Why NOT play Kick-the-Carcass?
09 Jun 2010 Leave a Comment
in abuse, Anger!, broken heart, Dave, Death, fears, just messed up, Life, Life Lessons, life transformations, Writing Tags: abuse, abusive relationships, broken, broken dreams, broken heart, Dave, DAVE K., destruction, dysfunction, fears, fucked up, heartbreak, hopeless, insanity, lies, Life Lessons, lost spirit, manipulation, sociopaths, wishes
No consecutive hours of sleep for what seems like weeks, although I can easily remember not so long ago when it had been more like months, so I logically know I can pull through this “short stretch”. However, when n the midst of the sleeplessness, it feels as though I’ll pass out, die, or just maybe snap into forgettable pieces. I keep reminding myself that it’s been worse and try to be grateful for the little bits of sleep I do get blessed with.
Stressing the move, finances, the gossip and lies (of course, as usual), THE ex, the children, packing, moving across the entire country from everything I’ve ever known, living out of district for my kids’ school out west, my ex husband, and his motives and choices, and how they’re going to relate and affect our lives out there, so far from the only home we’ve ever known.
With all of this, I’m struck hard with acute awareness of the severe alteration of my heart, my perspective, my very essence… Who I once was is gone, with all that’s happening now and all I am responsible to be and do, with all the fears that are hanging just over my head like a shark’s mouth ready to swallow me whole, I really just want to sit down and bawl myself sick. Grief hangs all around me like buzzards and flies on a carcass. I know, I know… This is nothing new…I’ve been a barely-breathing carcass for years now, my only traceable movement being the slight shakes and involuntary shuffles and slides of a dead body that’s being kicked a few extra times for good measure. Big thanks to Dave and friends for that lovely prompt..without it, the buzzards might literally begin to feast on my mourning flesh, not just the metaphorical feastings of Dave and friends on the leftover remnants of my heart, my soul, my reputation, my freaking character! After all, at this point, the pickings are so slim and meager that I genuinely can’t understand the interest…surely there’s not enough there to satisfy even a starving soul?
Apparently so, as I can’t even plan my pathetic, late-as-hell “escape” without a kick every once in a while for good measure. I’m struggling and fighting this damned sense of victimization which I hate so much it makes me sick even to write of these things any more. Or maybe it’s that burning sense of injustice and flood of unkindness and continued crucification which keeps me from withering up and dying completely. It’s almost cost me a great degree of my voice and I do not know what I could even be after he’s fully taken my voice and my ability to write. It just might be my lingering indignance which is holding the shell of my existence together at all, keeping it from crumbling quietly into dust. Perhaps I should stop fighting this victimized-feeling and embrace it, allow it to strengthen me out of my hopeless feeling of being powerless, beaten, and small? Hmm….
I have comprised a plan of revenge. In my circumstances, I have no way in which to actually carry it through, but it’s a lovely fantasy nonetheless. I imagine that many people love me and know the truth of these past five years…the whole down-n-dirty, humiliating truth and they are so outraged and angry they begin a letter-writing campaign on my behalf – no, on the behalf of all people who have gone through emotional and mental abuse. Upon me leaving my home, he receives hundreds of letters from people who know the truth, faceless people who are not afraid to stand up against this man’s cruel persecution of my spirit. Each day or week he receives lovely pieces of mail from people who know what he has done and refuse to buy into his lies and bullshit, as a regular reminder that he did not just “get away with it”. And he, like me, has no chance, opportunity, or method by which to combat the attack. He would just have to sit in it, regularly reminded of his cruelty, its effects, and his powerlessness! Then he might have to spend some time in paranoia, looking at every stranger who meets his eye and wondering, does he know? Does she? Just as I still worry with every person I meet or pass, “Did he tell them I was crazy? Did he tell that person I’m a psycho? A slut? A lying cheater? Wonder what story that person heard?”
For it seems, just when I’ve let the worries go and have convinced myself anyone who believes his garbage at this point is merely a victim of sorts themselves and is entitled to my sympathy, when I finally get to the “I don’t give a damn what he’s said to anyone”, another lovely twisted story of his finds its way to me…piling on top of the huge pile of garbage he’s dumped on me that I’m already trying to climb out from underneath. And the exhaustion revives itself in me. The sense of powerlessness and damned victimization I hate SO much, gathers al around my soul to begin feasting again.
I sent him a message asking him just to please SHUT UP. Leave me alone. Reminding him he has not a single reason at this point in his game to speak my name even, let alone tarnish it further. He has won by yards and miles already. The damage done is irreversible even now. I’m leaving and his story will always stand in my place of absence; not mine, not the truth, but his sick and twisted deviation of my person. I can’t imagine any greater victory for him? So why continue beating this broken and beaten thing? Does he really still get that much pleasure and self-satisfaction from it…even NOW? Why not just SHUT UP? No, go above and beyond to make everyone always, think the person you’ve victimized is psycho crazy, then you never have to worry about being held accountable for the cruelty you perpetually heaped upon her… After all, she’s just “crazy”. Nothing she says will ever account to anything after you’ve told that to enough people ad nauseum.
Why am I so surprised anyway? Why wouldn’t anyone want to continue kicking and beating the person they’ve already slaughtered? After all, she’s dead already…. It’s not like anyone will ever find out the truth now…or believe it coming from a crazy-psycho dead girl even if they did!
Ohhh it would be Christmas every day to just imagine this letter-campaign of outraged people, addressing the truth to him which he feels he has sufficiently buried beneath his heavily placed offensive-tactic accusations and insults. He could just laugh away a few letters, but if hundreds came to him long after I’m gone, that would have to make him think maybe he wasn’t really fooling everyone after all. His mailbox becoming the screaming, lingering Tell-Tale Heart of an Edgar Allen Poe story! It’s a harmless, but juicy thought in my weak state of stress, fatigue, and hopeless indignation…
(insert evil cackle here)
Alexander Supertramp
13 May 2010 Leave a Comment
in Beginnings, broken heart, children, daughters, Death, fears, George A., Life, Life Lessons, life transformations, LOVE, respect, Writing Tags: admiration, adventures, books, courage, disappontment, disrespect, heartbreak, jealousy, Life, Life Lessons, LOVE, parents, radical acceptance
Into the wild. Wow…what a story!
A deep respect for Alexander Supertramp (Christopher Johnson McCandless) grew as I read of his solid character, his fierce determination and independence, and of course his stunningly daring adventures! Every person whose life he touched on his journey felt changed for the better by their association with him (That is one of my ultimate goals from the words of Mother Theresa). He must have truly been a phenomenal human being to have touched so many lives of so many different types of people and earned their respect and love!! Amazing! I adored Chris McCandless (aka Alexander Supertramp) throughout this book! His premature ending was a tragic loss for the world.
I am envious of the life he lived in his final two years – an entire lifetime of experiences gathered in two short years. I felt his self-righteousness and his need to veto all the mendacity in the world and his life as my own. I admired his ability to make such a stand and his courage in walking away from all sense of security and achieving his dream. As I read on though, I began to wonder many things. In spite of his angry resentment toward his father, had he not had the kind of parents and support he did for his entire life prior to leaving it all, would he have been the same person? Would he have had such courage? I say no. To have such a vast sense of independence and confidence as he did, he must have been given the luxury of a powerful inner sense of stability created at his core that allowed and developed such a firm and fierce stance. …Until I read of his parents visiting the “magic bus” 10 months after his death.
Suddenly, I was envious of the parents he so vehemently and immaturely resented, wishing I had such loving and accepting people as the main characters in my first 24 years of life. I gather he had some major discrepancies with his father and the deceit his parents shrouded him in for so long and I certainly ”get” that. However, some of that was standard child versus parents stuff, that period most go through when forming their own individual identity ….if they are fortunate enough to have parents who allow such growth. With my history, I could never take such a gift as that for granted. We don’t all have parents like that.
My heart tore as I pictured his mother standing sentient in that dilapidated bus, among his personal belongings at the end of his life, breathing in his clothes for any trace of scent of her son to whom she gave so very much free love and acceptance. She loved him and he broke her heart. The movie indicated that he might have come to a place of recognition and understanding of his parents before he passed, although I was disappointed to not hear of him leaving them any kind of communiqué specifically telling them and so we can’t ever know for certain. He owed them both a huge apology!
As a mother, my heart aches for Billie McCandless and wants to have a strongly worded conversation with her son, Christopher. As a child of my mother, I can’t help but have a fierce envy of this boy and his wide open life possibilities which he was afforded due to the kind of parents and upbringing he had. It’s clear he was not nearly as stifled by them as he felt he was and it’s deeply tragic to me that he passed before gaining the maturity to acknowledge and comprehend what a priceless and precious gift that was for the very life he so resented.
I ended the story feeling conflicted among feelings of jealousy, admiration, disgust and adoration for this brave and intelligent, albeit selfish and “bratty”, young man.
An interesting personal point to me in Chris’ story is that he shares the same brirthdate as one of my best friends’. Doubly intriguing in its coincidence(?) of their very similar personalities! (I confess: I’m fascinated by astrology.) George was such a quiet, intelligent, and reflective type who was fiercely resentful of his parents (with good reason at times) and always far more comfortable alone than in society or groups. He spoke often of going off into the wilderness someday and living far from what he termed the “concrete jungle”. He dreamed of building a cabin with a huge garden and just living in relative isolation, free from the deceit of government, society and materialism in the world which deeply disgusted him. The similarities between George and Chris’s personalities are truly amazing. This added to my understanding of Chris (and surprisingly, George as well) as a soul who reveled in nature and shunned all things which society represents and reveres. It definitely added even more depth and beauty to his story for me, although the story certainly doesn’t lack those things entirely in its own right. Makes me more grateful to have the opportunity to read of this unique and morally strong man and makes me miss and appreciate my friendship with George from so long ago as well.
Broken wings
12 May 2010 Leave a Comment
in abuse, Beginnings, broken heart, child abuse, children, dating, faith, Falling in love, fears, just messed up, Life, Life Lessons, LOVE, mothers, respect, Writing Tags: abuse, child abuse, childhood, cruel, desperation, destruction, domestic violence, fears, home, lost spirit, low self esteem, memories, self love, self-respect, vulnerability, WTF
She felt like a child still in so many ways…wondering why the world always seemed to roughly push against her when she tried to stand up for herself and expect to be treated like an equally important member of society… It was so uncomfortable to stand up for herself against anyone for any reason at all and the slightest resistance or push back and she just crumbled…feeling more and more weak and pathetic. She often wondered why she was so easy to knock down?
As a child, she hadn’t been permitted the luxury of finding her own way, questioning authority, having opinions, or expressing any type of individuality. These things simply had not been permitted or tolerated in any form. What evolved from this was a fearful person; one who fit smoothly into the world and so many lives of others merely because she wasn’t equipped with a backbone to go against the grain, much less, stand up for herself. Although it sometimes seemed to her that she’d been born without a back bone, a genetic deformity of sorts, logically she understood her mother had removed it entirely over a slow and degrading 17-year-long process. A few times when it seemed one might be trying to develop in her, it was quickly squashed and eliminated. One did not question adults, either respectfully or otherwise. No questions whatsoever. One liked whatever one was given, one liked what other people liked if one wanted to BE liked or ever hope of being loved. Always just smile and go along with it. This made her an easy target for all types of abuse and manipulation.
So at 5, she didn’t question the teenage boy who insisted she go into his bedroom with him every day. She didn’t question the other babysitter either, an even older teenage girl who manipulated her even further. She didn’t question the elementary school janitor who groped beneath her panties after school. They were so much older and she desperately wanted to be a “good girl”. She wanted to be liked and thought well of and maybe if she was ever good enough, someone would come along who could love her. And anyway, she learned from a very early age that if you didn’t like something, you’d better keep your mouth shut and pretend to or it promised to get far worse. Plus, she didn’t want to be the fussy, problem child. God forbid she be an insolent, precocious type child who disgusted the adults with sass or youthful curiosity! She longed for love and acceptance..ached for it actually from her earliest memory on… Thus, she never questioned or argued, never pushed back against any type of authority…no matter how uncomfortable or wrong it felt. She didn’t suffer from a lack of identity, inner strength, or sense of righteous indignation, she simply never was permitted to develop any from the beginning. She was always a chameleon, learning to quickly change colors and quietly blend in with whatever color seemed safest in any given circumstance or moment. Somewhere buried inside her was envy of those people and children who had no trouble speaking their minds or pushing back against an authority figure if they did something which seemed wrong. She envied them the security that came from knowing if they just did the right thing for themselves, someone bigger and more powerful would be there to support and protect them.
Ironically, the catch-22 started hitting her early. She was so hungry for love and affection, any type of acceptance would be welcomed. This must have been obvious and she was often treated cruelly by her peers or friends. She early on became the common door mat for many to wipe their frustrations and insecurities. When she was hurt and tried to discuss this with her mother, desperate for some consolation, compassion and perhaps even just a little sense of support, mother would yell at her for letting people treat her badly. This was always so confusing! She wasn’t supposed to expect better, much less demand anything better, right? Be quiet and content with what you have, or else…it will only get worse. All she knew for certain is she wanted to feel loved and had to be quietly unassuming and accepting so it would not get even worse.
After she left mother’s home and had her very first official boyfriend, she soon realized she had attracted a violent man. A Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde type man who worshipped and adored her more than she’d ever experienced before, but also would get very angry if she upset him intentionally or otherwise. This was especially hard for her to handle with any self-respect. There was the back-bone issue of course, mixed with the open affection and love that flowed freely in moments when her boyfriend wasn’t angry with her. She knew she wanted more of that, in fact she felt a bottomless pit of need for this love. How could she walk away from the first person who loved her enough to defend her to others, even if he did physically attack her himself? At least he didn’t allow anyone else treat her badly. He loved her most of the time and at least this way the cruelty only came from one person, instead of several. This was better than anything she had ever known before!
After a few years of his random and violent beatings she realized she must escape soon when he started openly threatening her life if she tried to leave. She turned to her mother for help… scared and begging for a place of refuge. Mother said, “You’ve let him treat you like this for years now…so you deserve what he dishes out. You must like it to have stayed so long. Give it a few years and then if I can believe that you’re really not going to go back to him again, maybe I will help you at that point.”
Give it a few years? He had recently forced her into his car and kidnapped her for an afternoon and another time recently had threatened her with a gun. She never once called the police on him (not wanting to get him in any trouble), and when concerned neighbors would hear and called the police, they never helped. In spite of her obvious busted lips and bloody noses, they would always say something like, “You two need to separate for a while and work this out on your own.”
Dad would take one look at her black and swollen eyes and say, “Honey, what did you do? You know how sassy you can be…you must have said or done something to really set him off this time. You have to learn to watch your mouth, girl.”
Give it a few years? The violence was escalating amazingly fast. She had no where safe to run and she didn’t believe she would last another few years.
In this desperation, she did what she had to do to get free and after a few years of counseling later in life, she realized that mother hadn’t allowed her to have a backbone or to develop any self-respect and then punished and criticized her further for being “weak”. No one was ever going to stand up for her and she didn’t have the strength or self-confidence to ever stand up for herself, she wanted to be loved too much to ever take that chance. It was a no-win situation. She was the world’s punching bag, literally and figuratively… and she could never lose the fear that if she didn’t learn to accept this, it could always get worse.
With this innate sense of constant fear and drastic lack of self-respect or entitlement, she set out in life, mostly hoping not to be noticed much and praying someone safe someday would.
Inspirational anorexic
29 Apr 2010 2 Comments
in Life, Uncategorized, Writing Tags: creativity, Life, ponderings, Writing
Inspiration has become so fleeting as I get older and more weary of life…
Sometimes it washes over me at the most inopportune moments, like a magical mist of glittery fairy muses. I can wallow in it and it gains momentum. One inspiration to another…and on to another… It feels so juicy and vibrant….beautifully prolific. Carried away, I want to float on the glittery mist and drench my mind. Interesting arguments. Delightful thoughts. Beautiful emotions. Engaging images. All drifting around me in slow motion like delicate snowflakes. I can reach out my hand and touch any of them! They don’t melt or scatter away. When my mind grasps one it sparkles more brilliantly and creates a sensory explosion!
It’s exciting! I feel so alive in these moments… I want to hold onto the thoughts and the moment itself as if grasping this will re-fill the loving juices in my heart with new vigor and energy….enough to baptise my bitterness clean and start again fresh and innocent of all the clutter and confusion.
And then it passes… I want to bottle it up and sprinkle my heart “as needed”.
Wearing my “Big Girl Pants”!
29 Apr 2010 Leave a Comment
in Beginnings, broken heart, Life, Life Lessons, LOVE, Uncategorized, Writing Tags: baby steps, broken heart, get over it!, health, inspiration, Life, LOVE, moving on, nutrition, reading, recovering, Writing
Another interesting and funny line I read in JLH’s I shot Cupid, is when she says (and I summarize here), “Yeah, it hurts really bad, but after a while you gotta put on your “big girl pants” and get over it!”
So, today, I forced myself into my Big Girl Pants! My pants of choice were not all that attractive really. If you picture 15-year-old VS navy sweat pants with bleach stains, full of tiny nubbies from over-washing and PINK written across the hiney in pink letters, then you’d be close to an accurate picture. And I’m not so sure it’s totally honest to say I’m wearing them…it’s really more like they’re dragging me around today…
However, I’m very proud of them because they shoved me to the gym for a nice (brief, yes, but c’mon!!??!) workout, and even dragged me to the grocery for some healthy, but tasty goodies with which to nourish my poor beaten up and deprived body. Then, after I returned home, they just wouldn’t shut up till I made a nice healthy smoothie, chock full of lots of nutrients and fresh fruit!
As I’m drinking my delicious Big Girl beverage, they pushed me to my computer and adamantly suggested I write about these positive steps and whispered, “Go ahead and brag about wearing us today…quit your whining and write something positive and hopeful for a change for crying out loud!”
And so I have. They’re certainly not the prettiest pants and they’re actually a little pushy, but I’m hoping I can find another pair to fit into tomorrow and maybe with minimal kicking and screaming on my part, someday I might get to wear Big Girl Pants most of the time…
time for a change?
25 Apr 2010 Leave a Comment
in Life, life transformations, Uncategorized, Writing Tags: anorexia of creativity, blah blah blah..., change, choices, just ridiculous, Life, limbo, ramblings
Looking at my blog, I realize my title doesn’t seem to apply any more. Haven’t really felt all that loving in some time…and I certainly am not currently any kind of loving buffet for the masses… I could re-name it Bitter Betty’s Random Thoughts or You bet I’m a bitch, wanna hear about it? Perhaps a blanket cliché of I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore! Maybe… <Insert swear word HERE> Hmmm…so many more appropriate options for a blog so full of way more madness than grace and the journey hasn’t even been all that delicious in a while really!
The Nasty Takeover of Polly Anna?
The Last Ridiculous Girl Scout finally goes Renegade?
Yet, I hesitate to make any drastic changes. Whoaaaa Nelly…pump your breaks pal! Let’s not get all excited… One never knows when the bitter, pissed off side might dwindle again and my loving, optimistic counterpart will come out in full force for one last hoop-la.
Ahhhhh I’m just not feeling all that creative today….
Fahgeddaboutit
30 Mar 2010 Leave a Comment
in Life, Writing Tags: frustration, time, venting, Writing
…feel like this needs to be my motto for sanity for a million reasons. I must learn to forget about it….pretty much everything really…
I spent the entire day yesterday longing to write. I had beautiful thoughts and well put-together words that ached to be typed. Every spare moment of thought in my head which I had was spent making little attempts to organize and collect these wonderful thoughts so that once I could sit at my computer, I could best manage to get them out in an efficient way.
Seems to me that by the time I get to be alone with my thoughts and at my computer, I’m so full of a million other things, that I no longer recall what I wanted to say or feel I have anything at all to say anyway. Is this typical of people who enjoy writing…people who feel compelled to write?
I’ve so much that I hope to say someday…so much that I pray I’ll get to write efficiently about before my life is over… and I chronically feel frustrated and interrupted so that by the time I get to attempt this, I’ve nothing going through my head except frustration and believe it or not, I don’t ever intend or actually want to write only about frustrating or painful things.
So maybe if I can’t ever “get it said” for whatever reason….perhaps that’s an indication that none of it needs written or said anyway? It feels empty to think that my one passion in this world has resorted to nothing but a venting of negative feelings and challenges because I can’t organize my thoughts or time well enough to ever accomplish anything but…
Ahhhhh….yet another venting…!
Spinning…spinning…spinning!
12 Dec 2009 Leave a Comment
in broken heart, Dave, dreams, faith, fears, just messed up, Life, life transformations, LOVE, Writing Tags: confusion, connection, Dave, DAVE K., desire, desperation, destruction, strength, unconditional love
At last I can write – or I believe I can…. Typically, I write to process thoughts and mass confusion, as well as to ease the throbbing from the proverbial knife which stabs directly into my heart…and sits there…refusing to budge…
Seems D wasn’t as “gone” as I thought, as true to form, he has reappeared yet again…at the 6 month mark of his absence. The “FOR SALE” sign no longer sits in his yard. Its absence screams of something which didn’t quite work the way he had hoped…or another had hoped? I will never know the story. I can’t imagine I will ever ask..or learn the truth whatever it may be regardless, so I’ll not be asking!
Last Saturday, prior to any contact since June, I could not shake him from my thoughts. His presence lingered everywhere and quite honestly was driving me mad. Random glances at the driveway with the misplaced wondering of when is D coming home? The chronic expectation that he would, should be arriving any moment was leaving me with the distinct feeling of mildly hysterical insanity. “Of course he is not pulling in any moment, you FOOL!”, I consistently admonished my own thoughts. My eldest could not shake him either and we both felt this quite odd and of course, unsettling in its random constancy.
When around 11 PM I received a text message, I still did not imagine for a moment it was him. As only 6 months ago I would have been certain it was. And yet…..something in my gut told me….”Ahhh yes …THERE HE IS…” And yes, it was him!! I had to look again and again to be sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me! They were not..clear as day my phone announced “DK”. My heart felt it would explode…my hands shook as I grabbed the phone…my head spun so fast I literally struggled to read the words. Ohhhhh I sound so melodramatic! And the most pathetic and embarrassing part of it all, is that if anything, I’m actually somewhat undermining my strong, physical, mental, and emotional response to this tiny contact.
To cut to the chase and cease the temptation to provide every boring detail and subtle nuance of these text interaction that spanned a few hours’ time… After some inner struggle and torturous indecision trying desperately to tell myself, “Absolutely not! Under NO circumstances to you go to him damnit..NO! NO! NOOOO!!!!”, I went to him.
After taking me in fully in only a brief glance, he kissed me immediately…instantly…no moment of waiting or indecision on his part….or mine, in my response. And this proved that our kiss was the same as every kiss. In absolute mutual rhythm and complete understanding of the lip, mouth, heart, and character of the other side of this kiss. Like an orchestra who hasn’t played together in so long and yet they pick up instantly as thought they hadn’t missed a single day of practice… Our mouths met in perfect knowing rhythm, rhyme, and reason. A tiny (oh-so-tiny!) part of my mind, hoped in that brief moment before the initial exchange, that we would be changed somehow and had lost this connection and I would feel (sadly) secure that what we have shared from our first kiss through every kiss of the past five years would be altered beyond recognition. No.
And I didn’t even proclaim any hesitation or feign any trepidation at succumbing to him. Simple and silently clear as, “I want you still.” Yes, I want you still, as well. Like a drowning person finally gasping for that first gulp of delicious life-giving air, with zero embarrassment or cautionary thoughts, I gave myself yet again to the only man I have ever loved.
He spoke of his need for me..his desire…his daily fantasies of me through the past 6 months. And I questioned nothing. I know because I am him. I am his every desire, his every fantasy of thought. I am it every bit as much as he. Logic had no place in this moment in time..nor did rationality. Just the desperate satisfaction at finally being re-connected to my own personal oxygen supply. I do realize that it likely and probable that no one is intended to love anyone or anything on this level, much less need them/it. But after 6 months away from the source, I do not have the energy to carry on the farce that anything of the sort matters…or doesn’t make sense anymore…or hurts so badly later that I almost wish for death. He spoke of needing me and spoke of tomorrow…. I cared not that it was probably lies or exaggerations… my only thought was OXYGEN…AT LAST!!! The world stopped spinning and made sense again for a few hours..at last…
Several days later, he ignored my follow up contact…of course. Nothing has changed…or has it? So I message him that this new game of his was quite sad and he should lose my number permanently rather than drag me through this again…. no response…
Dreamt of him yesterday…the first dream in SO long where we were together and happy..no complications or hidden agendas and it seems I even was handwriting our wedding invitations at one point… This dream was luscious..with no anxieties or stress points mixed in..just the sheer comfort and security we actually shared so long ago…
Nothing at all from him though…. until last night around 11 PM again, when he texts, “I was wrong. Sorry!” …which progresses shortly thereafter to repeated and insistent “I wantyou” Come to me” messages.
I play the game and volley the texts and the subject as hand back and forth for several hours. I never respond to these directly, except one simple “I want you too”. Otherwise, I dodge his demands.
What I will never tell him is that I attempted to go to him, but my garage door was frozen shut, making it impossible for me to leave. I almost texted him this, but opted instead to at least let it appear as though I have some strength against him, some will power inside that provides the ability to deny him.
And my world continues to relentlessly spin. I feel no satisfaction at the false premise of strength against this insanity which circumstances forced upon me. I just miss him. I only love him. Still….
Hindsight…..arghhhh
23 Oct 2009 6 Comments
in broken heart, Dave, fears, Friendship, just messed up, Life, Life Lessons, LOVE, Writing Tags: broken dreams, broken heart, Dave, DAVE K., depression, disappontment, friends, heartbreak, sadness, unconditional love, Writing
Bit broken down and whatnot, but was encouraged by a dear soul to write anyway…. (thank you, my friend!)
Reflecting lately on hindsight…wondering why foresight can’t be 20/20?? And contemplating second chances..who gets them? Under what circumstances should a 2nd chance not be granted? Pit party mode: Why can’t I be in the good graces of 2nd chances, anyway? Some get so very many “2nd” chances, while rarely get one…..
Obviously, I fall into the “no 2nd chances” category for whatever reason…the higher powers that be have deemed me unworthy of such grace… and within that frame, I swallow the bitter lesson that perhaps it is not better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I mean, who said that anyway? Whoever it was certainly had more grace and gratitude than I!
Losing a love is excruciatingly painful…and after all, before you’ve loved, you can’t even know what you’re missing, so…hmmm……??
No, I have decided I would rather not have loved at all…. Would I miss all the beautiful memories of being loved, feeling loved, figuring out what love is? Oh yeah…but I’d not know that I missed it at all, so better off, I believe I’d be!
On the other hand, were I more gratefully graceful, I could confess that I have once been loved deeply and far beyond my expectations. Perhaps I just wasn’t ready for something so huge? I sure didn’t know how to appreciate it fully or accept it as reality until it was long gone from my life. So, instead, I spent 2 years in bliss I never fathomed prior and three years desperately trying to make up for losing it…beating myself up every inch of the way, as though that might make me worthy of a second chance….
No such luck. No second chances. Just vivid, painful hindsight and sweet memories that sting with the heartache of that hindsight. Memories which haunt my every waking (and sleeping!) hour. Memories that tear at my soul, rip at my self worth and shred my ability to forgive myself my erroneous errors.
I’d like to think that perhaps it wouldn’t have lasted even if I hadn’t erred………….but that’s not something I can convince myself of because the evidence proves it would have… Evidence shows it was the greatest, purest chance at love that I may ever have…and I couldn’t see that until it was too late…. And hard as Humpty tried to put it together again, alas, it could not be done…. Too little…too late..ahhh cliche’…
Maybe there’s only one chance at such depths of love, in order to learn that second chances aren’t a given in any situation, so I’d better get it right the first time from now on…if there’s ever another chance to demonstrate what I’ve learned from this experience…. Haha… I suppose it’s called once in a lifetime love because the opportunity comes only once…..
Yes, I would most definitely erase every beautiful memory, so I could live blissfully in ignorance of what love can be…and pooh-pah in hindight’s hateful mean face!
However, as that is not an option, instead, I get to trudge on, hoping it all makes sense someday….and hanging onto everyv possible shred of hope that nothing is ever final…until it’s final…
Your blabs