This day, this day right here. This is the one, the lost day. Things roll along and life goes on, but not in your heart and brain. This day is ruled by memories, memories of great heartache and grief. The kind that causes you to shake your head with your eyes closed the rest of your life; to clench your fist until your nails make your palms bleed. The kind that makes you go and scream as loud as you can. The kind that you have buried deep in your brain for decades until it is like a virulent thing that has to come out or you will surely die. The chains flung off the black, seeping, weeping painful thing in the corner of your brain that has beat and throbbed for nigh on forever. You have moved it around, you have dusted it off without opening it. You have refused to smell it. You have pretended it was not there even as you sat on it crying over another misdeed. Regardless of whether it was done to you or by you. You sat there in deep grief when all of it rooted back to that box. And then it happens, you must undo the chains that have held you back for your whole life, maybe someone else would not allow you to grieve, yes that. And so it is like you are blind. But you look at the box and say fuck it. This is mine. I am going to do this. Maybe because you just have tripped over it one time too many and screamed at it, you cannot break my toe another time. I cannot allow it and you open it. And you are flooded with a light and your senses are completely overwhelmed with it all. The smells, the sounds, the love, the passion, the pain. You are afraid you will just stand in one place, a rainbow of white light blowing you high into the air, you are as if on your way to the moon, flying high, seeing it all, in the best ways, the resolution crystal clear. No, it never leaves, it was all there the entire time. That was yours. That was your future. That was your love. That was your lover. That was who gave you your sense of self, who comforted you, who told you in no uncertain terms they were there, who came to you every night almost from the day you met, and held you and laughed with you, who asked you to marry him. That person with those eyes and voice and heart. The heart, what a heart. And it stopped beating by his own hand and you are free falling through space, no purchase can you make. None. You are lost And grasping at air. He dropped you off, why you were going to hang out in a few hours, how could that happen? Then all the revelations, it was preplanned to the nth degree... WHAT? and it gets packed away, you cannot walk, breathe, or live. You want to die too and do not and for the next 50 plus years you wait to die, you look for death. You never really live again until you take the chains off that damn box. You have not even been able to tell him you are angry with him. He left you, like most of the ppl you loved in your life and you feel like that must be the way life is supposed to be. Ppl will always leave you and hurt you and be untrue. You are set up for a life of pain. From that day forward, because you did not look in the box. So THIS DAY once again, you remember him and you celebrate the good parts, of which there were many more. No one knows why, just that it happened. You could not go out and see what he needed or wanted when he was coming back to try to get you to come out before it happened. You will never know. Just he needs to know now, I love you, always. I miss you, always, and I wish you were here.
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
MY BLOWN MIND
Excuse me! Excuse me! Is that your mind on the ground? Excuse me? Why, yes, and thank you. I blew it out in a storm. In 2008. I am putting it back together and you see, it takes time and patience. And I have to find all the pieces. Not an easy chore.
You see, it flew the hell all over the place. My whole life passed before my eyes carrying it out, and this hole came into the middle of my forehead and my fucking mind blew out and flew out of my head. Part of my frontal lobe with it. Just flew the fuck out of my head. I have been looking all over.
Excuse me, have you seen my mind? It is raw, and ragged and may still be bleeding. It will not hurt you. It has suffered a lot, it has to be spent and tired. It has to be. OH, it was angry as hell. It was pissed off when it blew out....ka POW. Flying through the air at the speed of sound. THEY told me that it would be all good. Just be patient, you kidding me here? You ever tried to act normal without a mind? Brains are like the intelligent part and your mind is the reasoning part and child, I lost that. Gone.
Yes, I did say that, are you deaf? I did say inappropriate things to my grand daughter. I did ask her to "Pop That Couchie". Well, my God she was 14, for God's sake. What? That was not cool? Well, I cannot say, I blew my mind out in the fucking storm.... which one? The great storm of 2008. May 10, you know. What? well, God almighty, how did you miss it. Where you been. Under a log?
So, yeah, well, I did tell the butcher, baker and candle stick maker every lurid detail of the storm. Well, they asked me. Shitfire. If they did not want to know...what is that you said? It was just a southern pleasantry? "How Ya'll Doin Today?" well, if you don't want to know do not ask. But is that why they looked like they needed a drink of water 45 minutes later? I cry.
And, I cry and I cry, and I CRY. No, hell no, you don't see me cry. YES, I left him at Krispy Kreme, he pissed me off. Oh, walking home was good for him. So what it was five miles. He needed the exercise. And his clothes needed airing out on the back patio. Did them good. Fuck it. Neighbors? Surely they did not hear me, wailing and screaming at full bore all night, for three years, in the house, outside the house, well, yes, he did hurt his knee slipping on the dewy grass running from me, bad enough to need surgery, but why did he run? he should have just let me beat his ass, that is what he should have done. He deserved every single punch.
I blew my mind out in a storm, the great storm of 2008. Well, she put her finger in my face, yes she did. I had had it. Enough. I slapped her, and well, we went down. Yes, I was going for blood. Her husband is big isn't he? I busted his nose, though. I had to. He was going to throw me on the sidewalk. So what? Just my son in law...... Is that part of my mind there, under that yellow leaf, peeking at us... there, by your shoe.
Of course I called them all, every one of those whores. EVERY SINGLE ONE. They deserved it. Especially Patti. She killed my soul. On purpose, with malice and intent. I grieved, and grieved,, but I blew my mind out and now? I hate her. Loathe her.
There is NO way out, this is NO way to kill someone, to sling shit on them, hose off and then think that the smell will not always be in their nose. You cannot do it. I work hard every day, and the puzzle pieces of my mind are sought and being found, but they have changed and do not fit like they did. They are hurt, raw, jagged, different. He changed me. Forever. He hurt me. Forever and ever. He hurt us.
No, I do not do those things any longer. It kills you in another way. Rage, anger. Eats your insides. But initially it protects you. The scalding pain of betrayal is more overwhelming than being skinned alive and dipped in alcohol. I have never in my life felt anything like that pain, ever. Thirty years of betrayal in at that time a 37 year marriage. And my friends, my God.
I had no one. Not one person who took me in their arms and rocked me like a child. No one that cared. Shania Twain did not get out of bed for a year. One friend betrayed her and she stayed in bed for a year. What would she do with my storm? With a brain tumor, MS, breast cancer, etc.?
I blew my mind out in the storm. I cry.
You see, it flew the hell all over the place. My whole life passed before my eyes carrying it out, and this hole came into the middle of my forehead and my fucking mind blew out and flew out of my head. Part of my frontal lobe with it. Just flew the fuck out of my head. I have been looking all over.
Excuse me, have you seen my mind? It is raw, and ragged and may still be bleeding. It will not hurt you. It has suffered a lot, it has to be spent and tired. It has to be. OH, it was angry as hell. It was pissed off when it blew out....ka POW. Flying through the air at the speed of sound. THEY told me that it would be all good. Just be patient, you kidding me here? You ever tried to act normal without a mind? Brains are like the intelligent part and your mind is the reasoning part and child, I lost that. Gone.
Yes, I did say that, are you deaf? I did say inappropriate things to my grand daughter. I did ask her to "Pop That Couchie". Well, my God she was 14, for God's sake. What? That was not cool? Well, I cannot say, I blew my mind out in the fucking storm.... which one? The great storm of 2008. May 10, you know. What? well, God almighty, how did you miss it. Where you been. Under a log?
So, yeah, well, I did tell the butcher, baker and candle stick maker every lurid detail of the storm. Well, they asked me. Shitfire. If they did not want to know...what is that you said? It was just a southern pleasantry? "How Ya'll Doin Today?" well, if you don't want to know do not ask. But is that why they looked like they needed a drink of water 45 minutes later? I cry.
And, I cry and I cry, and I CRY. No, hell no, you don't see me cry. YES, I left him at Krispy Kreme, he pissed me off. Oh, walking home was good for him. So what it was five miles. He needed the exercise. And his clothes needed airing out on the back patio. Did them good. Fuck it. Neighbors? Surely they did not hear me, wailing and screaming at full bore all night, for three years, in the house, outside the house, well, yes, he did hurt his knee slipping on the dewy grass running from me, bad enough to need surgery, but why did he run? he should have just let me beat his ass, that is what he should have done. He deserved every single punch.
I blew my mind out in a storm, the great storm of 2008. Well, she put her finger in my face, yes she did. I had had it. Enough. I slapped her, and well, we went down. Yes, I was going for blood. Her husband is big isn't he? I busted his nose, though. I had to. He was going to throw me on the sidewalk. So what? Just my son in law...... Is that part of my mind there, under that yellow leaf, peeking at us... there, by your shoe.
Of course I called them all, every one of those whores. EVERY SINGLE ONE. They deserved it. Especially Patti. She killed my soul. On purpose, with malice and intent. I grieved, and grieved,, but I blew my mind out and now? I hate her. Loathe her.
There is NO way out, this is NO way to kill someone, to sling shit on them, hose off and then think that the smell will not always be in their nose. You cannot do it. I work hard every day, and the puzzle pieces of my mind are sought and being found, but they have changed and do not fit like they did. They are hurt, raw, jagged, different. He changed me. Forever. He hurt me. Forever and ever. He hurt us.
No, I do not do those things any longer. It kills you in another way. Rage, anger. Eats your insides. But initially it protects you. The scalding pain of betrayal is more overwhelming than being skinned alive and dipped in alcohol. I have never in my life felt anything like that pain, ever. Thirty years of betrayal in at that time a 37 year marriage. And my friends, my God.
I had no one. Not one person who took me in their arms and rocked me like a child. No one that cared. Shania Twain did not get out of bed for a year. One friend betrayed her and she stayed in bed for a year. What would she do with my storm? With a brain tumor, MS, breast cancer, etc.?
I blew my mind out in the storm. I cry.
Monday, August 26, 2013
TO THE WALL
By Jan Martin Smith
The feel of the metal on her arm, the biting of the steel. If she pulls hard, the skin rolls up on her wrist, the bones scream. She is chained to the wall.
Her wrist bones are gaunt, and her hand shows the wear of time. There are scars from times come and gone. These hands have caressed a weary brow, they have clasped to a child who may have otherwise ran into the way of danger. These hands have pressed into her eyes and pulled her own hair. These hands have flailed the air, and been raised to heaven to understand why. They have been fists and they have been chewed until they bled.
But nothing is like the feel of the metal against her arm, the restraint that has come and gone with time. With her eyes closed she can feel the affliction that put them there, that she self imposed upon her soul. She can see the vow that she made and to which she adhered her entire life. The glint of the sun from the chains that bind can also blind. Your eyes can not see, will not see.
She rests on that wall. She leans into it, she knows it well. She has beaten it with those hands, and she has clawed it until weary, she has tried to climb it to no avail, she is chained to it, of her own mind. She is afflicted.
There are times when the chains of the wall are longer, are looser, but they are forever upon her arms, her wrist that is scarred and worn. She has pulled at it until the blood ran warm down her and she dipped her fingers in the pool and marked her face as a warrior would, and bravely continued on in her battle for life, for sanity and more.
No one can understand this dance or this wall. No one can see the affliction, she smiles and she laughs, the mocking laugh of one who sees the world through eyes that are wise from knowledge obtained from blood and pain.
On the given day, when she puts the key into this shackle and she is released, she will float to the top, and go high, high away, and be free of the affliction and the pain and the blood shed from her heart and soul to abide by a promise and a vow that to her mattered. She walked on a path less traveled, yes, she read the fucking book. Not a martyr, but rather afflicted to the end.
On the halfway journey, she thought that she was okay, on the halfway journey, the assessment was that it was okay. It was not. So, lean into it. Keep your armor on, and find what you can for now. This is your choice. No one holds the key but you.
The feel of the metal on her arm, the biting of the steel. If she pulls hard, the skin rolls up on her wrist, the bones scream. She is chained to the wall.
Her wrist bones are gaunt, and her hand shows the wear of time. There are scars from times come and gone. These hands have caressed a weary brow, they have clasped to a child who may have otherwise ran into the way of danger. These hands have pressed into her eyes and pulled her own hair. These hands have flailed the air, and been raised to heaven to understand why. They have been fists and they have been chewed until they bled.
But nothing is like the feel of the metal against her arm, the restraint that has come and gone with time. With her eyes closed she can feel the affliction that put them there, that she self imposed upon her soul. She can see the vow that she made and to which she adhered her entire life. The glint of the sun from the chains that bind can also blind. Your eyes can not see, will not see.
She rests on that wall. She leans into it, she knows it well. She has beaten it with those hands, and she has clawed it until weary, she has tried to climb it to no avail, she is chained to it, of her own mind. She is afflicted.
There are times when the chains of the wall are longer, are looser, but they are forever upon her arms, her wrist that is scarred and worn. She has pulled at it until the blood ran warm down her and she dipped her fingers in the pool and marked her face as a warrior would, and bravely continued on in her battle for life, for sanity and more.
No one can understand this dance or this wall. No one can see the affliction, she smiles and she laughs, the mocking laugh of one who sees the world through eyes that are wise from knowledge obtained from blood and pain.
On the given day, when she puts the key into this shackle and she is released, she will float to the top, and go high, high away, and be free of the affliction and the pain and the blood shed from her heart and soul to abide by a promise and a vow that to her mattered. She walked on a path less traveled, yes, she read the fucking book. Not a martyr, but rather afflicted to the end.
On the halfway journey, she thought that she was okay, on the halfway journey, the assessment was that it was okay. It was not. So, lean into it. Keep your armor on, and find what you can for now. This is your choice. No one holds the key but you.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Random
Many nights of her life, she has the same feeling, the incompleteness. The search in her soul and her mind for the thing that will make her whole. If you plant a seed in the ground it will surely grow to a beautiful thing, but you have to know what the seed should be. Therein lies the problem. She has never known what to grow.
Sometimes she looks around her and it all seems so pretty, this world of hers, so clean and new. But, she is not looking at the weeds. There is pride somehow and she feels a swell, but just a quickly, she can feel incomplete. She can see the cracks in it all, the soiled places in the walls of her life. What kind of paint then? What covering would you pick?
Just as roots grow and twist, ever encroaching on the good, pushing forward and destroying whatever is in their path, so have the people done to her along her way. They are small things to begin with, they are not significant, but they soon become bigger and wider and before she knows the cement of her soul is cracked or the foundation of her life has become unsettled and she is insecure. They are gaping, gasping, mewlings and they take, and take. They do NOT give back. She only knows this when she cannot walk, and she cannot see. She becomes blind because her vision has been given away, she has lost her sight. She becomes deaf because she refused to hear. She heard what she wanted to hear. She hit herself up side her own head and it was hollow. She blacked her own eyes, and laughed into her hands. Nothing changed. She hears the one who mimics, the "evil voice" and has to run and hide inside herself, jump from the car. Just jump and roll, right? it hurt like hell.
That same noise, over and over and over and over. Is it a bark, or a crunch or a snap or a pop. Over and over and over. Redundant, listen smarty pants, listen, don't you hear that? That same old shit? over and over? Crazy? Of course you are! You nutcase, that is why they come and sit on your back. That is why they are drawn to you. Mewling and crying and sniffing, leaving trails of snot on you, and you, feeling all sanctified and justified sitting there in their snot and tears, lost. Blind because you would not see, and deaf because you only hear what you want to hear. Your back is broken and you did not step on the crack, so fuck it all.
Did you really put on your turn signal to go around the curve? You idiot you must think more clearly than that. You must put your arm out the window too. My Gawd.
Sometimes she looks around her and it all seems so pretty, this world of hers, so clean and new. But, she is not looking at the weeds. There is pride somehow and she feels a swell, but just a quickly, she can feel incomplete. She can see the cracks in it all, the soiled places in the walls of her life. What kind of paint then? What covering would you pick?
Just as roots grow and twist, ever encroaching on the good, pushing forward and destroying whatever is in their path, so have the people done to her along her way. They are small things to begin with, they are not significant, but they soon become bigger and wider and before she knows the cement of her soul is cracked or the foundation of her life has become unsettled and she is insecure. They are gaping, gasping, mewlings and they take, and take. They do NOT give back. She only knows this when she cannot walk, and she cannot see. She becomes blind because her vision has been given away, she has lost her sight. She becomes deaf because she refused to hear. She heard what she wanted to hear. She hit herself up side her own head and it was hollow. She blacked her own eyes, and laughed into her hands. Nothing changed. She hears the one who mimics, the "evil voice" and has to run and hide inside herself, jump from the car. Just jump and roll, right? it hurt like hell.
That same noise, over and over and over and over. Is it a bark, or a crunch or a snap or a pop. Over and over and over. Redundant, listen smarty pants, listen, don't you hear that? That same old shit? over and over? Crazy? Of course you are! You nutcase, that is why they come and sit on your back. That is why they are drawn to you. Mewling and crying and sniffing, leaving trails of snot on you, and you, feeling all sanctified and justified sitting there in their snot and tears, lost. Blind because you would not see, and deaf because you only hear what you want to hear. Your back is broken and you did not step on the crack, so fuck it all.
Did you really put on your turn signal to go around the curve? You idiot you must think more clearly than that. You must put your arm out the window too. My Gawd.
Monday, April 29, 2013
PTSD
Today we saw a show about this malady and the person afflicted had been shot in the face 21 years ago at the age of 17 as she worked a register at a grocery store. Her face was destroyed, her chin down. And she has horrific nightmares to this day of the girl, who was 14 when she shot her, coming into the grocer, pushing the gun into her face, demanding the money and then blowing the bottom part of her face off. The perpetrator went to prison for 6 years, or some other ridiculously short time, and has been out forever, but the victim, while she has gone on to have a family with the young man who was her coworker in the grocer and her boyfriend, is serving a life sentence with a horrible appearance, being stared at and dealing with the trauma.
So, they met and the shooter was a bitch and then not and they hugged and so on. But, they went over PTSD and again, I was reminded what happens when you suffer with this.
You do not have to be shot in the face. You can be shot in the soul too. I was.
I am coming up on the fifth anniversary of the confession. The one that tore my heart and soul out and changed my life forever. The confession of 30 long years of adultery by my spouse with mostly my friends, that a lot of my other friends and associates knew about. It is so horrible, and with every name that came from his mouth and with every answer to every question that I asked for the next two years, I was killed inch by inch. I still die a little every day.
When I was told all of this, I was sick. I could not leave nor make him. And, he has changed completely. He is not that man, but my lost life that I lived, all my memories that are lies, those are my ptsd. I threw every picture away that I owned. I destroyed all the gifts and cards I had been given. I lay awake at night remembering all the times shared with the women, sitting by my hospital bed, or hearing me sob when I did know of a cheat. And, they were screwing him as well.
PTSD comes in other ways. I can not go to certain places, and when I have to go by others, I cannot breathe. I will never really recover.
Yes, the fifth anniversary is looming. May 10. I hate that day. I was so innocent on May 9, 2008.
So, they met and the shooter was a bitch and then not and they hugged and so on. But, they went over PTSD and again, I was reminded what happens when you suffer with this.
You do not have to be shot in the face. You can be shot in the soul too. I was.
I am coming up on the fifth anniversary of the confession. The one that tore my heart and soul out and changed my life forever. The confession of 30 long years of adultery by my spouse with mostly my friends, that a lot of my other friends and associates knew about. It is so horrible, and with every name that came from his mouth and with every answer to every question that I asked for the next two years, I was killed inch by inch. I still die a little every day.
When I was told all of this, I was sick. I could not leave nor make him. And, he has changed completely. He is not that man, but my lost life that I lived, all my memories that are lies, those are my ptsd. I threw every picture away that I owned. I destroyed all the gifts and cards I had been given. I lay awake at night remembering all the times shared with the women, sitting by my hospital bed, or hearing me sob when I did know of a cheat. And, they were screwing him as well.
PTSD comes in other ways. I can not go to certain places, and when I have to go by others, I cannot breathe. I will never really recover.
Yes, the fifth anniversary is looming. May 10. I hate that day. I was so innocent on May 9, 2008.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
OH, I WAS TOLD
Today she went somewhere with her mom. Her mom needed a perm. And, so she took her to get one.
It was a pleasure to watch her mom talk and laugh and talk and laugh and talk and laugh. As only her mom could do. The people who worked at this small salon were faces that loomed in her past and her mind. One person took the time to come and talk to her. And soon it was known that she was somehow known to her. A connection to her life from many years ago. And a love gone and lost.
And so she lay in her bed and she smells him and she sees his brown skin and she remembers him again. And she remembers the tragedy of him. And she has to deal with the reality of what his family must feel about her. They all have avoided her this past holiday. All these years have passed.
When he left them all with a quick shot to his heart, cruelly, with no answers, and left in his wake more pain than any one of them could bear, she fed inside herself. She lost his family. They could not be around her. She had hurt him. She broke up with him, and he despaired, but she had told him she was sorry, she put it all in a letter and gave it to him that very night. They went out and he put it in his sock. He yet had it there when he pulled the trigger and left them all. And, the letter was given to them, so they knew that she had hurt him, and he was not on stable ground, so in their hearts, they must have hated her somehow, but they would not tell her. She had begged them, but no one would say. Not at the time, no one would talk. But she eventually asked. No one would tell.
Then today, she ran into this person from the past who said, "She told me that the girlfriend broke up with him and he killed himself". It was like falling down a shit hole. It was like being shot with a poison dart. It was like eating a rancid piece of meat. There it was.
No one would ever tell her what he said that night. He kept coming back to get her and she could not go out.
For anyone who cared, she loved him. She was young. She was stupid and she has paid ten million times ten million. And if she could have gone with him, she would have preferred it to her life.
So, she was finally told. Someone told her, even though no one would til now. She knows.
It was a pleasure to watch her mom talk and laugh and talk and laugh and talk and laugh. As only her mom could do. The people who worked at this small salon were faces that loomed in her past and her mind. One person took the time to come and talk to her. And soon it was known that she was somehow known to her. A connection to her life from many years ago. And a love gone and lost.
And so she lay in her bed and she smells him and she sees his brown skin and she remembers him again. And she remembers the tragedy of him. And she has to deal with the reality of what his family must feel about her. They all have avoided her this past holiday. All these years have passed.
When he left them all with a quick shot to his heart, cruelly, with no answers, and left in his wake more pain than any one of them could bear, she fed inside herself. She lost his family. They could not be around her. She had hurt him. She broke up with him, and he despaired, but she had told him she was sorry, she put it all in a letter and gave it to him that very night. They went out and he put it in his sock. He yet had it there when he pulled the trigger and left them all. And, the letter was given to them, so they knew that she had hurt him, and he was not on stable ground, so in their hearts, they must have hated her somehow, but they would not tell her. She had begged them, but no one would say. Not at the time, no one would talk. But she eventually asked. No one would tell.
Then today, she ran into this person from the past who said, "She told me that the girlfriend broke up with him and he killed himself". It was like falling down a shit hole. It was like being shot with a poison dart. It was like eating a rancid piece of meat. There it was.
No one would ever tell her what he said that night. He kept coming back to get her and she could not go out.
For anyone who cared, she loved him. She was young. She was stupid and she has paid ten million times ten million. And if she could have gone with him, she would have preferred it to her life.
So, she was finally told. Someone told her, even though no one would til now. She knows.
Monday, December 3, 2012
ADVICE
Like assholes everyone has opinions and advice, right? And there are those with those "Bless God" views of what life is or those who have the arrogance of youth, and as such have no idea what life is really about or will bring yet. Like that female at the pub last night, at the end of the evening.
Now I am at the time in my life, the age, where young bitch women do not usually get to me. But, this one was bout to get schooled. No, I do
not mean in the ass whipping sort of way, but in the "I
am going to cut you to ribbons with my brain and tongue" way. She was doing the
"I am younger than you and therefore must be superior in some way" drunk thing
and I was catching what she was throwing. She did not want me to step up to the
plate. It was to be a blood bath.
For a lot of years now I have allowed the young bitch women to do this and rolled my eyes and looked away or ignored them. They have in return disrespected me and I am done with it. So now I will lean in and ask them if they want to say something or whatever suits my fancy. They will not do this to me. Nope. I can brain them to death. They are not secure enough to keep the face up. They will collapse. Another issue for another time.
But as to advice, when you see someone in pain, you want to help. Or you think you know exactly what you would do, right? So, you either offer advice to help, you think, or you say, well, I would do this and that, and in so doing put them down if they are not doing what you would do. You, who have no fucking idea what you would do cause you ain't never been there. And, even if you have been sort of there, you ain't been in that person's shoes. Best you can offer is an ear unless they ask for your advice.
I was in a group therapy once where there were a ton of ppl. So happened that this was day one in that group and I was the last person who would intro myself and my situation. It was a broad concept, lot's of people in the group with lot's of different reasons to be there, from drug use to divorce.
The first lady, who looked to be in her late 20's, introduced herself and with a great deal of passion and fanfare, told her story. She said "I was in an abusive relationship. My husband would not let me do anything. He controlled me all the time, told me when I could go shopping and everything. So, I kicked him out and the first thing I did was get my power back. I painted the bathroom and it felt so good." Well, everyone just clapped and were so excited. The room roared. Jeez.
By the time they got to me, 30 people later, no story had the impact of mine. I felt like I would be upstaging everyone. Almost like I would have sat there and made shit up. How would I say, "My name is blah and I have been married for 37 years. I have been beaten and abused, found out recently that my spouse has been having an affair with a friend for 13 years, three times a week, in a car and that some other of our friends allowed them to come to their house, and that three of my other friends have had affairs with him before that and that he also had sex with ppl at his job and my job and this happened over 30 years and I did not know and he took them on trips and got cabins and hotel rooms and I have a brain tumor and ms and lost both breasts to cancer and on and on and on and my fiancee killed himself right before I married this man and I am insane in the membrane ....and...so. I said. "Uh, I Uh, am here because I have marital problems that I will talk about but there is so much, I don't want to take all the time right now."
So, the smart ass leader says "Well, lookie here what we have. On the one hand, we have miss whoever over here who had a marital problem and she took charge and painted her bathroom and then we have miss thing over here who is not doing anything about her marriage. Just came here to whine and not participate." Well, I then did the chicken head finger wave and said "NO NO NO NO, we ain't playing that, if you are going to compare, then you are going to hear the whole shitting ass thing..." And he said, "Oh no, you had your chance, you did not want to say, you are not going to say." And I said to him "Well, fuck you I am out of here good luck to you all with this bunch of horse shit. If I can't tell, you can't use me as a point of comparison." And, I walked out.
See, I came there broken and run over and fucked over by everyone in my life and I was damned if a stranger who knew nothing about me and was supposed to be dedicated to helping me was going to make me feel like I was less than. He was not going to do that to me. So I gathered my power and left. I did not paint a damn bathroom but I changed my environment quite well in two seconds, thank you. And, left the entire situation that was abusing me.
You have to decide for yourself what brings you to a place and how to resolve it.
The ensuing minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years since the horrific confessions of my husband which killed me inch by inch took a toll. The balm of healing has been slow coming and in it's own way. I have had every kind of thing said to me from "leave, how can you stay" to "get over it, or go" to "you have to forgive to heal." It has been everything. Most of the advice, if not all, has been wrong.
Here is what I know.
You do NOT have to forgive anyone. You just have to accept. But, I needed to forgive him for him to heal. And, if I wanted to live with him, and if I loved him, I needed to see him heal for me to heal. For a long time I could have given two shits if he healed or not. Fuck him. He did this to him, to us, to me, to our children, to my sister, to my mom, to everyone. HE did it, he should die miserable. If I got so sick I was in diapers, let him wipe my ass. He had every chance in the world. He was loved, cherished by me and his family. He was forgiven time and again, and he was kicked out three times, he had no reason to stay. He was not trapped, I did not need him. He actually always needed me. There was a lot about him I was to learn and a lot about himself he was to learn. Also, if I had of known he was living a double life when I was younger or when I kicked him out years ago, he would not have had another chance.
My past had a lot to do with him being here and nothing to do with him being forgiven. My commitment to marriage and my loving him were part of it, yes. Yes, I loved him and yes I did believe in marriage and my vows. But, when I was 17, I was engaged and I broke that engagement. My fiancee, a handsome, precious, young man who had the whole world at his finger tips was already in a deep depression from other things in his life and he shot himself. If only those of us around him had seen the signs, had been more informed as we are today, perhaps we could have helped him. While I had told him the day he did this that I wanted to marry him, and that I was sorry, he had already made up his mind. When my husband cried and begged, I could not end the marriage. I had this experience in my life. I would never have been able to end a marriage or thing like other people because of my past, I had this past in my life. I did not realize the depth of pain and fear that had been instilled in me. So, I was too afraid to risk this. Did my husband realize this on some level? maybe. How horrible.
I have always looked for the good in ppl and found it hard to understand ppl who look for the bad. Why. I always used the adage, "Swallow the meat and spit out the bone." Just make sure there was enough meat in that person to make it worth your while and I always found enough. I tried to understand ppl and why they misbehaved or acted certain ways. I was a magnet for the walking wounded. God I carried these woe begotten horror stories on my back all my life. Ppl would say to me, "You know, I have known so and so all my life and they are a user" or "I know that she was abused as a child, but her step dad was still having sex with her when she was an adult, don't you find that odd?" and I would take up for them and offer excuses. I would study the things that happened to these ppl, find the reasons they acted the way they did and cradle them in my arms, both physically and emotionally. Why? Did I feel my own ego by so doing? Did it make me feel superior and did it also allow me to not deal with my own problems? Maybe, and it was the anti of my mother. While she is the great conspiracy hunter, I am the buster of them. I hate that about her so I don't think that there are any. It is sad, it set me up for my life.
You have heard if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. That is right. I had no friends. I had ppl who liked to use me and to raise a glass with me, but they did not care if I was on fire. They did not care if I lived or died. They could have seen me died and clucked and moved on. These same ppl will not be allowed at my funeral. Too harsh? I don't care. They knew. They came to me with blood and flesh in their teeth. Mine. And did not care. They knew and looked the other way. So, keep on looking. Most of my spouses coworkers at his career and their spouses, bye. I want nothing to do with them alive or dead. My prerogative. My children have a list.
I am going to tell you about the users, and the preppers. The back breakers, the back stabbing bitches. I have names for them all, I will share them. I will give you my examples and if you have them in your life, give them the damn boot. Get rid of them or get them at arms length. If they have to be in your life, are coworkers, etc,, understand what they are capable of. One of mine sent out signals for years. One was such a great liar, she is a psychopathic sociopath. In it to win it. Loves herself and no one else. One referred to herself as a "Stepford Wife" because her husband gave her everything. I house in a gated community, the best cars and I am sure furniture and clothing, jewelry. She came from poverty. She craved these things, they were how she valued herself. But, she belittled him in front of us when all this came out. I could not believe she did that. I knew this trifling bitch. She should have been kicked to the low rent subdivision that minute. She has had comeuppance. She lost all that. She is paying and she still does not get it. She lies to this day. But not to me. Until she stops all that, until she really has remorse, she cannot face me properly or God. She is pathetic. I have known her for years. She paid for the hotel room. She is a coward. I will tell you what she did to me, how she worked me.
So that is all for now. I am excited for this. I look forward to hearing your stories as well. What was done to you? This forum is needed. I wish that it had been here for me. My eyesight is failing me so I have to beg for your patience in my typing.
For a lot of years now I have allowed the young bitch women to do this and rolled my eyes and looked away or ignored them. They have in return disrespected me and I am done with it. So now I will lean in and ask them if they want to say something or whatever suits my fancy. They will not do this to me. Nope. I can brain them to death. They are not secure enough to keep the face up. They will collapse. Another issue for another time.
But as to advice, when you see someone in pain, you want to help. Or you think you know exactly what you would do, right? So, you either offer advice to help, you think, or you say, well, I would do this and that, and in so doing put them down if they are not doing what you would do. You, who have no fucking idea what you would do cause you ain't never been there. And, even if you have been sort of there, you ain't been in that person's shoes. Best you can offer is an ear unless they ask for your advice.
I was in a group therapy once where there were a ton of ppl. So happened that this was day one in that group and I was the last person who would intro myself and my situation. It was a broad concept, lot's of people in the group with lot's of different reasons to be there, from drug use to divorce.
The first lady, who looked to be in her late 20's, introduced herself and with a great deal of passion and fanfare, told her story. She said "I was in an abusive relationship. My husband would not let me do anything. He controlled me all the time, told me when I could go shopping and everything. So, I kicked him out and the first thing I did was get my power back. I painted the bathroom and it felt so good." Well, everyone just clapped and were so excited. The room roared. Jeez.
By the time they got to me, 30 people later, no story had the impact of mine. I felt like I would be upstaging everyone. Almost like I would have sat there and made shit up. How would I say, "My name is blah and I have been married for 37 years. I have been beaten and abused, found out recently that my spouse has been having an affair with a friend for 13 years, three times a week, in a car and that some other of our friends allowed them to come to their house, and that three of my other friends have had affairs with him before that and that he also had sex with ppl at his job and my job and this happened over 30 years and I did not know and he took them on trips and got cabins and hotel rooms and I have a brain tumor and ms and lost both breasts to cancer and on and on and on and my fiancee killed himself right before I married this man and I am insane in the membrane ....and...so. I said. "Uh, I Uh, am here because I have marital problems that I will talk about but there is so much, I don't want to take all the time right now."
So, the smart ass leader says "Well, lookie here what we have. On the one hand, we have miss whoever over here who had a marital problem and she took charge and painted her bathroom and then we have miss thing over here who is not doing anything about her marriage. Just came here to whine and not participate." Well, I then did the chicken head finger wave and said "NO NO NO NO, we ain't playing that, if you are going to compare, then you are going to hear the whole shitting ass thing..." And he said, "Oh no, you had your chance, you did not want to say, you are not going to say." And I said to him "Well, fuck you I am out of here good luck to you all with this bunch of horse shit. If I can't tell, you can't use me as a point of comparison." And, I walked out.
See, I came there broken and run over and fucked over by everyone in my life and I was damned if a stranger who knew nothing about me and was supposed to be dedicated to helping me was going to make me feel like I was less than. He was not going to do that to me. So I gathered my power and left. I did not paint a damn bathroom but I changed my environment quite well in two seconds, thank you. And, left the entire situation that was abusing me.
You have to decide for yourself what brings you to a place and how to resolve it.
The ensuing minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years since the horrific confessions of my husband which killed me inch by inch took a toll. The balm of healing has been slow coming and in it's own way. I have had every kind of thing said to me from "leave, how can you stay" to "get over it, or go" to "you have to forgive to heal." It has been everything. Most of the advice, if not all, has been wrong.
Here is what I know.
You do NOT have to forgive anyone. You just have to accept. But, I needed to forgive him for him to heal. And, if I wanted to live with him, and if I loved him, I needed to see him heal for me to heal. For a long time I could have given two shits if he healed or not. Fuck him. He did this to him, to us, to me, to our children, to my sister, to my mom, to everyone. HE did it, he should die miserable. If I got so sick I was in diapers, let him wipe my ass. He had every chance in the world. He was loved, cherished by me and his family. He was forgiven time and again, and he was kicked out three times, he had no reason to stay. He was not trapped, I did not need him. He actually always needed me. There was a lot about him I was to learn and a lot about himself he was to learn. Also, if I had of known he was living a double life when I was younger or when I kicked him out years ago, he would not have had another chance.
My past had a lot to do with him being here and nothing to do with him being forgiven. My commitment to marriage and my loving him were part of it, yes. Yes, I loved him and yes I did believe in marriage and my vows. But, when I was 17, I was engaged and I broke that engagement. My fiancee, a handsome, precious, young man who had the whole world at his finger tips was already in a deep depression from other things in his life and he shot himself. If only those of us around him had seen the signs, had been more informed as we are today, perhaps we could have helped him. While I had told him the day he did this that I wanted to marry him, and that I was sorry, he had already made up his mind. When my husband cried and begged, I could not end the marriage. I had this experience in my life. I would never have been able to end a marriage or thing like other people because of my past, I had this past in my life. I did not realize the depth of pain and fear that had been instilled in me. So, I was too afraid to risk this. Did my husband realize this on some level? maybe. How horrible.
I have always looked for the good in ppl and found it hard to understand ppl who look for the bad. Why. I always used the adage, "Swallow the meat and spit out the bone." Just make sure there was enough meat in that person to make it worth your while and I always found enough. I tried to understand ppl and why they misbehaved or acted certain ways. I was a magnet for the walking wounded. God I carried these woe begotten horror stories on my back all my life. Ppl would say to me, "You know, I have known so and so all my life and they are a user" or "I know that she was abused as a child, but her step dad was still having sex with her when she was an adult, don't you find that odd?" and I would take up for them and offer excuses. I would study the things that happened to these ppl, find the reasons they acted the way they did and cradle them in my arms, both physically and emotionally. Why? Did I feel my own ego by so doing? Did it make me feel superior and did it also allow me to not deal with my own problems? Maybe, and it was the anti of my mother. While she is the great conspiracy hunter, I am the buster of them. I hate that about her so I don't think that there are any. It is sad, it set me up for my life.
You have heard if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. That is right. I had no friends. I had ppl who liked to use me and to raise a glass with me, but they did not care if I was on fire. They did not care if I lived or died. They could have seen me died and clucked and moved on. These same ppl will not be allowed at my funeral. Too harsh? I don't care. They knew. They came to me with blood and flesh in their teeth. Mine. And did not care. They knew and looked the other way. So, keep on looking. Most of my spouses coworkers at his career and their spouses, bye. I want nothing to do with them alive or dead. My prerogative. My children have a list.
I am going to tell you about the users, and the preppers. The back breakers, the back stabbing bitches. I have names for them all, I will share them. I will give you my examples and if you have them in your life, give them the damn boot. Get rid of them or get them at arms length. If they have to be in your life, are coworkers, etc,, understand what they are capable of. One of mine sent out signals for years. One was such a great liar, she is a psychopathic sociopath. In it to win it. Loves herself and no one else. One referred to herself as a "Stepford Wife" because her husband gave her everything. I house in a gated community, the best cars and I am sure furniture and clothing, jewelry. She came from poverty. She craved these things, they were how she valued herself. But, she belittled him in front of us when all this came out. I could not believe she did that. I knew this trifling bitch. She should have been kicked to the low rent subdivision that minute. She has had comeuppance. She lost all that. She is paying and she still does not get it. She lies to this day. But not to me. Until she stops all that, until she really has remorse, she cannot face me properly or God. She is pathetic. I have known her for years. She paid for the hotel room. She is a coward. I will tell you what she did to me, how she worked me.
So that is all for now. I am excited for this. I look forward to hearing your stories as well. What was done to you? This forum is needed. I wish that it had been here for me. My eyesight is failing me so I have to beg for your patience in my typing.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
YOUR EYES
I miss your eyes. I miss how you watched me when I told you about yourself, those stories that I would make up about how you came to this country in that most horrible way. You would watch me with your black eyes and never blink. You could watch me forever.
How much I miss your black eyes filled with wonder and love when I would sing to you in my awful toneless voice, and you would hum along. I could feel your hum in my chest as I watched your black eyes, soaking up the lullabys that I had once sung to my children and now were sung to you to be followed by "your" song, my beautiful Casserole.
You smelled like warm bread in that sweet spot behind your head, there on your neck. So soft and warm, and I could never kiss you there enough. You, making kissing, smacking noise just like I was while I kissed you and told you I loved and adored you, getting feathers in my mouth. When I would take you back into my arms, like a baby, your black eyes would sparkle and you would bite the baby blamket or soft towel that I held you in so that you felt secure. See, you had not allowed anyone to hold you before me. I was so honored, so honored to have been chosen by you three years ago to be your human, your mommy, your best one. I was honored. I adored you, your black eyes, your little feet balled up into fists, and held close to your tummy.
You know that your kind does not lay on their backs, they do not, but you did with me, you did, you trusted me to love and care for you. You would lay in my arms like a baby and hum, with your little balled up fists, trusting me and I would rock you and kiss you and tell you stories of Africa and flying and sing to you. You only had half a wing on the left side. You had been hurt when you came to America, and you lost it because that owner did not tend to your injury, so you never trusted again. Not for 42 years, until we found each other. My love, my Casserole. My sweet little man.
Who else would say "My Gawd" when aggravated because he was startled awake at night. Or "Hey Guy" in the morning. You. You walked around on the bottom of your new cage that you loved so much and you talked to yourself, you said "Oh Cass, you are a good boy, you are a pretty bird, I love you Cass" and when I took your buddy of 12 years, Malaika, into any other room, you called out "Malaika" or "Laika" over and over until I brought her back where you could see her. You loved her and she has grieved for you.
When the phone rang. your voice changed to a gruff old man and you said "Hello". I miss you so much. I ache to hold you in my arms one more time.
I let you set the rules. You came here scared, and so I let you tell me what you wanted. You got out of your cage and onto the couch as you wanted and came to me and slowly crawled onto me. You got under my chin. We bonded. Then, I came to you and I said, "Can I have you?" and that was what I always asked you, "Can I have you?" And you would stop what you were doing and I would scoop you out and onto your back in my arms and we would love. Late at night, you would sleep like a baby in my arms. When I would take you back before you wanted, you would squeal like a angry child and kick your feet. It was very funny. Cass, no one in the world like you.
Warm bread, my boy Cass.
The way you left me, it is so sad for me. You died in my arms October 18 as I was kissing you on the back of the neck. You had a stroke and you were gone in a flash. Just gone. I tried to revive you for a long time and could not . It is very ironic to lose you the way that I loved being with you the most. But, here is the thing, I have been asked time and again if I have dreamed of you, and I am putting together what I think happened to me recently. I think you came to me to show me you were ok and that you are flying. I think you were waiting until you knew how to use your wings so you could show me. I know how much you loved me and you had to know how much I miss you, how hard it was to lose you the way that I did.
Two nights ago, in the wee hours, I was awakened, startled awake, by a bird flying into my face with gray wings. That was you, wasn't it Cass? At dawn, after my husband went to shower, I awoke again, and there was a smokey presence in the bedroom, on the ceiling. I saw this same thing, or a similar thing, when my father died. When I saw it two mornings ago, I got up and looked at it, worried because I thought the house was on fire. I went out of the room and the smoke moved with the door opening, there was no smell. I got my husband, no smoke was anywhere else and when I immediately returned, it was gone in the bedroom. I think now that it was you, you had not completely left me. Thank you darling Cass. I know that you are ok now. I know that you are flying and happy. You were my soul pet. When I pass, your ashes will be buried with me or mixed with mine, however my remains are handled.
Thank you, black eyes. Can I have you? I had the greatest of all, the most magnificent of all. I have been blessed. God sent me an angel, and I sent him back. I love you Cass. I miss you Cass. My sweet Casserole. 1967? - 10/18/2012
How much I miss your black eyes filled with wonder and love when I would sing to you in my awful toneless voice, and you would hum along. I could feel your hum in my chest as I watched your black eyes, soaking up the lullabys that I had once sung to my children and now were sung to you to be followed by "your" song, my beautiful Casserole.
You know that your kind does not lay on their backs, they do not, but you did with me, you did, you trusted me to love and care for you. You would lay in my arms like a baby and hum, with your little balled up fists, trusting me and I would rock you and kiss you and tell you stories of Africa and flying and sing to you. You only had half a wing on the left side. You had been hurt when you came to America, and you lost it because that owner did not tend to your injury, so you never trusted again. Not for 42 years, until we found each other. My love, my Casserole. My sweet little man.
Who else would say "My Gawd" when aggravated because he was startled awake at night. Or "Hey Guy" in the morning. You. You walked around on the bottom of your new cage that you loved so much and you talked to yourself, you said "Oh Cass, you are a good boy, you are a pretty bird, I love you Cass" and when I took your buddy of 12 years, Malaika, into any other room, you called out "Malaika" or "Laika" over and over until I brought her back where you could see her. You loved her and she has grieved for you.
When the phone rang. your voice changed to a gruff old man and you said "Hello". I miss you so much. I ache to hold you in my arms one more time.
I let you set the rules. You came here scared, and so I let you tell me what you wanted. You got out of your cage and onto the couch as you wanted and came to me and slowly crawled onto me. You got under my chin. We bonded. Then, I came to you and I said, "Can I have you?" and that was what I always asked you, "Can I have you?" And you would stop what you were doing and I would scoop you out and onto your back in my arms and we would love. Late at night, you would sleep like a baby in my arms. When I would take you back before you wanted, you would squeal like a angry child and kick your feet. It was very funny. Cass, no one in the world like you.
Warm bread, my boy Cass.
The way you left me, it is so sad for me. You died in my arms October 18 as I was kissing you on the back of the neck. You had a stroke and you were gone in a flash. Just gone. I tried to revive you for a long time and could not . It is very ironic to lose you the way that I loved being with you the most. But, here is the thing, I have been asked time and again if I have dreamed of you, and I am putting together what I think happened to me recently. I think you came to me to show me you were ok and that you are flying. I think you were waiting until you knew how to use your wings so you could show me. I know how much you loved me and you had to know how much I miss you, how hard it was to lose you the way that I did.
Two nights ago, in the wee hours, I was awakened, startled awake, by a bird flying into my face with gray wings. That was you, wasn't it Cass? At dawn, after my husband went to shower, I awoke again, and there was a smokey presence in the bedroom, on the ceiling. I saw this same thing, or a similar thing, when my father died. When I saw it two mornings ago, I got up and looked at it, worried because I thought the house was on fire. I went out of the room and the smoke moved with the door opening, there was no smell. I got my husband, no smoke was anywhere else and when I immediately returned, it was gone in the bedroom. I think now that it was you, you had not completely left me. Thank you darling Cass. I know that you are ok now. I know that you are flying and happy. You were my soul pet. When I pass, your ashes will be buried with me or mixed with mine, however my remains are handled.
Thank you, black eyes. Can I have you? I had the greatest of all, the most magnificent of all. I have been blessed. God sent me an angel, and I sent him back. I love you Cass. I miss you Cass. My sweet Casserole. 1967? - 10/18/2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
THE BUZZ
They call it many things, this feeling. It can start in my arms, or it can start in my stomach. Sometimes it feels like a tuning fork. Sometimes it feels like a nest of bees under my skin.
Sometimes it is in my thighs, and calves. It is usually in my arms, both of them. It is in my hands. It is in my face sometimes. The weirdest places are in my body, in my torso.
When it is a reverberation of my heartbeat, that is weird weird. I then am not sure if I am having problems with my heartbeat again or not. I do not like that.
If you have ever smoked pot you may have had a similar feeling, it is like rushes. Where you get feelings on the top of your skin, and it is running along the sensory nerve endings. That is how it is, but all the time. When it is really bad, it translates to the inside of my mouth and I have a hard time talking. It will go down my throat. I usually say that I feel like I am going to have a seizure and my tongue go down my throat. That is what I mean.
Stress makes it worse.
The buzz.
Sometimes it is in my thighs, and calves. It is usually in my arms, both of them. It is in my hands. It is in my face sometimes. The weirdest places are in my body, in my torso.
When it is a reverberation of my heartbeat, that is weird weird. I then am not sure if I am having problems with my heartbeat again or not. I do not like that.
If you have ever smoked pot you may have had a similar feeling, it is like rushes. Where you get feelings on the top of your skin, and it is running along the sensory nerve endings. That is how it is, but all the time. When it is really bad, it translates to the inside of my mouth and I have a hard time talking. It will go down my throat. I usually say that I feel like I am going to have a seizure and my tongue go down my throat. That is what I mean.
Stress makes it worse.
The buzz.
FROM A BOY TO A MAN
One day, long ago, a boy, shy and scared, walked in his world. And in his world, it was gray. The light would not penetrate the fog, through the trees. In his forest, he lived a solitary life, hidden from the world. He could not let them see, not let them in. He had hooded eyes, a hooded soul. It was easier this way.
This boy struggled toward the thing that made him whole and in this found if he struck the earth with his fist or his foot, he felt whole. This boy threw his arms into the air and by so doing covered his real face from the world, and the world said, "What a fine boy this shall be, he walks with greatness when he strikes the earth." So he learned to strike it more.
This boy became very good at striking the earth and they came to marvel at his prowess. He was not the best but he was very good. His hooded eyes betrayed his insides. He was seen for his beauty. He seemed what he was not. He seemed as if solid and pure and to be trusted. But he felt unsteady. He knew that underneath the hood lay much melted ice. He knew that he was unformed and he did not trust his ability to run and leap, and to strike the earth. His beloved held his hand, and stood with him. But, surely he had to find new stones. He had to continue to strike new places.
As was with the boy, so did the man begin to show only the hood to the world, and to his beloved. He then would thump and strike when no one was looking. And he grew another face. He had to put this one in a jar when he wanted to seem ok, in the light, not living in the gray. He knew in his heart, he was living always in the gray. No one else knew. He found the underlings who would live in the gray with him, as he struck the ground in a bad way and fed this grayness anew.
Many years did pass and one day this boy who had grown to a man arose from his bed of briars. He arose from this nest of fools that he had created and he ripped open his chest and found a rotting thing there. He raised his fist to the heavens and said "No More." But many moons has come to be.
In his thoughtless journey through life he had lived a life that left many bodies along the way. You cannot wear two faces without committing great harm, you must be true to one only. You have to have a heart that is only to one, your beloved. You must cleave to home. He learns too late that he has lived the life of a fool. That the boy who lived in gray had a choice as a man to live in the light, and now he wants the light. But, what shall he do with this second face?
He wants to bathe in the waters of forgiveness and new life. He desires to look upward and move forward to the place that he should always have been. But what of the bodies? How can he clean up where he has struck the earth? His beloved stands before him, sobbing, with a torn heart. She stands before him, with a broken back, bleeding and bent. On her pillow, are tears of blood. She never knew.
Once there was a boy, shy and scared who became a man, insincere and selfish. He killed those who loved him most and now he wants it all. How will this end.
This boy struggled toward the thing that made him whole and in this found if he struck the earth with his fist or his foot, he felt whole. This boy threw his arms into the air and by so doing covered his real face from the world, and the world said, "What a fine boy this shall be, he walks with greatness when he strikes the earth." So he learned to strike it more.
This boy became very good at striking the earth and they came to marvel at his prowess. He was not the best but he was very good. His hooded eyes betrayed his insides. He was seen for his beauty. He seemed what he was not. He seemed as if solid and pure and to be trusted. But he felt unsteady. He knew that underneath the hood lay much melted ice. He knew that he was unformed and he did not trust his ability to run and leap, and to strike the earth. His beloved held his hand, and stood with him. But, surely he had to find new stones. He had to continue to strike new places.
As was with the boy, so did the man begin to show only the hood to the world, and to his beloved. He then would thump and strike when no one was looking. And he grew another face. He had to put this one in a jar when he wanted to seem ok, in the light, not living in the gray. He knew in his heart, he was living always in the gray. No one else knew. He found the underlings who would live in the gray with him, as he struck the ground in a bad way and fed this grayness anew.
Many years did pass and one day this boy who had grown to a man arose from his bed of briars. He arose from this nest of fools that he had created and he ripped open his chest and found a rotting thing there. He raised his fist to the heavens and said "No More." But many moons has come to be.
In his thoughtless journey through life he had lived a life that left many bodies along the way. You cannot wear two faces without committing great harm, you must be true to one only. You have to have a heart that is only to one, your beloved. You must cleave to home. He learns too late that he has lived the life of a fool. That the boy who lived in gray had a choice as a man to live in the light, and now he wants the light. But, what shall he do with this second face?
He wants to bathe in the waters of forgiveness and new life. He desires to look upward and move forward to the place that he should always have been. But what of the bodies? How can he clean up where he has struck the earth? His beloved stands before him, sobbing, with a torn heart. She stands before him, with a broken back, bleeding and bent. On her pillow, are tears of blood. She never knew.
Once there was a boy, shy and scared who became a man, insincere and selfish. He killed those who loved him most and now he wants it all. How will this end.
In My Dreams
I walk up and down the halls of my dreams and I cannot find you
I open all the doors and it seems I need to remind you
I loved you and gave you my heart and my life for today and tomorrow
But you left me and now
I walk up and down the halls of my dreams but I can't find you
I can still see you there with the sun behind you
Smiling and laughing and loving me
I held your hand and smelled your brown skin
In my young young life
And the future had texture to hold onto
The future was bright and had promise
But then you left me in mid-air
You left me suspended there
A sentence unfinished, you were suddenly not there
All I knew went away, it left in one day
It left for no reason, with a shot in the heart
Leaving me with nothing to hold onto
My body was shattered, no longer whole
You were the center of my life and you gave meaning to my soul.
You left me that day, and I pushed all the pain away
I wanted you to stay, I had so much more to say
Then my world tilted to the left and I entered the darkest night
Nothing would ever be right as for my sanity I did fight
I am running in my dreams and in my dream I scream
Watching you walk up the steps as slowly you turned around
Then you are gone, it all was wrong, and I bent backward
I walk up and down the halls of my dreams
I gasp for air, or a handle, someone who would care
Any part of reality to get me over there
To the place where is makes sense, this life of mine
It has been fraught with heartache and too much pain
So little gain, you were to be my groom and then gone too soon.
But you left, you just checked out, there was no more sound
And now I seek you in my dreams. Alone.
I open all the doors and it seems I need to remind you
I loved you and gave you my heart and my life for today and tomorrow
But you left me and now
I walk up and down the halls of my dreams but I can't find you
I can still see you there with the sun behind you
Smiling and laughing and loving me
I held your hand and smelled your brown skin
In my young young life
And the future had texture to hold onto
The future was bright and had promise
But then you left me in mid-air
You left me suspended there
A sentence unfinished, you were suddenly not there
All I knew went away, it left in one day
It left for no reason, with a shot in the heart
Leaving me with nothing to hold onto
My body was shattered, no longer whole
You were the center of my life and you gave meaning to my soul.
You left me that day, and I pushed all the pain away
I wanted you to stay, I had so much more to say
Then my world tilted to the left and I entered the darkest night
Nothing would ever be right as for my sanity I did fight
I am running in my dreams and in my dream I scream
Watching you walk up the steps as slowly you turned around
Then you are gone, it all was wrong, and I bent backward
I walk up and down the halls of my dreams
I gasp for air, or a handle, someone who would care
Any part of reality to get me over there
To the place where is makes sense, this life of mine
It has been fraught with heartache and too much pain
So little gain, you were to be my groom and then gone too soon.
But you left, you just checked out, there was no more sound
And now I seek you in my dreams. Alone.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
DEFENSIVE BULLSHIT
She can blog all she wants, she can let anyone she wants have it but it does not change anything. She can get busy and move around, she can run to and fro and it is always the same. Nothing can change what happened.
How does she really move on. She knows how she did it before. She knows what it took. She knew how to change the movie. In her mind, in the wall in her brain, there was a movie. Regardless of whether it was black and white or technicolor. It could turn on if she passed a street or heard a sound. She taught herself to be strong to change the movie, to not allow it to change her. She focused on her life at hand, on becoming a better wife, on learning to earn a living rather than raising her children and staying at home. She could not depend on her husband to take care of them any longer. He had shown that something in him had changed. She had to as well. So, she did.
But now, she is undone. She did all that she knew to do. She sat in counselors offices, she took their advice. They told her "He is right to want to play ball and all that he does, you are wrong. You need to find something for you. You need to go out with your friends and dance if he will not go." So, she had, but that was a big problem. Not that she went out, but that he became so very self centered and that they endorsed it. The professionals. They told him that he was right, that it was okay to spend all weekends on the ball field, they forgot that your children are only small one time. And if she did as he did, there can only be one Rock Star in a family, someone has to raise the kids. They will only remember vacations and picnics and going to the pool once. Why would he think that it was ok to play ball ALLLLL weekend long, weekend after weekend and through the week as well, preening on the field while other women blushed and said, "oh, you have the best legs of any person in the whoooole league." In front of his wife and kids. Ego.
So, as time goes by, and she gets less and less from him, and he takes more and more. He is a moron. He does not see what he has, and he does not WANT what he has. His gold. His children and his wife who waits for him to wake the fuck up. The reel may begin to spin if she smells a smell or if a season of year comes around, It may start up if someone says a name, or if she remembers a time. She has already learned this exercise. She is a pro and as a pro, she knows when something is just not working. So, when someone says to her now, "You have to move on, you have to blah blah blah," she wants to either punch them, cry for them, run from them or walk away. They have NO idea what she has been through or done.
He is undone. He wants it all now. He is older and he, finally, is wise. When she says to him "you did not love me when you married me" he does not stop her or say "yes I did" so it is true, so he should just stab her in the heart and be done with it. For that, she almost hates him. She is unsure how love and hate can live in the same heart, but she knows that it can.
He left her bed for years and now she is supposed to be patient while he works out his guilt, the guilt that he took on from having sex with all those women, those women who were, laughingly, her friends. Old homely Patti, silly Millie, immoral Vapid Vivian, mousy Tanya, selfish Tanya2, Juicy J, the fourth street whore and the ones who stood in the doorway, who took phone calls, made out with him and chickened out, ole Christine Gray, Sheila Temple and God knows who else. All of them. She cannot even remember all of them now.
Today, for her, is a very bad day. Today, she hates him. Today, she remembers it all, all too clearly. She hopes that when she wakes up tomorrow, she will feel better. That she will be able to go to Pilot Mtn. without wincing because he took Vapid Vivian to a cabin there and homely Patti to screw in the biking parking lots there, he screwed her in every lot in the state. That she can drive by Miller park or any of the other city parks and not be sick to her stomach remembering that he met Silly Millie there to sit in the car and talk sex shit until Silly paid for a hotel room to seal the deal. Millie, her coworker, high school classmate and so forth. That maybe one day she can ride to the side of town where her therapist's office is again, because she had to stop going as she had to go by Reynolda Gardens, a special place she used to go with him before they married and he took Vapid Immoral Vivian and Homely Patti there for a rendezvous. He has no respect for her. He met Homely there after knowing how much it hurt her that he took Vapid there years before. He has had no feelings for her pain at all. Just for himself. He has been a pig. Or he has intended to hurt. Which is it.
So how does she stop the movie. How does she make it go away. When it was a movie of he and one, she learned, but now the cast is so large and it does not merely cover a summer but rather thirty years. And, the many ways and means of pain he inflicted onto her are unbelievable. For this, she hates him.
He said to her tonight, "When you say that to me, you make me be defensive." Really, you have a defense to this tawdry life? You feel like any human being in this planet could defend this? No, fuck you. That was the wrong thing to say. Let me hand you a shovel.
How does she really move on. She knows how she did it before. She knows what it took. She knew how to change the movie. In her mind, in the wall in her brain, there was a movie. Regardless of whether it was black and white or technicolor. It could turn on if she passed a street or heard a sound. She taught herself to be strong to change the movie, to not allow it to change her. She focused on her life at hand, on becoming a better wife, on learning to earn a living rather than raising her children and staying at home. She could not depend on her husband to take care of them any longer. He had shown that something in him had changed. She had to as well. So, she did.
But now, she is undone. She did all that she knew to do. She sat in counselors offices, she took their advice. They told her "He is right to want to play ball and all that he does, you are wrong. You need to find something for you. You need to go out with your friends and dance if he will not go." So, she had, but that was a big problem. Not that she went out, but that he became so very self centered and that they endorsed it. The professionals. They told him that he was right, that it was okay to spend all weekends on the ball field, they forgot that your children are only small one time. And if she did as he did, there can only be one Rock Star in a family, someone has to raise the kids. They will only remember vacations and picnics and going to the pool once. Why would he think that it was ok to play ball ALLLLL weekend long, weekend after weekend and through the week as well, preening on the field while other women blushed and said, "oh, you have the best legs of any person in the whoooole league." In front of his wife and kids. Ego.
So, as time goes by, and she gets less and less from him, and he takes more and more. He is a moron. He does not see what he has, and he does not WANT what he has. His gold. His children and his wife who waits for him to wake the fuck up. The reel may begin to spin if she smells a smell or if a season of year comes around, It may start up if someone says a name, or if she remembers a time. She has already learned this exercise. She is a pro and as a pro, she knows when something is just not working. So, when someone says to her now, "You have to move on, you have to blah blah blah," she wants to either punch them, cry for them, run from them or walk away. They have NO idea what she has been through or done.
He is undone. He wants it all now. He is older and he, finally, is wise. When she says to him "you did not love me when you married me" he does not stop her or say "yes I did" so it is true, so he should just stab her in the heart and be done with it. For that, she almost hates him. She is unsure how love and hate can live in the same heart, but she knows that it can.
He left her bed for years and now she is supposed to be patient while he works out his guilt, the guilt that he took on from having sex with all those women, those women who were, laughingly, her friends. Old homely Patti, silly Millie, immoral Vapid Vivian, mousy Tanya, selfish Tanya2, Juicy J, the fourth street whore and the ones who stood in the doorway, who took phone calls, made out with him and chickened out, ole Christine Gray, Sheila Temple and God knows who else. All of them. She cannot even remember all of them now.
Today, for her, is a very bad day. Today, she hates him. Today, she remembers it all, all too clearly. She hopes that when she wakes up tomorrow, she will feel better. That she will be able to go to Pilot Mtn. without wincing because he took Vapid Vivian to a cabin there and homely Patti to screw in the biking parking lots there, he screwed her in every lot in the state. That she can drive by Miller park or any of the other city parks and not be sick to her stomach remembering that he met Silly Millie there to sit in the car and talk sex shit until Silly paid for a hotel room to seal the deal. Millie, her coworker, high school classmate and so forth. That maybe one day she can ride to the side of town where her therapist's office is again, because she had to stop going as she had to go by Reynolda Gardens, a special place she used to go with him before they married and he took Vapid Immoral Vivian and Homely Patti there for a rendezvous. He has no respect for her. He met Homely there after knowing how much it hurt her that he took Vapid there years before. He has had no feelings for her pain at all. Just for himself. He has been a pig. Or he has intended to hurt. Which is it.
So how does she stop the movie. How does she make it go away. When it was a movie of he and one, she learned, but now the cast is so large and it does not merely cover a summer but rather thirty years. And, the many ways and means of pain he inflicted onto her are unbelievable. For this, she hates him.
He said to her tonight, "When you say that to me, you make me be defensive." Really, you have a defense to this tawdry life? You feel like any human being in this planet could defend this? No, fuck you. That was the wrong thing to say. Let me hand you a shovel.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Love In Green Eyes
This post was written as a tribute to a wonderful young man who died way too young. I loved him, and I hurt him. I found great joy with him too. For all these many years I have not been able to grieve his loss for many reasons, but I am trying to do this now. Some of what I have written is challenging and it may seem inappropriate as I am married and my life is full and complete. But had Wayne lived, my life would have turned out differently. When someone takes their life, you are left with many emotions: heartache, anger, grief and depression. I had to pack these away in my heart, put a padlock on them and carry them around for 43 years. Last year, 2012, I finally took the chains off and lay them out to heal. And, also, I want him to be remembered. He was a force to be reckoned with in that he was one of the kindest, most sincere and loving people that I ever have known in my life and I will forever miss and grieve him. 8/19/2013
On August 8, 1969, a humid summer night, after dating this wonderful young man, our plans were changed when we got to our friend Beverly’s house. Her parents were out of town so I was spending the night there and he was coming in to hang out but her dad had unexpectedly shown up. So Wayne left in a hurry. I wrote about this initially from a raw painful place and in an emotional way as if it just happened because I had never dealt with it. Now I have.
That evening he kept coming back and riding in front of her house to the wee hours of the morning. We could not go out. But he came over and over. As soon as it was ok, I called his home, around 8:00am, as he had to go to work, so I knew he was up. But his Aunt answered and just started weeping and hung up. Alarmed I called back and his sisters boyfriend told me what had happened, some of which I pieced together years later.
Wayne had had a very emotional break, crying and he started giving away his things, his money to his younger sister. No one could console him. He was just extremely upset. I found out he had spent the day buying a suit to be buried in.
Two weeks prior I had told him I needed some time to be sure we should get married when we graduated in June. I was trying to be honest, it was the end of summer and we spent every single night together and all days that we could. He took it hard. I would see him on the fringe of hang outs watching. But that night when we dated I gave him a letter and told him I was sure and I loved him. He hugged me and put it in his sock, where it remained.
They finally talked him into going somewhere and as they left on the street they lived on, him following in his car, they saw him stop in their rear view and try to back up and turn around. But he backed into a ditch and was stuck. He jumped from the car, walked to a clearing and shot himself dead in the center of his beautiful heart with a 22 rifle. While one rushed to call for help the other tried to resuscitate him. But he died instantly.
The next few days were a blur. Why did he do that? His precious mother asked that over and over through the years, her heart irreparably broken. His siblings were shocked, never the same and while I spent all my time with them up to now, they were lost to me. I free floated alone. Scared, confused. And was never the same to this day.
This page was about the loss of someone no one mentioned, someone great, loving, compassionate and gone. For years I put flowers on his grave for different reasons, I slept on his grave and they had to come find me. I will always carry him in my heart, as I was in his and went with him that night.
So today is August 9, 2023. I miss you Wayne and will always love you. See you soon.
Monday, April 2, 2012
unnamed
Her eyes shut and as she drifts away, she is floating. She can see light grey around the edges, working it's way to the center, then she hears a mans voice, clear and determined say "Jan".
Her eyes fly open, her breath stops. She immediately puts her hand on the device in her chest, feels to see if it is moving, buzzing, doing anything. "Shit, I won't be able to feel it, will I?". It had been feeling weird tonight, that flipping thing, that pacemaker that she calls her "Maybelline Compact". It is a big bitch.
So, now she is awake. Again, and tears slide down her face, getting caught in her hair. She turns her face toward the little fan on a stand that she keeps on her bed side table, seeking to have moving air on her face, she is sweating and broken, yet again.
Whose voice was that? Was it her dad? No, no, no...it did not sound like him. She strains to hear it, it has not quite faded yet. She closes her eyes and opens them slowly, staring at the ceiling, like every single night of her life for the past four years. Her heart is chucking and jiving, just dancing around in her chest. She hates it. She wishes it would just stop jumping, boogying. God damn it. Stop.
She starts to cry in earnest, when she opens her eyes, the light show begins. As her eyes open it is like the upper lid is sweeping across the ceiling and walls with little lights in the lashes. No matter how many times she opens and closes her eyes, the affect is the same. It is like that every night.
She thinks, "every night, forever, I will be awake. I will think about heart break, loss and crap. Sleep will elude me, and I will just die.." She feels like she is slowly dying, but the curious thing is she is not that scared. Dying has become an obsession, She has ridden a roller coaster of fear off and on since He told her about his double life five years ago.
If anyone would ever have told her that you really, truly can lay awake all night long, she would not have believed it. But, you can.
If she lays on her right side, the "thing" is comfortable but she will inevitably snore herself awake, something is deviated or something up in there. But, if she lay on her left side, with her man made boobs smashed together, she can feel the irregularity of her heart really well, if it is acting up. And at bed time it seems to be at it's worst. Don't know why. Asshole thing.
So, he awakens, his alarm goes off, and he stirs. She scooches up to him, they entertwine and offer each other comfort and peace for the few minutes that they have. But all too soon he goes off to kill the fatted calf for their food, ie: work for the man. She loves him, has since the minute she saw him, but she is so confused about him. She is angry over what he did to their life. Not what he did to her, what he did to them, both of them. He led a double life, he has been a horrible person. Confession may be good for the soul, but not for hers. When he leaves, she can finally go to sleep. Like every other day.
Her eyes fly open, her breath stops. She immediately puts her hand on the device in her chest, feels to see if it is moving, buzzing, doing anything. "Shit, I won't be able to feel it, will I?". It had been feeling weird tonight, that flipping thing, that pacemaker that she calls her "Maybelline Compact". It is a big bitch.
So, now she is awake. Again, and tears slide down her face, getting caught in her hair. She turns her face toward the little fan on a stand that she keeps on her bed side table, seeking to have moving air on her face, she is sweating and broken, yet again.
Whose voice was that? Was it her dad? No, no, no...it did not sound like him. She strains to hear it, it has not quite faded yet. She closes her eyes and opens them slowly, staring at the ceiling, like every single night of her life for the past four years. Her heart is chucking and jiving, just dancing around in her chest. She hates it. She wishes it would just stop jumping, boogying. God damn it. Stop.
She starts to cry in earnest, when she opens her eyes, the light show begins. As her eyes open it is like the upper lid is sweeping across the ceiling and walls with little lights in the lashes. No matter how many times she opens and closes her eyes, the affect is the same. It is like that every night.
She thinks, "every night, forever, I will be awake. I will think about heart break, loss and crap. Sleep will elude me, and I will just die.." She feels like she is slowly dying, but the curious thing is she is not that scared. Dying has become an obsession, She has ridden a roller coaster of fear off and on since He told her about his double life five years ago.
If anyone would ever have told her that you really, truly can lay awake all night long, she would not have believed it. But, you can.
If she lays on her right side, the "thing" is comfortable but she will inevitably snore herself awake, something is deviated or something up in there. But, if she lay on her left side, with her man made boobs smashed together, she can feel the irregularity of her heart really well, if it is acting up. And at bed time it seems to be at it's worst. Don't know why. Asshole thing.
So, he awakens, his alarm goes off, and he stirs. She scooches up to him, they entertwine and offer each other comfort and peace for the few minutes that they have. But all too soon he goes off to kill the fatted calf for their food, ie: work for the man. She loves him, has since the minute she saw him, but she is so confused about him. She is angry over what he did to their life. Not what he did to her, what he did to them, both of them. He led a double life, he has been a horrible person. Confession may be good for the soul, but not for hers. When he leaves, she can finally go to sleep. Like every other day.
Monday, November 7, 2011
They Knew, Not You
Now at this time, now when the final act is at hand, I have only destruction and pain to look back on and I cannot live my life over again. I want to vomit at how my life was wasted, how my love and time was spent so wrong. Not just with him but with all those around me. They were users and just along for the good parts of the song. But I was there for a soft place for them to fall, I cared if they hurt or if they cried. I went to them in the night and I held them and I spent my time and my tears in their fights.
I have loved and have hurt and now I see how it really was. It was me in a fog, with a smile or a sharp tongue, but all the while I was behind them, and would never turn them away, regardless of whether it left me undone. Yes, the women and the men, and the friends and the small. The fat and the friendly and the mean, yes, them all. They came in the fog, they came in the night. They came from his truck and they smiled, now how I fight. I fight to remember all those around me all the time. Those who were laughing and jiving and telling me with their actions it was fine. We were buddies, campers, dancers, we rhymed. We were soldeirs, cancers, bangers and blind. I was the blind, they were in the light. They crept behind me, they lived in the night. I ate their bullshit, I swallowed their bile. I combed their hair and they sharpened their teeth on me laughing all the while.
I should have seen them, I should have known. I should have smelled them, they were wrong. They hated me, they had to to have done this thing to our souls. Mine is scorched and it is burned and I have to deserve this horrible end of my life. I have to deserve this, I must have been a bad friend, a most mean person, no one would stab you in the back and cause this much hurt.
I am amazed at lives lived wide open, still moving forward while I am choking on dirt. I am grasping the air with a dead hand, while inside the pain is too much to defend. I put too much into my friends, these people who brought me so much woe. When I said to them "I love you, I will help you" or "come with me, share my life" it was to be so. But now, I am alone, they are gone and what they were doing is beyond what I could know. Their eyes were hooded, their mouths were blackened, their hands were dirty and they would never show. I was so stupid, a dumby, an idiot so gross. No one could have deserved this more than me. No one, more, I have to know.
Of course I was told this so very long ago. "No one is your friend, they use you, you are a fool, don't you know?". I thought it was a mean thing, I did not realize she was a gypsy with vision and future sight and that was how my life would grow, I heard that again from my own blood and much worse things, who would say that to someone who would but that it was so?
Oh Jannie, oh Jannie, how does your garden grow? With your hearts blood, you are so stupid. You are useless and worthless, they saw you coming, now you finally know.
I have loved and have hurt and now I see how it really was. It was me in a fog, with a smile or a sharp tongue, but all the while I was behind them, and would never turn them away, regardless of whether it left me undone. Yes, the women and the men, and the friends and the small. The fat and the friendly and the mean, yes, them all. They came in the fog, they came in the night. They came from his truck and they smiled, now how I fight. I fight to remember all those around me all the time. Those who were laughing and jiving and telling me with their actions it was fine. We were buddies, campers, dancers, we rhymed. We were soldeirs, cancers, bangers and blind. I was the blind, they were in the light. They crept behind me, they lived in the night. I ate their bullshit, I swallowed their bile. I combed their hair and they sharpened their teeth on me laughing all the while.
I should have seen them, I should have known. I should have smelled them, they were wrong. They hated me, they had to to have done this thing to our souls. Mine is scorched and it is burned and I have to deserve this horrible end of my life. I have to deserve this, I must have been a bad friend, a most mean person, no one would stab you in the back and cause this much hurt.
I am amazed at lives lived wide open, still moving forward while I am choking on dirt. I am grasping the air with a dead hand, while inside the pain is too much to defend. I put too much into my friends, these people who brought me so much woe. When I said to them "I love you, I will help you" or "come with me, share my life" it was to be so. But now, I am alone, they are gone and what they were doing is beyond what I could know. Their eyes were hooded, their mouths were blackened, their hands were dirty and they would never show. I was so stupid, a dumby, an idiot so gross. No one could have deserved this more than me. No one, more, I have to know.
Of course I was told this so very long ago. "No one is your friend, they use you, you are a fool, don't you know?". I thought it was a mean thing, I did not realize she was a gypsy with vision and future sight and that was how my life would grow, I heard that again from my own blood and much worse things, who would say that to someone who would but that it was so?
Oh Jannie, oh Jannie, how does your garden grow? With your hearts blood, you are so stupid. You are useless and worthless, they saw you coming, now you finally know.
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