Posted By admin on April 17, 2005

The legacy is perhaps genetic in my family?or we keep repeating the same mistakes, us Freed-Brooks women.

Moody.  Self-destructive.  Testing?always testing.

I loved, the best I could?stressed and young and inexperienced.

My fear, I think, she uses against me at times?knowing I?m afraid that something will happen to her?so she knows we will all take care of her.  She knows we don?t want her walking down a dark road?so we chauffer her.

It isn?t all her fault she doesn?t appreciate the things she has and all the people who love her?I know how she feels.  I was her?and in some ways I am still her?or she is me. 

I had tried.  I took parenting classes?vowed not to spank?but she?s willful, like me.  I didn?t have enough time with her when she was little?going to school, working, crying, stressed?since she was in utero?and she was delivered to this life, a little bit damaged.  Like me.

I recognize the symptoms, but I?m helpless to do anything.  I try not to push too hard for fear she?ll hurt herself.  I know that desperate feeling.  That feeling that being dead?or never having been born?would be better than this.  Whatever ?this? was at the time.

I see her?a mirror reflection of who I once was and I get so frustrated.  I tried to spare her the legacy.  I wanted her to feel happiness early on?not the need to evoke envy?not the need to make my lover prove how much he loved me, in a million tiny ways?and eventually in enormous ways.  To feel loved. 

I was always loved.  And so is she.  So why doesn?t she know how beautiful and talented and lucky she is?  Because she doesn?t believe in that?and I?m afraid she won?t for a long time?if she makes it to a long time.

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