Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

Every time I call my friend Nikki, I ask “Are you still coming on Saturday?” referencing the (back)yardsale.

She softly responds “Yes, I am. It’s okay to ask and I will say yes each time you ask because I understand what you are really asking me.”

Please don’t abandon me.

That’s what I’m asking. I need support to finish this.

But more.

Did I ever blog about not knowing where I lived for my first three years? I’ve deduced some of the time was with my parents, most with my grandmonsters. There’s no one alive who could tell me or more accurately would tell me the truth.

Grandmonsters weave a silencing thread throughout the family, severing healthy connections and filling those gaps with mistrust, disbelief, and resentment.

My first three years, so critical to attachment and bonding with healthy adults, were spent primarily with an abusive sick predator and his enablers.

It breaks my heart again and again to think about all of the capacity to have healthy relationships that was never woven into the fabric of my life.

One of our key volunteers is sick and we cannot finish without at least one more person. So I keep asking those who committed for reassurance.

This is the moment in the made for TV movie where a group of people come walking down my street to help their neighbor/blogger/friend. But that’s TV. Real life is not about rousing solidarity moments.

In real life, I’m missing seeing Hamilton, missing a vet appt for Spencer, and trying not to cry. These animals and their humans deserve help.

Even one hour between now and Sat 9 AM.

Please help me friends, allies, and blog readers.

By all rights, I should be bonded to my sofa and TV or a bottle. Somehow I avoided that fate.

I will always fear abandonment. The wound never heals.

So please be gentle when it seeps into our interactions. Show me that our bond of whatever form is strong even if uneven.