remember standing in my garden and yelling up at the skies: ‘Whether there is a God or not I dont care, you are not a God’. ‘If there is such a thing as a devil, I will serve him instead, i will show you!’ Yes that was very dramatic, but that is in a way what drove me insane. A couple of days later, my father’s best friend came to ‘pay his respect’ and ended up fondling me when my mom went to bed. Let us just say…that was not helping. From that point my quest to ignore God and blasphemy his name was how I spent my school years, and then I became afraid and tried to get close to him, by ‘worshiping’ him. From that point forward, you can watch my videos on youtube.
I forgive myself for crying for my father’s death
I forgive myself for seeing this world as cruel
I forgive myself for being afraid of what this world is able to ‘manifest’, as myself, as that which each one of us has ‘become’
I forgive myself for crying because children are so innocent and have no clue about what really happens in this world
I forgive myself that I put myself through all the hell, just to prove a point to a God that does not exist
I forgive myself that in taking on God, I ended up taking on me, because I am the only one that will experience what I create
I forgive myself that sometimes I feel really old and unable to just be
I forgive myself for feeling as if i have been doing this for more than just one life time
I forgive myself for crying for the past
I forgive myself for allowing myself to think and feel
I forgive myself for fearing that if I do not stop feeling tired and old, that i will die
I forgive myself for only now embracing me. I love me and I want for nothing but to just be
I do not want to chase dreams and fears and worries any longer. I forgive myself for feeling like I am tredding water sometimes, and for finding ‘beingness’ difficuilt
I forgive myself for fearing, just breathing and stopping, because I have found that if I stop then I stop moving and all I do is run and play all day. How am i able to run and play when animals and people are being abused and killed
I forgive myself for feeling pressurised to do something, yet at the same time, just be
Therefore my beingness is rushed and worried that i am supposed to be surviving and doing things to stop the lies in this world.
I will continue…