relationship conflict-

Fiona's Journal

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Fiona Tulk - Remembering My Inner Child

: Fiona's Journal - Index
  Memories of my Inner Child

· Facing my internal fears

· Dead Babies - Buried Memories
  The Convent on the Hill

· No Self Esteem - a non entity
  My whole life a non-event

· Reincarnation in answer
  to Mother's prayers

· My Inner Child
  was addicted to Mother

· Who owns my body?

· I am not who I think I am

· Mother is watching me
  The grief of my family life

· My First Period
  The Rape of Innocence

· My Secret Shame
  Living for the approval of others

· Relationships
  My Search for a Soulmate

· The unspoken
  inner conflict with male

· Nana's Gift to me

: Fiona's Notebook - Index
  Meaning and Purpose

Unconsciously, my genetic history, my family tree has ruled my every relationship. 
The unspoken inner conflict with male

Deep in the unconscious of my body were memories of the relationships of my ancestors and their self judgments surrounding decisions they made and the code of silence that surrounds them.

The Conspiracy of Silence

I will love this man but I won't ever tell him that. I'll just go round projecting on him until he dies and then I'll damn him for daring to die and leave me.

Don't let the bastard know what I am thinking.
Don't use `rude' words to describe him.
Make him guess, make him wonder, but don't ever say it.
Make him work for it.
Lead him round in circles but don't ever say it.
Don't ever speak the words because they would come screaming out and rip the earth wide open.

The absolute fucking resentment of men. The resentment of the banal lifestyle superimposed on women (by their own need). Cleaning, cooking, cleaning, cooking, washing, fucking.

Endless tasks never see, never appreciated.
Every wipe of the duster, wiping his face in it.
Every suck of the vacuum, tearing his entrails from the carpet.
Every item of clothes washed, gyrating him in the washer - naked with nails.
Every thankless task repeated millions of times -ignored
Every meal prepared and cooked, festering with resentment.
Eaten, digested and shit out.
Another toilet to clean.

The absolute futility and exhaustion of existence - sealed, bottled and ready to explode at any moment for a scene of Domestic Bliss - vintage stuff! Bottled in Eden.

Whispered conversations on phone lines sending out searing condemnations of `them'.

Seeds planted, given nourishment and encouraged to grow. Encouraged and fertilized because if one dares to break the conspiracy of silence, the conspiracy of hatred of men ..

If only one dares, then the judgment of all other women, all Matriarchs, will be forever branded on that one. Pity fucking help her.

The silence club is so strong - to break it means social ostracism. Death.

How dare one woman find out the truth.
How dare one woman see the beauty in a male.
How dare one woman speak her truth and see the reflections in her life .. and how dare she dare to speak it to others ...
How dare one woman break the Code of Silence.

But, one did dare .. one has spoken and felt the crushing weight of Matriarchal disapproval descend.

But, behind the mask of disapproval is Grief.
Absolute and total grief over the coffin woman has placed herself in and the dead earth in which she has lain, gasping, fighting for even a single breath.

Her only epitaph:
I'll pass this onto my daughters as my legacy -
Don't dare step outside your shit.
Don't dare break the mould,
Don't dare break the code."

· Fiona's Index
· Meaning of Life Notebook
· Inner Child Journal

The Conspiracy of Silence - the unspoken inner relationship conflict with male


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