Moving, flowing, stagnating…decaying…

Now what?  Will the stench of my battered and beaten soul carry over?  Will the people here smell it as easily as the people there seemed to?  Will the breakdown of the very fiber of my being, atom by atom, continue here to break down?

Woke up this morning to thoughts of him, resentfully wondering when will the first day in six years that I do not think even once of him? …not remember some cruelty, or worse yet some ancient loving kindness which should by now be so stale and moldy that I’m not at all tempted to revisit a site or feeling so ancient its very authenticity should now be questioned…because it’s validity has been so thoroughly contaminated by age and drenched in poisonous toxins of regular cruelty…  When?

…can people smell the decay of a rotting heart, the bloody and beaten spirit from 2,000 miles away from the scene of the crime? And four years after the initial deadly stab?  All the countless following merely a swift revival of that heart, just to rip its tenderly mended pieces apart yet again?  Does mere redundancy smell of the bitter metallic scent of the initial blood-fest?

“Stalked” his FB page the other day, overwhelmed with curiosity. (Maybe that’s why the thoughts?  Haha..who am I kidding here?!)  Yes, he has an official (albeit not FB status official yet) new bi-annual flavor.   So interesting!  Took the man four years after our split to make a commitment for anything beyond a one-night-stand, well other of course than the 2 AM booty call “regular”…  And now he’s suddenly a serial committer?  WTF?!  His booty-call turned engagement split was a mere 7 months ago or so and he’s already on to another “girlfriend”?  Is this due to the hardened heart he’s claimed so many times that I caused as he stabbed another knife into my heart,  yet another time?  Or is it desperation on his part to stay away from me..or desperation to have someone, anyone, something meaningful in his beginning-to-age years?  A sudden newly developed fear of being truly alone?  Exaggerated quick commitment because his fear of commitment has grown beyond his control?

After crying and whining for over four years that he could not find what we had..nothing even close to the passion, joy, and love we shared, suddenly he’s meeting these types of suitable replacements back-to-back? 

What is that even?  Other than either just plain good fortune (I  mean, WOW!) or mere pathetic desperation stemming from a  weariness of chronic one-or-two-night stands with faceless, nameless people full of drunken meaningless redundant sexual escapades?

I shouldn’t even ponder any of this..it certainly matters not a smidgen on any level at this point…  However, it’s mystifying to me…  What on earth does this even mean?   So odd…but hopefully he’s found “the one”.  In spite of my resentments that he refuses to leave my heart and mind once and for all (ugh!), I actually do wish him happiness…..well that mixed with a bit of karma too perhaps…hehe…  After all, I am still a human being, perhaps barely, but I am…I am…still flawed and human after all!

Goodbye Tomorrow

Tomorrow is the day!!!  We fly out of here with a one-way ticket….no return, no changing minds, no turning back….  it’s one-way, baby!  Scary and exhilarating.  I will cry.  Good-byes are in the realm of unbearable for me…literally.  I often find I’d rather be rude and avoid people than ever say good-bye.  I’m not even good at saying good-bye to the people I don’t like!  I just detest good-byes!  Typically, I avoid them like the plague…

There is no avoiding tomorrow…  Which means there will be crying, sobbing, heaving, the embarrassing kind of tears…the “OMG Dave and I broke up” kinda crying probably…ewww! 

I returned DK’s clothes I’ve had for a while.  I wouldn’t want the next ridiculous accusation to be that I’m a thief.  Sadly, that’s not even an absurd or paranoid fear with the way he bashes my character.  Crazy to realize that after hitting the best of the best and the worst of the worst, the man has zero feelings for me at all.  After all the nights he came running to me, crying and sighing, full of words he couldn’t get out, as well as words he never should have let out.  After it all, there is nothing.  Empty.  Void.  Zero.  Nada. 

I thought of keeping his clothes out of spite even, but realized I just don’t want them and he does, so why not take the high road?  It’s not as if keeping a few articles of his favorite clothing would ever compensate for all the cruel damage he’s done anyway…and it would mostly just serve to make me feel petty and small.  So, I dropped them at his house when he wasn’t home..nor was the new “bi-annual flavor of the month” there either. 

Strangely, I don’t wish him ill.  I almost wish I did or could, but I just don’t.  I even sometimes have little prayers and hopes that perhaps this is finally  “the one” for him..this latest strange car parked at his house down the street from my soon-to-be old house.  Perhaps this is the happiness he needed, minus any inconveniences or challenges which I represented to him after all the years and tears?  The mean part of me wants to hope he just gets what he’s dished out to me for so long – cruelty.  But, my heart would ache to think of him hurting even a moment the way he’s hurt me.  I don’t know if that makes me strong or just plain stupid..but  I’m leaning toward the “stupid” answer.

I’ll never know how someone could be and do so much good (and horrible) in my life and then just be absolutely nothing.  The two just contradict themselves.  I feel as though this sets a low-level of importance on anything.  As though the most wondrous of experiences and feelings will always be significantly lessened in my mind and heart because maybe someday that very thing will merely be a void of anything, like this whole experience was.  If anyone had ever tried to tell me that I would be literally nothing to the man who loved me so much he cried, I would have laughed at the ridiculous thought alone and been certain as I’ve been of nothing in my life, but certain that it all meant something significant.

Nope. It all was merely nothing.  Every tear, every effort, every cruelty I allowed hoping it would make things even again, hoping it would open his heart back up, hoping we could at least have a friendship…..all for nothing.  It feels as though I’m so dispensable and worthless that not even a shred of emotion, good OR bad, can be mustered up on behalf of it ALL….that just feels “off” to me…impossible actually…and yet it’s totally possible and realistic today.

And I wonder if I’ll ever bother to waste a tear, an emotion, much less an effort on any other person who claims to love me?  After all, if it’s possible to just mean nothing as though it never was or happened, then why would one ever waste even a moment on such trivial, useless-ness?   Seems pretty silly really…

And I think to myself that either he really IS a sociopath (that’s a hurtful hard thought really) or I am just a crazy person (always a possibility).  All I know is that this feels like I’m having to realize that one plus one does not equal two, macaroni does not go well with cheese, and french fries are not commonly eaten with ketchup.  Feels as though the whole world is not what I once knew; as though nothing at all is what I’ve ever thought.  It’s almost more upside down and confused than the day we broke up.  I knew he cared and I at least knew why we split.  This though…this makes no sense whatsoever.

Radical acceptance here that the grass is orange and the sky is green.  Nothing is was or will be what it seems….  I can only hope that this realization will keep things in perspective for me from here on out and I’m never again tempted  to place value (much less such precious value) on such trifling and trivial matters as this has apparently been.

What a lesson!

Why NOT play Kick-the-Carcass?

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)

Broken wings

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.

Confession…

I was unfaithful.  I cheated myself, my children, my heart, my faith, my hope, my spirit, my character.  Not only that, but I cheated Dave and worse yet, I cheated all of these things from him as well.  I cheated every one of everything that was right and good in our lives.

As with anything and everything, there is certainly more to the story and sometimes in fleeting moments of denial, I can comfort myself with those factual, but sad and pathetic extenuating circumstances, but for the most part, I cannot.

Is it wrong to have thoughts at times which say, “Surely there was something he did wrong before the infidelity…”  I would actually attempt to distort something (anything) he once did or maybe once said even just one single time that was slightly unkind or perhaps alluded to some kind of future abuse or psychosis….

Nothing.

And many have said to me there must have been something?  There had to have been.  You couldn’t have been truly happy or it wouldn’t (couldn’t!) have happened. 

Nope.  Clear as a miserable bell, I know I was very happy.  I knew it then (can’t blame this on hindsight either).  I know it now.

Too happy?  So happy it didn’t seem possible to realistically maintain?   Yeah…frighteningly happy?  Like when you go to a horror movie and the happy music is playing and there’s sunshine, laughter, security abounding and you wait on the edge of your seat, heart beating, pulse racing, and your logic silently screaming, “It’s coming!”   You know any second something horribly tragic is going to explode on the screen.  It must.  You don’t want it to come but something in you knows you really do want it because that’s what you’ve ultimately come to the cinema to see, right?  After all, you’ve specifically asked for this tragedy with the price of your ticket. 

That  kind of happiness.  Scary happy.  Waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop-happy.

Only it never did.  And it surely had to… Right?

So, it seems I forced it to drop.  Was the anticipation too much?  Did the happy part go on and on so long that my heart couldn’t take the wait anymore?  Was logic screaming so loudly at me that I couldn’t relax in that kind of happy?  Had life taught me too well already that this was only possible in fairy tales? My life certainly had never been anything near fairy tale quality.  I was no long-lost beloved princess finally saved from all the evils of the world by my fair prince who had been looking for me all his life.  There was no way this existed on any plane of reality possible for me…

There were no signs of impending doom.  There was no cruel undertone in something he even once casually said in a quiet or controlling voice. There were no sarcastic words; no subtle insults to my character, my appearance, or my intelligence, phrased as a “joke” so as to make it acceptable to keep me in my place or put me down sub-consciously.  …except in my logic.  In my brain and my experiential wisdom there was always this little nudge.  Nudge, nudge – another day full of kindness has passed… another day of sincerely spoken compliments, loving gestures, and sweet-nothings has passed… the music of my logic is getting scarier and scarier… Da-da-da-dum, da-da-da-dum…playing faster and faster.  The bad guy is coming.  The moment of tragedy is hanging in limbo directly over your head.  It’s just hanging there waiting around till you feel so safe and comfortable that it’s definitely not coming…for full, tragic effect, you know…

I might even be able to convince myself that this is only the hind-sight story of a romantic hopeful, the rose-colored version of falling in love where nostalgia and regret fade the facts and amplify the colors of happiness to such a vibrant shade that the bad stuff disappears into oblivion.  Except, I was so overly aware of this unrealistic happiness that I spoke regularly of it to my dad, whom I knew would understand that this wasn’t logically possible.  Whom I expected to point out the tiny ugly realities I HAD to be missing throughout this experience.  And even he couldn’t.  My wise and all-too logical father could only continually remind and reassure me that I deserved this happiness and offer advice to me to accept it or else by looking so hard for the ugly, I would eventually make something ugly happen. 

What?  Make it happen??  That’s not possible!  I’m gloriously happy.  No person desperate for happiness, like me, would ever create the very unhappiness they fear and dread from a gift so pure and beautiful it must be directly from God.  That’s just some psychological mumbo-jumbo!  No one in their right mind, finally experiencing happy without a single sign of impending doom on the horizon would sabotage such beauty, such intoxicating joy of life, such a sense of security and love.  NO….don‘t be silly!

Hindsight does, though, strongly indicate to me that there was another sneaky element going on through this.  One I could never have anticipated or braced myself to handle.  The sneakiest of subtle sabotage tactics, so very tricky that it just hung out in the corner recesses of my mind, innocently playing all alone and not mingling ever with the other thoughts and fears which were obvious enough for me to ask advice from those wiser than I. Quietly gaining power and strength…

I am not worthy…

This sneaky element of sub-conscious sabotage actually came out in the light only once.

Right around maybe the sixth month marker, we had gone for a few drinks away from the crowd of friends, romantically alone, and were laughing and enjoying ourselves.  Having a nice traditional date in out-of-the-way places where we could adore each other uninterrupted by the “Ahh you two lovebirds make the rest of us sick!” And I was loving every minute of this until it dawned upon me.  Maybe this was even the first moment I ever had seen my happiness so very clearly and felt it to the core of my being, minus the what-if’s and can’t-be’s.  And I said to him, “What is this?  I’ve never known anything like this.  It can’t be real, can it?  And if it is, there’s no way I deserve this much.  Here is why….” And I commenced to tell him why I didn’t deserve this…deserve him, deserve genuine love…

And then he said one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard anyone say in my life that wasn’t written in a song, a book, or a movie…

…He said, “Every single horrible thing that has happened to you or me, every single bad choice or mistake we might have made in our pasts, every single thing right wrong, good or bad, has brought us right here right now.  And we have to just be grateful for it ALL and know that this was why it ALL happened exactly as it did.  If not for that exactly, whatever it may have been, we would not be here with each other right now in this exact moment, having this.”

I choked up. A huge lump in my throat developed, my eyes stung and threatened to cry as every horror-movie moment of my past flashed across my mind and I saw every path of it leading me, sometimes even forcing me to this moment with him.  He was so wise and so right.  He could see more broadly than I.  My devotion, my respect, my gratitude, my understanding quadrupled in that moment, with those stunning words of amazingly insightful wisdom.  And suddenly everything made sense.  Everything.  Every pain and every struggle from my earliest memory I could instantly and directly connect to the events (forced or otherwise) which led me to RIGHT HERE, directly to HIM. A million individually ugly tiny puzzle pieces of time dropped at once, snapped into place, and created a gorgeous sunrise shimmering with love and happiness.  And I could think of each one and actually FEEL each and every one of them as reasons to be grateful for it all.

I loved his simplicity…adored it even, amidst my confounding and irritating contradictions.  And it was in this moment that I realized his “simplicity” wasn’t so simple after all.  I saw him in an entirely new light of love and blessings. And it was also then that I began to fully realize that this might indeed be real…that perhaps the other shoe was not ever going to kick me in the face after all.  A most beautiful moment…  Or the beginning of the end?

Less than a year later and ironically while singing his praises, my blessings, and this very theory of deserved, “everything happens for a reason” happiness, I cheated. 

Yes………. I cheated.

A newlywed’s conversation

It was 2 days since the wedding.  A simple, beautiful wedding in a tiny white gazebo in the park over-looking the big lake, gorgeous summer day, fresh green grass, and even a few butterflies attended the ceremony. Understated and simple, the bride wore a white sundress and the groom wore khakis and a white linen shirt.  Other than the butterflies, it was attended only by immediate family… The perfect casual summer wedding!

A well-loved and favorite memory of this wedding, for the bride, would always be the groom’s mother hugging her so warmly immediately following the ceremony. She whispered in the newly married girl’s ear,  

I finally have the daughter I’ve always wanted! Thank you! 

As a girl without a mother, this was particularly precious to the bride and made the day even that much more perfect.

The wedding night was not so perfect, but that’s another story altogether.  The couple didn’t go on honeymoon…that was not in the budget and this really didn’t matter much to either of them.

Two days after the wedding, the newly wedded bride is speaking on the phone early in the morning with her mother-in law and discussing various things like the children and the wedding.  God was always a big part of these conversations she had with her husband’s mother too. The bride appreciated this and valued not only having a “mother” at last, but one who could provide such guidance and support on spiritual matters. She felt truly fortunate and blessed!

During the conversation, “Mom” starts explaining that she keeps the picture of her son and his ex-girlfriend up in their living room for the child’s sake because she wants her 5-year-old grandson to have happy memories of his mom and dad together.  Something about this statement feels just a little strange to the bride.  She’s not at all jealous of her husband’s ex girlfriend, after all they had broken up many years earlier, long before she had known him.  So she doesn’t mind the picture staying up, there’s just something that feels a little funny about the conversation when “Mom” says this and she can’t quite put her finger on what exactly it is.  So she smiles into the phone and says, I think that’s a wonderful idea!  Children need to have memories of their mother and father together.  It’s probably a really good idea to do that for <grandson>.

Having shrugged off that weird feeling, the conversation continues as it had and the bride is practically gushing with love, adoration, and gratitude at this great relationship with this Godly woman, who is now actually her “mother”.  Ohhhh so blessed!!

Toward the end of the conversation, “Mom” revisits the photo subject.  She adds,

I really don’t want to take that picture down anyway.  They really looked so great together, you know?  Everyone always said what a beautiful couple they were, but I was always quick to remind the kids that looks aren’t everything.  A relationship can’t be maintained on just looking so perfect together.

The bride says quietly, Yes, I agree.

“Mom” says, Still, no one could ever argue that they sure did make the most beautiful couple!

Not so sure what response is appropriate here and feeling terribly uncomfortable at this moment, the bride decides to end the conversation and go attend to the children.

Thanks so much for talking this morning.  I’m so happy and blessed that I finally have a “mom”!  I love you. Have a beautiful day!

WTF!?!! thoughts (or How on Earth did I get so lucky?)

After some reflection from Wednesday evening’s events, I’ve formulated some thoughts and questions…

1.  On what planet does a married professional woman who gives blow jobs in bar parking lots to men she’s just met feel righteous in judging others as parents or even human beings in general?

2.  A married woman claiming she’s desperate for friendship who sees nothing “all that” wrong in sleeping with her friends’ lover?   And then hanging her friend’s character out to dry, just for good measure? 

What is that? Is that okay?  Do the moral aspects of a person’s character or life even have any bearing at all on these questions?  Do we keep all of this stuff separate while we are wearing our judge’s robe and gossiping through our journalist’s megaphone?  When judging others should it be just about them, where the judge remains beyond reproach? 

Hey, I heard Susie has been cheating on her husband for years!   

Oh really, so have you…

Maybe so, but this is about Susie right now….

How do you sit and reflect in judgment on others’ lives, mistakes, rumors, choices, etc, etc, without your thoughts immediately turning to your own?  I am incapable.  My thoughts automatically go straight to “Oh…I once did that too”  or “Gosh…I’ve done something similar myself”….I do not get to pass Go and collect 200 justifications.  It seems the moment I try on the judge’s robe, my entire life is immediately suspect and under the microscope as well…..  Immediately!   Am I just overly self-aware compared to the typical person?  I’m wondering why so many seem to feel righteous in their judgements against others and I’ve noticed that it’s often the very people whose life choices could truly come into serious question, perhaps in direct defiance of the Ten Commandments, for example…?  I’m not religious in any way and yet it does seem to me that the Ten Commandments are, for the most part, pretty basic rules of morality.  It shouldn’t require a membership or devotion to an organized religion to comprehend them and agree that they are just pretty basic ideas of common decency in general, regardless of any doctrine of faith.  Religious rules are typically up for argument and interpretation….only beyond the basics though in my opinion.  It seems to me though that the majority of people I know who judge the most and often the most unfairly are the very people not living by the basic creed of respect for others and/or humanity, but living their lives in a hedonistic, “whatever is best for me”, however I have to get it type manner.  And these people so often feel justified in sitting around passing judgement on others?  And usually judging the loudest, as though they hope the world will hear and somehow deflect attention on their personal lives and choices?  Or do these people truly have themselves convinced that their behaviors are all excused and/or justified, while every one else’s should be placed under the microscope and broadcasted for the public masses?  I have to argue that this kind of thinking floats around in the box of similarity to sociopathic thinking.  Although I’m not saying all selfish hedonistic types (i.e. ‘MY pleasure, MY best interest at ANY cost is perfectly acceptable’) are sociopaths, but I do see a similar train of thought here. 

I once read a book called The Sociopath Next Door which claimed that one in ten (I believe it was? Or some similar statistic…)people are sociopaths. I thought that statistic was a reach, but in reflection on the depth of denial running amouk and society’s willingness to throw others under the bus so to speak in order to preserve themselves or defend some irrational fear that a defense tactic is needed although there is no attack in progress, or perhaps merely for the fun of it (?), puts me in a place of thought where I can clearly see the one in ten possibility.  Not all sociopaths are on the extreme end of the spectrum, like serial killers for example, but I can see a direct connection to the low-to-no-conscience behaviours of society and the personality traits of a sociopath.

When people spread ugly false rumors about another person, are they doing this because they’re trying to protect someone from harm?  Are they doing it because they really believe the information and feel obligated to society’s ‘right to kow” and a satisfaction in spreading the news?  Are they doing it because they get higher self satisfaction in the (possibility of) mistakes and/or misery of others which they figure as far worse than their own imperfections?  And what of the people who just flat-out lie about others?  Do they actually somehow convince themselves of these lies as truth or do they spread it around, in full realization that they are lying? To me, the first indicates the possibility of a serious mental issue and the second resembles the thought processes of a sociopath…

And how did I become a magnet for these types?  Is it true that birds of a feather flock together and I just can’t (or won’t?) see these traits in myself?  Or is it that these types have excellent radar for  attracting easy targets?  Or a combination of both possibly?

Are these people so sick that they are to be pitied?  There are so very many crimes against humanity far, FAR worse than these, yes I know, which go on every day all over the world.  And I feel nauseated and sick to think of them…but these small little crimes against the spirit are so common and so accepted (or so it seems to me) in my little world that I wonder if it is like this in most people’s lives?  Is this the current “norm”?  Or am I just the lucky one who attracts more than most?

Warning: this post rated “R” for inappropriate language and (possible) violent tendencies

What the FUCK is WRONG with this idiot world???  Is the ENTIRE freaking world on the offense-as-a-defense team?  And how in the HELL did I get on the other team anyway?  Why in the FUCK am I on the “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you”/Golden Fucking Rule Team when every other person in this sick twisted world is on the “Fuck You Before You Even Get The Chance To Fuck Me” team????

I’m hating my kindergarten teacher for ever teaching me the Golden Rule!  I clearly bought into that literally and signed up for that losing team before I had any fucking clue what the hell I was doing or what it takes to come out “ahead” in this world.  When the smart people apparently just took that as advice on how to get a “Kick Me”  bullseye on their back and declined, waiting for a better offer…I was pinning it right on my damned self. And dammit, I can’t switch teams now, it’s too late.  That stupid rule is ingrained into the very fiber of my character…. the bullseye is obviously in permanent tattoo on my forehead as well as the “Kick Me” sign has been sewn into every article of clothing I will ever own…just for good measure.  That way, the Fuck You First team can catch me whether I’m coming OR going….  What the FUCK??????!!!??? 

Yes, I’m having a Michael Douglas Falling Down moment here…I just wish I had the guts and fuck-it attitude he had in that movie as well, then instead of whining about the mean screwed up people in this world, I could actually take revenge and do something about it…  Why am I such a Polly Anna Do Good spineless creature anyway?  I don’t want to be a dolphin anymore dammit…I want to be a vicious SHARK on the offensive Fuck You! team.

Wish I could swear a bit more just for the sake of swearing, but I’m already worrying that my swearing here might have been offensive to some undeserved soul who happens upon my blog today…

I want to spread peace, love and rainbows….but FUCK IT….

….at least for today.

Spring morning and tragedy

After the long dead silence of winter, I love waking up, snug in my bed, to the sound of birds chirping… It sounds like renewal, a fresh slate.  Out with the old, wet, heavy, drudgery of snow and ice and in slides the hint of soft green grass under my naked feet and sunshine that longs to warm my skin.  It’s incredible!

This morning, I wake up just a few glorious moments before my alarm yells at me (and that is one of my favorites by the way…waking up naturally) and I think of the recent tragedy.  It’s ironically the beautiful renewal of spring which brings me to this horrible question…

Why would such a successful, talented young man with a beautiful young family, choose to end his life?  This tragedy weighs heavily on my heart because of my own fights against the tyranny of depression and the weariness that sometimes takes hold, telling me I don’t have  the strength, desire or reason to keep trudging along through this life.  Now, I think of him, where he is now, what created such a tragic degree of sadness in him…….and his family….  What he has left his family with gnaws at my insides like sharp little teeth of would-be guilt for my own indulgence in sometimes thinking of that kind of thing as a solution.

I wish I had known him better, although under the circumstances I can’t imagine that would ever have been appropriate in my society.  Had I known him better, would I have recognized the similar burden of dark thought that we shared, the danger zone we both visited?  Could I have made any difference? Would I have even seen or been able to help, if I had? 

This is the fourth suicide that has touched my life.  This one just hides along the edges, close enough to touch me, yet too far away still to feel any literal responsibility.  Suicide hurts so many, so much more than the actual victim.  Its like a ripple of darkness through an already messed-up world…a ripple of darkness so solid and massive that it trips all who merely know of it, like waking in the night and stumbling over an unseen object that’s not supposed to be there.  And although my own toe feels like I stumbled directly on it even just in my safe perimeter (a subtle throbbing my mind returns to again and again), I can’t possibly imagine how his family feels.

God, please wrap that family in love, compassion, and a massive healing light of  white and an energy of warm, yellow hope.  Please send them the hope of hummingbirds.

I just shot cupid (with JLH)!

Reading JLH’s book, The Day I Shot Cupid, which is an interesting and fairly entertaining book, I came upon this passage:

…because at the end of the day it must be sad to love yourself so little that you’d be willing to become the joke, the cocktail hour topic, or worst of all, the reason someone else will find it difficult to love and trust again.

As I was reading the preamble to the point she was making here, I was on a totally different page as to where she was going with this.  I was riding on a whole other train on that ride.  When I read along and get to the above quoted statement and I stop my train dead in its tracks.  According to DK (yes, in his twisted logic and mouth that can’t stop spewing lies and fantasies of comfortable denial long enough to admit to the weather outside), I (ME!) am, in fact, that girl.  And yet, how can that be fact when he is, in fact, that same person for me…that guy?  And if I stretch beyond myself and presume that in our own little worlds and our own little lives that we are both correct on this matter….what the hell?  I mean, what IS that? 

I’m floundering about lately, trying to figure so much…so much love, so much pain, so much twisted truths and blatant lies, so much WTF’s, so much slander, so much hatefully random mean-ness, so much utter selfishness, so much damage, just…well, so much, so much!  After the last two absolute denials and random mean text spewing in response to my attempt to find peace, closure, and an amicable place to end this nightmare from hell, I finally just snapped.  The first denial of reality(at least the first in awhile, that is), I felt socked in the gut, taken aback, literally a deer in headlights, but then the very next one was just so much more of random senseless garbage that I snapped and lashed out (and lashed out pretty “randomly” if I may say so myself!)…..I atually had a thought where I felt justifiable in thinking that this man has become so inherently cruel and evil-ly twisted that he deserves to die a long, slow, painful death.  I have never, EVER, thought such a horrible thing regarding anyone in all my life! The thought itself shook me to my core.  I felt overwhelmingly guilty. I searched myself for the saturation of love and gratitude that I typically can find for most any human being on the planet, except perhaps the most heinous of the infamous serial killers…  Nope….not there anymore.  I believe every last ounce of optimism, blind faith, and agape that once ruled the lush kingdom of my heart and soul, has been stomped and shredded to a microscopic dust of frustration , hurt, and resentment. Beyond what I’ve ever thought was possible. No, you can’t love hate away for some people.  No, you cannot be so accepting and caring that a horribly damaged person will heal and become beautiful again.  No, you an’t be so unassuming and selfless and take every stab of hurt and bullshit a mean person dishes out and think that this person is one bit more capable of seeing the beauty in the world and in humanity, much less in me.

At this point, the part that is most senseless is thatg I want nothing from him.  I don’t ask for him back.  I don’t chase him.  I don’t try to gain back his love.  My desire in this had become nothing except the bleek hope that he just might not speak terribly of me or think the worst of me forever or spread more lies and hatefully untrue insults to my character.  I guess that in itself is a bit selfish, as it does still mean I was hoping for something from him and I’m not going to feel badly about that because in my world, those things are basic considerations which should be every moderately decent human being’s right on this planet, and maybe even all the others as well.  So, I will not see that basic expectation as truly selfish, but more as me asking to be treated with basic and minimal consideration as a person…..me, asking for the only absolute right that I believe anyone and everyone is truly entitled to merely by their existence as a human being, with all the parts and pieces that make them human. 

Is that too much for him because he hates?  Does he hate?  Or is he as completely apathetic as he poses most of the time lately?  Who knows? I certainly never will.  I lean toward believing the apathetic part, but then what of  the nasty accusation explosion off all that OLD stuff when I requested some closure and expressed my desire to leave it in a good place?  Requested and desired at this point, merely so as to (hopefully) not feel as though either of us have wasted the last 7 years on truly and completely ridiculous nonsense.

Who cares?  Just more mean-ness and hurt added on top of an already existing avalanche of the unthinkable and often unspeakable crimes against my heart and assaults to my spirit…  What damned difference should it make anyway?  It will soon be over…like it or not….over…over…OVER…

And at least now, I can safely know there is an end to the pain being inflicted, even if not the damage done.  This is the glorious positive in this whole last hoop-la of his bitter, hateful, ugly past 5-6 years!  Yay!