So, being naive and gullible is for the birds. I believe I have really done it to myself this time. My new medication has allowed me to sleep, which has brought clarity to my thinking. I see now so many people in my life which take advantage of me. A couple are people I hold very close and dear. What should I do? I like the idealistic part of my personality. The part that believes there is good in every person. But reality is beginning to set in. My parenting skills, my morals and my common sense have been questioned heavily in the last couple weeks. This is heartbreaking to me. My mother was one of the bad ones. She brutalized me. I have done my best to raise my daughters in a non abusive, loving and secure home. So many mistakes, but for the most part I have been successful. At least I tried. This tears at my ego in a super painful way.
And for the man I am in love with... It has been coming for a couple of months now but as usual, I ignored the signs. We went from 90 mph down to 2 mph. Has his relationship improved? Has he found someone who he enjoys? Is he seeing someone else? Is he wrapped in internet pornography? All of these are possibilities. How likely are these scenarios? It is impossible to know what is in another person's heart. I knew Justin better than I know myself, and still I was surprised the day he died. Is my crazy paranoia getting the best of me? My fear of being the last to know? Or perhaps the dullness the medication has given me? Maybe I am too bossy or my insistence to over analyze everything? Maybe it is simply because I am a bitch. A bossy bitch who likes to control everything. I am not beautiful, young or undamaged. My brain is just beginning to show signs of life. No... I am ugly, fat, old and stupid. Who wants that, really? Even Justin, as much as that man loved me, came to hate me in the last couple of years of his life.
Sympathy is not given to mistresses. This is completely understandable. After being on the receiving end of the betrayal, I can say without doubt, it feels like crap. I wished slightly bad things for the women. Not death or physical injury. If someone wants to leave or be with someone else, it is their right as a free thinking human being. Wasting time with someone who does not make you happy is a shame. This leaves a real lack of people to talk to about this. So I post to my only friend and harshest critic. Myself.
Anyway, feelings that have been forgotten since 2000 are resurfacing. And what is most distressing is the feeling I have driven another person away. So many years of seclusion. So many lonely years. Is it wrong to want a chest to lay my tired head on? It is possible I may never find someone who I will feel comfort with. Justin knew me and loved me anyway. Twice in a lifetime may be a pipe dream. Everything might be okay. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing for certain. Time usually tells all. So much emotional exhaustion. Will things ever be good again?
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Dear god
Okay. So I may alternate between bitch post and my story. Haha! I don't expect anyone will read any of my silly nonsense anyway. The last entry was intense. I found memories of my childhood taking hold of my heart. They won't let go. So many beautiful things that touched me before I was really aware of the world around me. When I think of these things, the thoughts are always followed by memories of what happened in subsequent years. I find myself overwhelmed with a melancholy desire to hold my child self and the desire to kidnap myself to save the little me. I have never had this type of feeling toward myself. I have felt something similar in the past, but always for other people. In a way, I have felt the circumstances in my life were the result of some pre-life-as-a-human evil. Some sort of celestial atrocity I participated in on a planet far far away. I wrote a letter to god...
I am sorry. The sorry a child feels when she squeezes the caterpillar too hard and it's guts squish out as she tries desperately to poke them back into it's belly. The sorry of someone who has gravely wronged someone only to find that person dead before she had the opportunity to apologize. The sorry a woman who turned her back on her mother feels when she receives a call her mother is gone. It feels trivial to apologize. Please forgive my wretched soul. Please. Please. Please.
You know the horrible things I have done in this lifetime. And presumably the horrible things I did before I came here. I have suffered greatly. Perhaps not enough to make up for anything, but I beg for forgiveness. My grandmother told me you are a vengeful but forgiving god. If crawling on my face for a month would absolve me, I would gladly do it.
The problem is that no matter how sincere my prayers are, you do not answer. Maybe you are, but I am not quiet enough to hear. Maybe I lack understanding. Maybe my life is the answer. I do not know. I have convinced myself there is something I am supposed to learn. I would appreciate a hint.
I am sorry. The sorry a child feels when she squeezes the caterpillar too hard and it's guts squish out as she tries desperately to poke them back into it's belly. The sorry of someone who has gravely wronged someone only to find that person dead before she had the opportunity to apologize. The sorry a woman who turned her back on her mother feels when she receives a call her mother is gone. It feels trivial to apologize. Please forgive my wretched soul. Please. Please. Please.
You know the horrible things I have done in this lifetime. And presumably the horrible things I did before I came here. I have suffered greatly. Perhaps not enough to make up for anything, but I beg for forgiveness. My grandmother told me you are a vengeful but forgiving god. If crawling on my face for a month would absolve me, I would gladly do it.
The problem is that no matter how sincere my prayers are, you do not answer. Maybe you are, but I am not quiet enough to hear. Maybe I lack understanding. Maybe my life is the answer. I do not know. I have convinced myself there is something I am supposed to learn. I would appreciate a hint.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
In the beginning there was light (Part 1)
Countless people over the years have told me I should write a book. I will do that now in the form of a blog. Perhaps this will be a confessional which will serve to purge my soul of the joy and sadness I have experienced in my time on this lovely blue marble floating in a vast sea of nothingness. I am shooting for a post each week. We shall see... Feedback is welcome : )
My mother was born after only 5 months of gestation. My grandmother's pregnancy with her began only a month after the birth of my mother's brother. She didn't know she was pregnant. My mother weighed 1 pound at birth. This was back in 1953 when premature babies her size died. They did not have the same technology available today. No incubators or sophisticated treatments. The nuns at St. Joseph's hospital cared for her. When she was 9 months old, she was returned to my grandmother. My mother was featured in the newspaper because she was a miracle baby. Sometime after my mother was born, my grandfather died. According to my aunt, he had some sort of heart defect and volunteered for experimental surgery to fix it. He died on the operating table. He was 31 years old. I believe my grandfather's death and my mother's birth left an impression on her siblings that somehow she was responsible for his death. Kids have funny ways of connecting unrelated events. Regardless, my grandmother drank heavily and was out dancing most nights. She was several years younger than my grandfather. The kids were left alone most of the time. My aunts were several years older than my mother and took out the frustration of caring for the family on her. They beat her mercilessly. They bashed her head against the wall on a daily basis. I believe this abuse in combination with lack of oxygen as an infant caused my mother's mental deficiencies. We would find in her 50's that her IQ was one point above mental retardation.
When my grandmother was in her mid 30's, she found out she had a fibroid tumor in her brain. The doctors insisted she have surgery to remove it as it was causing terrible headaches and loss of balance. They gave her a 50/50 chance of surviving the operation. If she survived, they gave her 50/50 chances for retaining her ability to speak, walk, and see. She miraculously survived the surgery with speech, and the ability to see. Unfortunately, she was unable to walk unassisted. This additional stress on the family increased tensions between my mother's siblings.
My grandparents had 8 children. 4 boys and 4 girls. My father is the forth born. He has two older sisters and Isidro was his older brother.
8 months after my uncle's death, I made my entrance into the family. I was born on Thanksgiving Day 1971. I was the first grandchild born to my grieving grandparents. I was the miracle that saved the family from self destruction. My grandparents (my dad's parents) baptized me. My grandmother, Bennie, gave me the middle name Grace because I was a Thanksgiving baby. My grandmother Louisa gave me the middle name Lucenda. To Roman Catholics, baptism is a big deal. The people who baptize the infant take on responsibility of 2nd parents and will assume care of the child if the parents die.
It is interesting to note that my parents lived at in a small house close to my grandparents when my mom was pregnant. My mom was close to delivery when she decided to bake a cake. She walked up the hill to my grandparent's house to borrow a cake pan then returned home to bake. A short time later, my aunt Debbie flew into the house crying. She was maybe 12. Her grandmother (my great grandmother), Pablita had collapsed and she was in a panic. Pablita had a pace maker which I assume followed a heart attack. My family is weird about sharing medical information so I may never get a clear answer about what happened to her. According to my mom, Pablita collapsed in the bathroom. When my mom walked into the bathroom, Pablita was lying on the floor and appeared to be dead. My mother placed her hand on my great grandmothers chest. My mom felt one heart beat, then nothing. My mom was terrified. Traditional healers say that if an unborn child is exposed to death, the child will suffer from susto. Susto is an overwhelming fear that emanates from deep inside. It is difficult to explain the concept in English. It is the fear someone experiences when they have a near death experience or from extreme danger to their lives as in war. Combat soldiers suffer from susto. I have always suspected two things about my great grandmother's death. 1) My mother may have been able to save her life if she called paramedics immediately upon her arrival to the home. This is unlikely as in the mountains, it takes a very long time for medical personnel to respond due to their location far from the fire station. I am shocked she did not try. 2) I was in my mother when this happened. She has extreme reactions to death. I believe the rush of adrenaline and the extreme fear had a profound effect on me. Who knows?
My mother was very young when I was born. She had not chosen a name during her pregnancy. She gave me the first name that popped into her head. Nice. She was slow and had no idea what to do with me. She agonized with the nurses afraid she would not have the ability to keep me alive. The nurses reviewed feeding and diapering with her over and over. She could not grasp the concept. The concerned doctors and nurses suggested she have her tubes tied. This was not a normal protocol especially for someone so young even at that time. Perhaps they saw something in my mother that made them fear she would reproduce again. I believe it was foreshadowing. From what my mother says, they told her it was a form of birth control but she would still have the ability to have another baby whenever she wanted. I don't think she truly understood what they were doing to her.
We lived there for a brief time before we moved into the Canyon to be closer to my father's family. His family are original heirs to the land grant east of Albuquerque and all live along a single road there. I was around 3 or 4 years old. This move was the beginning...
My parents are Theresa and Gilbert. Their beginning was typical for people living in Albuquerque at the time. Late 60's, early 70's were a time of great social change across the country. In our area, the Chicano movement was gaining momentum. There was a great sense of cultural pride and comradery which caused people to unite. My parents were introduced by my uncle Elmer and his future wife, Angela. Angela was one of my mother's best friends. They grew up together in the South Valley. My father had just broken off a long relationship he had with one of his 1st cousins. They were in love but this type of close relationship is frowned upon by the deeply religious followers of the Roman Catholic church. My grandparents insisted they stop. After the deaths of my grandparents, speculation began about the daughter she gave birth to months after their relationship ended. She never disclosed the name of the father. It is entirely possible her child is my sister.
My mother was born after only 5 months of gestation. My grandmother's pregnancy with her began only a month after the birth of my mother's brother. She didn't know she was pregnant. My mother weighed 1 pound at birth. This was back in 1953 when premature babies her size died. They did not have the same technology available today. No incubators or sophisticated treatments. The nuns at St. Joseph's hospital cared for her. When she was 9 months old, she was returned to my grandmother. My mother was featured in the newspaper because she was a miracle baby. Sometime after my mother was born, my grandfather died. According to my aunt, he had some sort of heart defect and volunteered for experimental surgery to fix it. He died on the operating table. He was 31 years old. I believe my grandfather's death and my mother's birth left an impression on her siblings that somehow she was responsible for his death. Kids have funny ways of connecting unrelated events. Regardless, my grandmother drank heavily and was out dancing most nights. She was several years younger than my grandfather. The kids were left alone most of the time. My aunts were several years older than my mother and took out the frustration of caring for the family on her. They beat her mercilessly. They bashed her head against the wall on a daily basis. I believe this abuse in combination with lack of oxygen as an infant caused my mother's mental deficiencies. We would find in her 50's that her IQ was one point above mental retardation.
When my grandmother was in her mid 30's, she found out she had a fibroid tumor in her brain. The doctors insisted she have surgery to remove it as it was causing terrible headaches and loss of balance. They gave her a 50/50 chance of surviving the operation. If she survived, they gave her 50/50 chances for retaining her ability to speak, walk, and see. She miraculously survived the surgery with speech, and the ability to see. Unfortunately, she was unable to walk unassisted. This additional stress on the family increased tensions between my mother's siblings.
My uncle Isidro, my father's 18 year old brother was in Vietnam. In March of 1971, my father's family received the devastating news he was killed. My grandmother was hanging clothes on the vast sea of clotheslines located behind the adobe house the family built. Military men dressed in their finest broke the news to her. She fell onto the dirt. I have found the official letter from the government regarding the nature of his death buried in a dusty cabinet in my father's house. It tells the story of his time in Vietnam in a brief matter of fact manner. My uncle Isidro drove a tank. They were under heavy attack. One of the other tanks was disabled. The men driving it tried to get away but the enemy fire was intense. My uncle drove his tank directly into the line of fire to draw it away from the injured soldiers. The result was his tank was blown to high heaven. He received a purple heart and a medal of honor for his brave sacrifice to save his fellow soldiers. My grandparents received a small box containing his remains several months later.
My grandparents had 8 children. 4 boys and 4 girls. My father is the forth born. He has two older sisters and Isidro was his older brother.
8 months after my uncle's death, I made my entrance into the family. I was born on Thanksgiving Day 1971. I was the first grandchild born to my grieving grandparents. I was the miracle that saved the family from self destruction. My grandparents (my dad's parents) baptized me. My grandmother, Bennie, gave me the middle name Grace because I was a Thanksgiving baby. My grandmother Louisa gave me the middle name Lucenda. To Roman Catholics, baptism is a big deal. The people who baptize the infant take on responsibility of 2nd parents and will assume care of the child if the parents die.
It is interesting to note that my parents lived at in a small house close to my grandparents when my mom was pregnant. My mom was close to delivery when she decided to bake a cake. She walked up the hill to my grandparent's house to borrow a cake pan then returned home to bake. A short time later, my aunt Debbie flew into the house crying. She was maybe 12. Her grandmother (my great grandmother), Pablita had collapsed and she was in a panic. Pablita had a pace maker which I assume followed a heart attack. My family is weird about sharing medical information so I may never get a clear answer about what happened to her. According to my mom, Pablita collapsed in the bathroom. When my mom walked into the bathroom, Pablita was lying on the floor and appeared to be dead. My mother placed her hand on my great grandmothers chest. My mom felt one heart beat, then nothing. My mom was terrified. Traditional healers say that if an unborn child is exposed to death, the child will suffer from susto. Susto is an overwhelming fear that emanates from deep inside. It is difficult to explain the concept in English. It is the fear someone experiences when they have a near death experience or from extreme danger to their lives as in war. Combat soldiers suffer from susto. I have always suspected two things about my great grandmother's death. 1) My mother may have been able to save her life if she called paramedics immediately upon her arrival to the home. This is unlikely as in the mountains, it takes a very long time for medical personnel to respond due to their location far from the fire station. I am shocked she did not try. 2) I was in my mother when this happened. She has extreme reactions to death. I believe the rush of adrenaline and the extreme fear had a profound effect on me. Who knows?
My mother was very young when I was born. She had not chosen a name during her pregnancy. She gave me the first name that popped into her head. Nice. She was slow and had no idea what to do with me. She agonized with the nurses afraid she would not have the ability to keep me alive. The nurses reviewed feeding and diapering with her over and over. She could not grasp the concept. The concerned doctors and nurses suggested she have her tubes tied. This was not a normal protocol especially for someone so young even at that time. Perhaps they saw something in my mother that made them fear she would reproduce again. I believe it was foreshadowing. From what my mother says, they told her it was a form of birth control but she would still have the ability to have another baby whenever she wanted. I don't think she truly understood what they were doing to her.
We moved into a house on Sunflower Road. I was around a year old. We lived there until I was about three. I have a few memories from the time we spent at that house. One Christmas there I received a little red metal pot/pan set. The kind that come with strangely good and repulsive smelling plastic vegetables and a weird dehydrated looking plastic meat thing. My dad drew stove burners on an empty moving box for me with a marker. I also had an amazing yellow metal spinning top. It had a handle to push up and down which made it spin. It smelled a lot like vanilla. Sweet and delicious. I played happily for hours. My room was large (to a toddler) and mostly empty.
My mother has two older sisters and an older brother. Angie, Frances and Juni (short for junior.) My cousins Jessica, Sandie, Mark, and Martin came to visit us one summer day. The house on Sunflower was located on a dead end road. There was a fantastic small playground at the end of the dead end road. It had a merry go round, a couple swings and a slide. This was paradise to me as a toddler. The merry go round terrified me but I took every opportunity to get on it as I could. I felt like head honcho because my cousins did not have a playground so close to their homes. I remember fearing for my cousin's safety as they ran down the street without their mothers to the playground. I was terrified to do this myself so my dad escorted me.
My mother only gained a few pounds during her pregnancy. In fact, at full term, her belly was hardly noticeable. I remember my mother used to take diet pills constantly in an effort to remain thin. They were large gel capsules that contained tiny brightly colored balls. I would break open the capsules when my mother was occupied and eat each ball one at a time according to color. It was fun : )
My uncle Juni gave my parents an old police dog. It looked just like Lassie. She was a large Collie. She was a vicious dog despite her sweet appearance. My parents locked her in the back yard hoping to deter burglars since our house was adjacent to a shady part of town. One day while my mother was on a speed induced bathroom cleaning frenzy, I pulled a chair up to the back door and opened it. I wanted to pet the puppy. I remember toddling out into the yard. I put my hand on the dog's head. Next thing I knew, she was dragging me around the yard by my arm. I was badly mauled by the dog. My mother flew out of the house and punched the poor dog square in the mouth. It jumped the fence. We never saw it again. I remember looking down at my little hands and arms covered in blood and puncture marks. My mother was beside herself. Despite my mother's heavy drug use and my father's heavy drinking, those were good days.
My uncle Juni gave my parents an old police dog. It looked just like Lassie. She was a large Collie. She was a vicious dog despite her sweet appearance. My parents locked her in the back yard hoping to deter burglars since our house was adjacent to a shady part of town. One day while my mother was on a speed induced bathroom cleaning frenzy, I pulled a chair up to the back door and opened it. I wanted to pet the puppy. I remember toddling out into the yard. I put my hand on the dog's head. Next thing I knew, she was dragging me around the yard by my arm. I was badly mauled by the dog. My mother flew out of the house and punched the poor dog square in the mouth. It jumped the fence. We never saw it again. I remember looking down at my little hands and arms covered in blood and puncture marks. My mother was beside herself. Despite my mother's heavy drug use and my father's heavy drinking, those were good days.
We lived there for a brief time before we moved into the Canyon to be closer to my father's family. His family are original heirs to the land grant east of Albuquerque and all live along a single road there. I was around 3 or 4 years old. This move was the beginning...
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Haiku! God bless you...
Reality? No.
It is all about illusion.
We love counterfeit.
I touch his soft hand
My heart quivers and flutters
Soon he will be gone.
Everything changes
The ebb and flow of this world
Washes away life.
Sports, sports eat your shorts
The mans scream at the tv
Seems silly to me.
The sun shone bright, hot
The day you left us alone
Why that day, my love?
Soaring high above
The freeway interchanges
Over poppy fields.
I miss your laughter
Alone with my memories
Bitter sweet, those days.
Lovely childlike man
Shines like the sun in my eyes
Playful, wise and free.
The first time I heard about Haiku was in elementary school. I was already obsessed with counting syllables. I thought it was a beautiful way to express the rhythm of words. Haha! The Haiku was not running super strong in me today. Some days it does and all my thoughts and words come out naturally with it's rhythm. That is okay. I am also tone deaf, but I still sing :)
It is all about illusion.
We love counterfeit.
I touch his soft hand
My heart quivers and flutters
Soon he will be gone.
Everything changes
The ebb and flow of this world
Washes away life.
Sports, sports eat your shorts
The mans scream at the tv
Seems silly to me.
The sun shone bright, hot
The day you left us alone
Why that day, my love?
Soaring high above
The freeway interchanges
Over poppy fields.
I miss your laughter
Alone with my memories
Bitter sweet, those days.
Lovely childlike man
Shines like the sun in my eyes
Playful, wise and free.
The first time I heard about Haiku was in elementary school. I was already obsessed with counting syllables. I thought it was a beautiful way to express the rhythm of words. Haha! The Haiku was not running super strong in me today. Some days it does and all my thoughts and words come out naturally with it's rhythm. That is okay. I am also tone deaf, but I still sing :)
Monday, November 11, 2013
I am you. You are me. We are one.
Aren't we all fundamentally the same? I believe we are pretty damn close. Here is a list of my wants; I want to be happy. I want to wake up in a good mood. I want to provide food and shelter for myself and my kids. I want there to be toilet paper in the bathroom and soap in the container. I want to get laid. I want my home to be a safe haven for my family. The world can be a truly cruel and awful place. I want to treat my loved ones with compassion and love. I hope that I will receive some back occasionally. I honestly believe life is too short to take each other for granted. It is too short to take ourselves for granted.
My life has always been about maintaining and restoring harmony. Chaos has always ruled my life. My circumstances have not always been ideal for joy and happiness. That does not mean I have not sliced out a tiny piece of happiness from each shit pie I have been fed. I can count the number of times I have woken up in a bad mood. Although I have never known pain or sorrow like I have in the last 5 years, I have also laughed harder, loved harder and found moments of pure bliss and contentment as well. My friend Bonnie told me once that I needed some good to balance all of the bad in my life. She was correct. Life will never be perfect but the bad times make the good times so much better.
People insist on arguing and fighting when really there is no point. Arguments are short when each party compromises. It is all about putting the ego aside and thinking about the other person. People forget sometimes. This is not important. Everyone makes mistakes. What is important is that we change the course when we realize we are wrong. I know a lot of people who will not back down even when they know they are wrong because they feel the need to stand their ground. Another place people get messed up is that they forget that they will benefit from being respectful and giving to another person. The more you give the more you receive. It is true! You may say this is not always the case. You are correct. Sometimes we give to people who do not want to give back. They are like black holes sucking and consuming but only ejecting a powerful beam of destruction out of their back sides. >cough< my mother and 1st husband >cough< When this happens, it seems like the best solution is to walk away. Far, far away. Do we really need black holes in our lives? I say we should pick and choose. I personally keep a couple in my life because I truly believe they do not want to be that way, but just don't know what else to do. It seems if you are aware they are a black hole, it is easier to consciously reduce the amount of energy you are willing to donate to them.
My life has always been about maintaining and restoring harmony. Chaos has always ruled my life. My circumstances have not always been ideal for joy and happiness. That does not mean I have not sliced out a tiny piece of happiness from each shit pie I have been fed. I can count the number of times I have woken up in a bad mood. Although I have never known pain or sorrow like I have in the last 5 years, I have also laughed harder, loved harder and found moments of pure bliss and contentment as well. My friend Bonnie told me once that I needed some good to balance all of the bad in my life. She was correct. Life will never be perfect but the bad times make the good times so much better.
People insist on arguing and fighting when really there is no point. Arguments are short when each party compromises. It is all about putting the ego aside and thinking about the other person. People forget sometimes. This is not important. Everyone makes mistakes. What is important is that we change the course when we realize we are wrong. I know a lot of people who will not back down even when they know they are wrong because they feel the need to stand their ground. Another place people get messed up is that they forget that they will benefit from being respectful and giving to another person. The more you give the more you receive. It is true! You may say this is not always the case. You are correct. Sometimes we give to people who do not want to give back. They are like black holes sucking and consuming but only ejecting a powerful beam of destruction out of their back sides. >cough< my mother and 1st husband >cough< When this happens, it seems like the best solution is to walk away. Far, far away. Do we really need black holes in our lives? I say we should pick and choose. I personally keep a couple in my life because I truly believe they do not want to be that way, but just don't know what else to do. It seems if you are aware they are a black hole, it is easier to consciously reduce the amount of energy you are willing to donate to them.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Now I got worry
On to my biweekly existential crisis. Nothing is perfect. This sums up my life the last 42 years. I have written about the man I am in love with. Now the cold hard truth. He is not exactly available. Actually, he is not physically available. Emotionally? Yes. However, he is not single. I tell myself although he has been with his woman for over 10 years, because my state does not recognize common law marriage, he is technically available. I tell myself that despite the fact that he has 3 children under the age of 10, because he is lonely in his relationship, he is available. Truth be told there are many times I wonder what I am doing. I am destroying what could likely be a good situation? Why? Because I am selfish. I have not ever seen myself as a selfish person. It causes me immense distress.
I think about my parents. They always told me the only reason they stayed together was for me. Through all the fights, broken dishes and blood they chose the noble path. For me. I prayed every morning and every night and several times during the day they would divorce. I had a fantasy that he would come home after one of his week long benders. Grab her by the scruff of her beauty-full neck and promptly throw her out. We lived happily ever after. Instead I faced their divorce at 17. By the time I was an old teenager, my father decided he needed to be a "man" who would come home every night after work to drink beer and lay down the law for his reckless daughter who wore too much makeup and had weird hair. My mom would scream and scream. I moved out of their house promptly at the age of 17. I still remember when my mom told me about how my father picked up food on the way home one afternoon. They sat in complete silence eating dinner together. She realized for the first time they were absolute strangers. I remember the tremendous guilt I felt when they divorced. When I looked at them I saw two desperately lonely people who were left to live without all of the comfort that came with knowing what to expect. My dad would drink himself into oblivion and she would scream and scream. I caused this. I should have stayed. Do I want this for Him? Do I want Him to feel the sadness of leaving the comfort he has known for his entire adult life? I feel sick when I think of Him experiencing this kind of pain. Can I bear to destroy another set of lives?
And so I wonder what Justin would say. No. I know what he would say after slapping me upside my head. I feel this is exactly what I need most days. Justin thought I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He held me to standards so high it would be impossible for any human being to live up to them in a thousand life times. Or would there be no admonishments? Would he instead wrap his loving arms around me, kiss me on the top of my head and say "Oh Mama"? The man says he loves me and wants to marry me. I do not take this lightly. Reality is that if he were single, I would have asked him to move in with us weeks ago. I would most likely be quickly on my way to marriage. I do not take this lightly either. What is the answer? I have no clue. I am not even sure what the question is, really. His happiness is my happiness. His smile is incomparable. The only thing I know for certain is that he makes me feel the fancifulness and wonder of a little girl and the intense desire of a woman.
And panties. Where did they get that name? I imagine because dogs pant when they are excited. Men are often called dogs. They pant when they see women's britches. Therefore britches are called panties? What kind of god allows things such as this??
Insecurity is stupid but it plagues everything I do. I try to interpret and understand people's behavior as well as my own. I give up. Is it important to me these days? Not really. I do not control my destiny. There is no god. There is no justice. All I have is here and now and the feeble hope that I am wrong about these matters. I am wrong often. Very often. Without fail, in fact. For now I shall allow the universe to flow over and past me. Like Balki said, "The wind blows through me like a hollow reed." I will limit my influence on the happenings in my life for as long as much as possible for as long as possible just to see how life will play out.
I think about my parents. They always told me the only reason they stayed together was for me. Through all the fights, broken dishes and blood they chose the noble path. For me. I prayed every morning and every night and several times during the day they would divorce. I had a fantasy that he would come home after one of his week long benders. Grab her by the scruff of her beauty-full neck and promptly throw her out. We lived happily ever after. Instead I faced their divorce at 17. By the time I was an old teenager, my father decided he needed to be a "man" who would come home every night after work to drink beer and lay down the law for his reckless daughter who wore too much makeup and had weird hair. My mom would scream and scream. I moved out of their house promptly at the age of 17. I still remember when my mom told me about how my father picked up food on the way home one afternoon. They sat in complete silence eating dinner together. She realized for the first time they were absolute strangers. I remember the tremendous guilt I felt when they divorced. When I looked at them I saw two desperately lonely people who were left to live without all of the comfort that came with knowing what to expect. My dad would drink himself into oblivion and she would scream and scream. I caused this. I should have stayed. Do I want this for Him? Do I want Him to feel the sadness of leaving the comfort he has known for his entire adult life? I feel sick when I think of Him experiencing this kind of pain. Can I bear to destroy another set of lives?
And so I wonder what Justin would say. No. I know what he would say after slapping me upside my head. I feel this is exactly what I need most days. Justin thought I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He held me to standards so high it would be impossible for any human being to live up to them in a thousand life times. Or would there be no admonishments? Would he instead wrap his loving arms around me, kiss me on the top of my head and say "Oh Mama"? The man says he loves me and wants to marry me. I do not take this lightly. Reality is that if he were single, I would have asked him to move in with us weeks ago. I would most likely be quickly on my way to marriage. I do not take this lightly either. What is the answer? I have no clue. I am not even sure what the question is, really. His happiness is my happiness. His smile is incomparable. The only thing I know for certain is that he makes me feel the fancifulness and wonder of a little girl and the intense desire of a woman.
And panties. Where did they get that name? I imagine because dogs pant when they are excited. Men are often called dogs. They pant when they see women's britches. Therefore britches are called panties? What kind of god allows things such as this??
Insecurity is stupid but it plagues everything I do. I try to interpret and understand people's behavior as well as my own. I give up. Is it important to me these days? Not really. I do not control my destiny. There is no god. There is no justice. All I have is here and now and the feeble hope that I am wrong about these matters. I am wrong often. Very often. Without fail, in fact. For now I shall allow the universe to flow over and past me. Like Balki said, "The wind blows through me like a hollow reed." I will limit my influence on the happenings in my life for as long as much as possible for as long as possible just to see how life will play out.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Twice in a lifetime??
No posts in 2012. It was a crazy year. Ten months into 2013 and I have crawled from my grave. I have asked myself many times recently, "Why now? What is different about this day?" I cannot come up with an answer.
I am 41 now. Justin was the love of my life. I was thoroughly convinced I would never feel love for another person. I feared I might actually waste away alone. I read somewhere many widows die within the first five years of the death of their spouse. Whew...
I dated a little in 2011 which basically consisted of me making the most out of a relationship that did not exist. I am pretty good at that. My first marriage was all about making due. It lasted 8 years. The man I dated in 2011 was a good human being. He was nice, responsible and reliable. We spent a decent amount of time together considering I still had 2 kids at home. Unfortunately, he was not into me at all. I was a novelty. Young and obnoxious. He considered me a friend with benefits, but I don't have any idea what that means. Apparently I am not good at it. HAHA! I wanted to be part of his life. Instead, I was his dirty little secret. This has happened to me before, but this time was truly insulting because I feel after putting up with so much nonsense in my past, I deserve at least a little respect. It is funny that this relationship was over after 6 months, but it took an additional 6 months before I was aware it ended. Knucklehead... I learned a lot from the experience. I will not burst into flames while on a date. Hell fire and brimstone will not rain upon my noggin for kissing a man other than Justin. I am physically able to date and have an intimate relationship with a man without dying. I also learned to recognize some of the behaviors and treatment I can tolerate or overlook if I am treated with kindness. These are huge revelations for me.
One day I accidentally requested friendship with my first boyfriend via Facebook. (I fell into the social networking trap shortly after we returned to AppleTurkey.) He and I had a few conversations which were amazing. It was really fun to reconnect with someone who knew me when I was so young. Amazingly, we still had a lot of the same interests. Through him I found his little brother. This kid stuck out in my memory because his family was somewhat sketchy about him. He was different. He was around 12 when I met him for the first time. I thought he was a cool kid. He liked music that was way beyond what kids his age were listening to. His sense of humor and intellect were amazing. I loved the way he looked at things. He was innocent and wise at the same time. Over the years, I thought about him often. I tried many times to find him. I wondered what happened to him. I worried the world had worked his imagination and creativity out of him. At last word, his parents had this teenage boy on anti-depressants. I was upset. I took them myself when I was his age and they dulled me so much that I lost most of my personality when I was on them. They said he was a very troubled boy. When I was in my early 20's I actually imagined I would find him. I was convinced in my mind he was in a bad place if he were still alive. I wanted to kidnap him to give him a place to live where he would not be judged for being different. I wanted to give him a safe place to blossom and thrive. I am crazy. HAHA!
February 16, 2010 was an absolutely amazing day! I hollered at the little brother for the first time. We had an amazing conversation. He was all grown up. As he recounted his life, the fondness I felt for him as a child turned into genuine warm feelings for the man he grew to be. He pursued his interests and was known for his poetry, writing, comedy, and had become an amazing artist. I was super happy to hear he was okay and had found a way to hold on to the wonderful person he was back when. He helped me with a few school projects. During one project, we spoke on the telephone for the first time. That was it for me. I was hopelessly sprung. He sounded like a man. A soft spoken, thoughtful, funny, smart, and kind man. He loved his kids with all of his heart and stayed home with them to raise them. Lovely! There is nothing in the world that is more attractive to me than a man that loves and cares for his children. I was thrilled at how well we got along and how may things we had in common. Over the following few years, we spoke occasionally. We had some great heartfelt conversations.
Fast forward to Labor Day weekend, 2013. I believe this weekend changed the course of my life. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. July is a difficult month for me. My wedding anniversary is on the 7th followed by the anniversary of Justin's death on the 10th. This year was number five. Five years without the only man who ever truly understood and accepted me for who and what I am. Five years without his compassion and love. By the end of August I was completely done. It is a horrible thing for a mother of three beautiful girls to say, I know. Knucklehead #1 moved out of my home long ago, and #2 was 17 and ready to fly the coop as well. I convinced myself my mother-in-law could provide a good environment for my little one. I had surgery at the beginning of 2013 which destroyed my short term memory. I feel like a dolt. I tried online dating which was suggested by my gay office mate. That was left me with a stalker who wanted to kill me. I was so lonely, hopeless and very very drunk Labor Day weekend. I made arrangements with my mother-in-law to care for my little one "in case something happened to me." I was up late that Sunday night seriously contemplating the least traumatizing way (for my kids) for me to make my exit. As it happens "the Kid" and I struck up a conversation days earlier. I was working on an art project. I asked an open question (more like a statement) to my friends: "Things people aren't telling me while I am alive". I kept it vague to see what kind of responses I would get. My idea was there are many things people wish they said to deceased people when they were alive. I wanted to find out what people thought others would say to them or maybe things they would say to a living person. Everyone who responded to me had a different take on it. The responses were amazing. The Kid's response was extremely candid. He opened his heart. It was amazing (for lack of a better word) and tore into my soul. He was in exactly the same place as I was. All I could think about was I wanted to save him. I asked him to have coffee with me as we had not seen each other since we reconnected. Truth be told, I imagined our meeting would be romantic. I wanted to hold him. Listen as he poured out his guts. Wishful thinking. Haha!
We talked longer than usual that night. I told him I was lonely and wished I had a shoulder to lean on. Although I said this to him many times, this time was apparently different. That night was rich with conversations about loneliness, crying ourselves to sleep, kids, pornography and masturbation. Not unusual topics. Haha! What resulted was an incredible admission of mutual love. Our conversation continued for more than 6 hours. Until the sun came up. I told him all about my fondness for him as a boy, my desire to kidnap him, my thrill at meeting again. He told me about his long standing crush. Apparently, I inspired many drawings over the years : ) I was completely shocked and beyond thrilled. I cannot imagine anyone being in love with me. Back then I was a sad sad girl. Now i am an awkward, dopey, brain damaged widow. Why did this happen now? I ask myself over and over. In reality this is the perfect time. All the experiences I have had since the night Justin stumbled into my room in 2003 nearly paralyzed and I learned of his sickness have brought me to this place. The place where I can give and receive.
I almost never look into the mirror. It brings back memories of black eyes and bloody noses my mother was kind enough to bless me with at an early age. When I look at myself now, the sad deteriorating state of my body is too much to bear. I have damaged myself in the last 5 years as widows often do. But all of that fades when I am with him. As I write this, we have been seeing each other around 2 months. It is unbelievable to me that my feelings for him grow every day. I love him. I cannot bring myself to fully admit it. Admission means I open my heart to annihilation. But then I think of him... He takes me back to a time and place where I could have been happy if I had known what happiness was. I feel youthful and beautiful when he smiles at me with his eyes. He makes me laugh the way I did before I learned how ugly and hateful the world can be. His kisses are long. They are sweet and soft as is his body and heart. The words he says to me are those of a beautiful poet. A loving man. They make me weep. When we are together we cling to each other as though a tornado were about to tear through the desert and rip us apart. I tremble when I hear his voice. It is all I can do to keep from running down the street and screaming at the top of my lungs. I am scared senseless. My feelings and emotions are going crazy. I have not felt in so long this makes me feel like I am losing my mind. Even though he terrifies me I feel hope again. I have started to believe my mother and family were wrong. I am a good person. I have compassion for people. I truly care. I am sensitive. I am worthy. I feel I may have a shot at happiness in my future. I feel as though I have emerged from a dark lonely cave. Blinking my poor tired eyes in the brilliant sunlight.
I am 41 now. Justin was the love of my life. I was thoroughly convinced I would never feel love for another person. I feared I might actually waste away alone. I read somewhere many widows die within the first five years of the death of their spouse. Whew...
I dated a little in 2011 which basically consisted of me making the most out of a relationship that did not exist. I am pretty good at that. My first marriage was all about making due. It lasted 8 years. The man I dated in 2011 was a good human being. He was nice, responsible and reliable. We spent a decent amount of time together considering I still had 2 kids at home. Unfortunately, he was not into me at all. I was a novelty. Young and obnoxious. He considered me a friend with benefits, but I don't have any idea what that means. Apparently I am not good at it. HAHA! I wanted to be part of his life. Instead, I was his dirty little secret. This has happened to me before, but this time was truly insulting because I feel after putting up with so much nonsense in my past, I deserve at least a little respect. It is funny that this relationship was over after 6 months, but it took an additional 6 months before I was aware it ended. Knucklehead... I learned a lot from the experience. I will not burst into flames while on a date. Hell fire and brimstone will not rain upon my noggin for kissing a man other than Justin. I am physically able to date and have an intimate relationship with a man without dying. I also learned to recognize some of the behaviors and treatment I can tolerate or overlook if I am treated with kindness. These are huge revelations for me.
One day I accidentally requested friendship with my first boyfriend via Facebook. (I fell into the social networking trap shortly after we returned to AppleTurkey.) He and I had a few conversations which were amazing. It was really fun to reconnect with someone who knew me when I was so young. Amazingly, we still had a lot of the same interests. Through him I found his little brother. This kid stuck out in my memory because his family was somewhat sketchy about him. He was different. He was around 12 when I met him for the first time. I thought he was a cool kid. He liked music that was way beyond what kids his age were listening to. His sense of humor and intellect were amazing. I loved the way he looked at things. He was innocent and wise at the same time. Over the years, I thought about him often. I tried many times to find him. I wondered what happened to him. I worried the world had worked his imagination and creativity out of him. At last word, his parents had this teenage boy on anti-depressants. I was upset. I took them myself when I was his age and they dulled me so much that I lost most of my personality when I was on them. They said he was a very troubled boy. When I was in my early 20's I actually imagined I would find him. I was convinced in my mind he was in a bad place if he were still alive. I wanted to kidnap him to give him a place to live where he would not be judged for being different. I wanted to give him a safe place to blossom and thrive. I am crazy. HAHA!
February 16, 2010 was an absolutely amazing day! I hollered at the little brother for the first time. We had an amazing conversation. He was all grown up. As he recounted his life, the fondness I felt for him as a child turned into genuine warm feelings for the man he grew to be. He pursued his interests and was known for his poetry, writing, comedy, and had become an amazing artist. I was super happy to hear he was okay and had found a way to hold on to the wonderful person he was back when. He helped me with a few school projects. During one project, we spoke on the telephone for the first time. That was it for me. I was hopelessly sprung. He sounded like a man. A soft spoken, thoughtful, funny, smart, and kind man. He loved his kids with all of his heart and stayed home with them to raise them. Lovely! There is nothing in the world that is more attractive to me than a man that loves and cares for his children. I was thrilled at how well we got along and how may things we had in common. Over the following few years, we spoke occasionally. We had some great heartfelt conversations.
Fast forward to Labor Day weekend, 2013. I believe this weekend changed the course of my life. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. July is a difficult month for me. My wedding anniversary is on the 7th followed by the anniversary of Justin's death on the 10th. This year was number five. Five years without the only man who ever truly understood and accepted me for who and what I am. Five years without his compassion and love. By the end of August I was completely done. It is a horrible thing for a mother of three beautiful girls to say, I know. Knucklehead #1 moved out of my home long ago, and #2 was 17 and ready to fly the coop as well. I convinced myself my mother-in-law could provide a good environment for my little one. I had surgery at the beginning of 2013 which destroyed my short term memory. I feel like a dolt. I tried online dating which was suggested by my gay office mate. That was left me with a stalker who wanted to kill me. I was so lonely, hopeless and very very drunk Labor Day weekend. I made arrangements with my mother-in-law to care for my little one "in case something happened to me." I was up late that Sunday night seriously contemplating the least traumatizing way (for my kids) for me to make my exit. As it happens "the Kid" and I struck up a conversation days earlier. I was working on an art project. I asked an open question (more like a statement) to my friends: "Things people aren't telling me while I am alive". I kept it vague to see what kind of responses I would get. My idea was there are many things people wish they said to deceased people when they were alive. I wanted to find out what people thought others would say to them or maybe things they would say to a living person. Everyone who responded to me had a different take on it. The responses were amazing. The Kid's response was extremely candid. He opened his heart. It was amazing (for lack of a better word) and tore into my soul. He was in exactly the same place as I was. All I could think about was I wanted to save him. I asked him to have coffee with me as we had not seen each other since we reconnected. Truth be told, I imagined our meeting would be romantic. I wanted to hold him. Listen as he poured out his guts. Wishful thinking. Haha!
We talked longer than usual that night. I told him I was lonely and wished I had a shoulder to lean on. Although I said this to him many times, this time was apparently different. That night was rich with conversations about loneliness, crying ourselves to sleep, kids, pornography and masturbation. Not unusual topics. Haha! What resulted was an incredible admission of mutual love. Our conversation continued for more than 6 hours. Until the sun came up. I told him all about my fondness for him as a boy, my desire to kidnap him, my thrill at meeting again. He told me about his long standing crush. Apparently, I inspired many drawings over the years : ) I was completely shocked and beyond thrilled. I cannot imagine anyone being in love with me. Back then I was a sad sad girl. Now i am an awkward, dopey, brain damaged widow. Why did this happen now? I ask myself over and over. In reality this is the perfect time. All the experiences I have had since the night Justin stumbled into my room in 2003 nearly paralyzed and I learned of his sickness have brought me to this place. The place where I can give and receive.
I almost never look into the mirror. It brings back memories of black eyes and bloody noses my mother was kind enough to bless me with at an early age. When I look at myself now, the sad deteriorating state of my body is too much to bear. I have damaged myself in the last 5 years as widows often do. But all of that fades when I am with him. As I write this, we have been seeing each other around 2 months. It is unbelievable to me that my feelings for him grow every day. I love him. I cannot bring myself to fully admit it. Admission means I open my heart to annihilation. But then I think of him... He takes me back to a time and place where I could have been happy if I had known what happiness was. I feel youthful and beautiful when he smiles at me with his eyes. He makes me laugh the way I did before I learned how ugly and hateful the world can be. His kisses are long. They are sweet and soft as is his body and heart. The words he says to me are those of a beautiful poet. A loving man. They make me weep. When we are together we cling to each other as though a tornado were about to tear through the desert and rip us apart. I tremble when I hear his voice. It is all I can do to keep from running down the street and screaming at the top of my lungs. I am scared senseless. My feelings and emotions are going crazy. I have not felt in so long this makes me feel like I am losing my mind. Even though he terrifies me I feel hope again. I have started to believe my mother and family were wrong. I am a good person. I have compassion for people. I truly care. I am sensitive. I am worthy. I feel I may have a shot at happiness in my future. I feel as though I have emerged from a dark lonely cave. Blinking my poor tired eyes in the brilliant sunlight.
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