Hands Hurt, But I Am Still Going

I am a bit behind in the word count again. But I have not given up.
Any words are better than no words, is the motto among NaNo people.
As of last night, I was just under 25,000 words.  And the goal for this point
was 26,667.

My hands hurt, well I can't quite say hurt is the right word. But flexing and
un-flexing, is uncomfortable. They are not exactly stiff, but maybe weak is the
word I am looking for. Gripping things makes it feel like I will drop something.
And late in the day or evening, my ring finger and pinkie on either or both hands
have a tendency to get stiff and - or lock up for a brief minute or so. I cannot
let this kind of stuff hold me back. Or else I will never get any writing or art done.

While I am trying to work out some kinks with the fiction stuff.
Being a Genealogy nerd, I am trying to work out the family tree for my Main Character.
I initially had one of the characters as her great grandmother, but as I was writing the
story, that turned out wrong and it became her grandmother.  I still want it to be her Great 
Grand so I am looking at things to figure out how I can make that happen.  Though, I might
just leave it for now and work it out later, if it ends up taking too much more time.

In the mean time though, I am working on writing down memories in a diary type style.
Every evening, I try to write some of the earliest things I remember.
I have some entries with just things like "First Grade" it was an uneventful  school year.
Then I try to remember things that happened that year.
Like with "Second Grade" and my Great Grandfather dying, how it was the first death
I remember.  Trying to remember home life at specific points when you have blocked
things is interesting.
The other night, after I had gone to bed I recalled something I needed to write for a specific
time period, and when I got up the next day I forgot  again what it was.
Yesterday, I think I remembered it. But I am not sure. 
We did not have the most exciting life.
We were not jet setters or rich.
But then, that is not the point. The point was to help me remember things I had long forgotten
so I can help myself heal from things.

I am still grappling with the whole why did no body believe me when I said this or that happened.
Why, if it was known that my father was allegedly violet before I was born, did no body believe
that he had gotten violent on this or that occasion after and when I was old enough to remember and
experience it.
I was lucky in that he did not carry through on his treats. The first time was when I was twelve or so
and had to call the police because he tried to push my mother out the kitchen window.
The operator would not believe me and kept insisting that my father would not hurt my mother.
My Grandmother would not believe that he tried to do that either.

Or the time that he threatened to kill us both and came after us with a golf club.
I was sixteen.  Prior to that event, by about a year maybe.  He had gone after my mother in the
kitchen while she was washing dishes.  He gave her a black eye. But again it was 'oh he
would not do that'.  Even though there was physical proof he did.

I just do not understand how people could just sit by and act like it did not happen
or "it really is not that bad".  I could understand maybe not wanting to help my mother.
Because....well....you would have to have known her to understand.
But what about me. I was just a kid and you let me go through that. I do not
fucking understand.

Anyway...that is what I am working on in between writing the fiction.
Maybe I will never understand.
Maybe I will never make sense of it all.
But maybe I can heal from it.