I have been in my own special brand of hell for the last nine months,...sinking farther and farther into the bowels of it, swimming in the shit of it, breathing it, eating it,..choking on it each and every damn day.
I don't want to get out
I want to change it
I want work to go back to that happy place I knew, or at least thought I knew, this time last year. Okay,..pull out the magic wand, twirl around, say the happy words,..please
This stress is killing me.
No matter what I am doing, I am haunted by what I am not doing. And no matter how much I do, it isn't enough, ever. I could work every hour of every day for a month and it wouldn't get it all done. And when I'm not working, I feel guilty about not working. This stress is killing me. Literally, I can feel it,..
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Gone
Ordinarily I would be annoyed.
Toys scattered throughout the house.
Pajama bottoms in the toy box
They have been unmoved for over a week now
And I find myself staring at them
Waiting for him to come along and pick one up to play
Long before this I was accused of being too attached
And I'm sure it's true, I am too attached
He is the child of my child
He should not be a part of my everyday
of my every thought
But he is
And now he is gone
That sounds so permanent, so final,..so dramatic
He is only gone from our home
from our lives
stolen away by a mother who hasn't given him more
than a handful of days in the last year
and not many more in the year before that
She doesn't know that he has bad dreams about spiders
or that when he hears my keys he comes racing out to
kiss me goodbye
She doesn't know that he likes to climb into bed with his dad
and snuggle each morning
She only knows that she wanted him back
so she took him
not caring if it hurt him or anyone else
And it did
As a family we are heartbroken
his dad, his grandfather and I
In my dreams I hear him crying for his daddy
I see him rolling on the floor the way he does when he's upset
I can feel him confused and hurting
missing the everything he's ever know
At night I still listen for him
When I'm having coffee in the morning I find
myself waiting for him to come down the hall and
say good morning
He's here, everywhere
and gone all the same
Toys scattered throughout the house.
Pajama bottoms in the toy box
They have been unmoved for over a week now
And I find myself staring at them
Waiting for him to come along and pick one up to play
Long before this I was accused of being too attached
And I'm sure it's true, I am too attached
He is the child of my child
He should not be a part of my everyday
of my every thought
But he is
And now he is gone
That sounds so permanent, so final,..so dramatic
He is only gone from our home
from our lives
stolen away by a mother who hasn't given him more
than a handful of days in the last year
and not many more in the year before that
She doesn't know that he has bad dreams about spiders
or that when he hears my keys he comes racing out to
kiss me goodbye
She doesn't know that he likes to climb into bed with his dad
and snuggle each morning
She only knows that she wanted him back
so she took him
not caring if it hurt him or anyone else
And it did
As a family we are heartbroken
his dad, his grandfather and I
In my dreams I hear him crying for his daddy
I see him rolling on the floor the way he does when he's upset
I can feel him confused and hurting
missing the everything he's ever know
At night I still listen for him
When I'm having coffee in the morning I find
myself waiting for him to come down the hall and
say good morning
He's here, everywhere
and gone all the same
Sunday, June 8, 2014
The stepfather
This is not at all what I expected to be doing today. June 1, 2014. A year too late for birthday wishes. And it's all kinds of f'd up that I think about it every year. But there is a lot that is f'd up about the whole thing,..always has been.
Today I googled a phone number and found an obituary. From time to time I've looked for him online. I've even traded comments with his niece on a family website,..but I've never found him. I guess I could have asked where he was when I was busy commenting on him,..never thought about that.
So, I finally know where he is. In a grave in Safford Arizona. Another search gave me a more recent picture of him. I honestly don't believe I would have recognized him if he had walked right up to me he looked so different. Finally all gray. Grecian must have gone out of business when he gave up the battle.
A thousand pictures run through my mind,..laying on the beach in Mexico,..sunning in the back yard, family and friends hanging on his every word,..laughter. Him and my mom having cocktails and dancing in the living room before the Sorority Club Christmas dance. Christmas,..he spoiled my mother every year and it was fun to watch. He adored her. She adored him. They never ever yelled at each other in front of me. Sounds almost idyllic,..ya,..not so much.
I cant get a handle on all of the things that I am feeling at this juncture. Remembering the good, the bad,..thoughts are ripping through my brain like daggers,..."why is this making you cry?",.."why did you think of calling him in the first place?" "why did you always pretend everything was okay between you when it definitely wasn't?",..."say it"
"Say it",..say it OUT LOUD for God's sake, the man molested you. He knew that the birth father had done it and he did it anyway (or because of it). TWICE! The man tried to blackmail you into sleeping with him when you were only sixteen.
And yet,..I continued to have a relationship with him. I called him Daddy. I told people he was my Dad. I introduced him proudly. Even after they divorced,..I'd call, he'd call. My life would fall apart and he was always the first person I called. Something I did and never understood. It wasn't like I forgot, or even kept it a secret. Twice in major meltdown mode I told the tale to counselors. The second time I even told the counselor it was my Dad who was coming to see me that afternoon. He just looked at me and said something about visiting the subject later,..but I never gave him the chance. Who continues to hang out with the person that violated their childhood in the most hideous way possible? Who continues to have a relationship with someone who swung between being a caring parent to being a monster who thought it was okay to touch me. I've never understood the why of all of that. Never.
After the blackmail fail he never made a pass at me again. We just moved on.
And now, he is dead. Just like the other father, dead. Neither have been a part of my nightmares for a long, long time now. I have been long past the whole thing. Seriously. I have a good, but stressful life, children, a husband who is a good and normal man. I haven't been a victim my whole life (not the whole thing anyway). Not that I'm naive enough to think that that he, or the birth father and their actions had no affect on who I am, or who I have been. I'm sure I could pay someone to attribute all of my current failings with the shadows of my past. But what is the point really? Sure, I beat myself to death with criticism,..and I'm a veritable vat of guilt. My self esteem issues can be directly linked to those moments when I laid quietly staring at the ceiling of some old address, waiting for something horrible and ugly, and painful, to end. I get all of that. I have just refused to be defined by someone else's lunacy. It was a process, not a decision. It was years and years before I could be alone in a bed with anyone without the shadows dancing over me. I had to hate myself for a long time before I learned, at least in part, to love myself. What took me there was loving others and loving them enough to work at being a whole and complete me. I didn't want to look into the eyes of my children and see disappointment.
In a way, I can close that last window still ajar with the issues from the past. I can think of him and know that he is no longer of this world, and that when he met the maker I was one of the things he was called out on. I can stop feeling guilty for not calling him out myself.
Done
Today I googled a phone number and found an obituary. From time to time I've looked for him online. I've even traded comments with his niece on a family website,..but I've never found him. I guess I could have asked where he was when I was busy commenting on him,..never thought about that.
So, I finally know where he is. In a grave in Safford Arizona. Another search gave me a more recent picture of him. I honestly don't believe I would have recognized him if he had walked right up to me he looked so different. Finally all gray. Grecian must have gone out of business when he gave up the battle.
A thousand pictures run through my mind,..laying on the beach in Mexico,..sunning in the back yard, family and friends hanging on his every word,..laughter. Him and my mom having cocktails and dancing in the living room before the Sorority Club Christmas dance. Christmas,..he spoiled my mother every year and it was fun to watch. He adored her. She adored him. They never ever yelled at each other in front of me. Sounds almost idyllic,..ya,..not so much.
I cant get a handle on all of the things that I am feeling at this juncture. Remembering the good, the bad,..thoughts are ripping through my brain like daggers,..."why is this making you cry?",.."why did you think of calling him in the first place?" "why did you always pretend everything was okay between you when it definitely wasn't?",..."say it"
"Say it",..say it OUT LOUD for God's sake, the man molested you. He knew that the birth father had done it and he did it anyway (or because of it). TWICE! The man tried to blackmail you into sleeping with him when you were only sixteen.
And yet,..I continued to have a relationship with him. I called him Daddy. I told people he was my Dad. I introduced him proudly. Even after they divorced,..I'd call, he'd call. My life would fall apart and he was always the first person I called. Something I did and never understood. It wasn't like I forgot, or even kept it a secret. Twice in major meltdown mode I told the tale to counselors. The second time I even told the counselor it was my Dad who was coming to see me that afternoon. He just looked at me and said something about visiting the subject later,..but I never gave him the chance. Who continues to hang out with the person that violated their childhood in the most hideous way possible? Who continues to have a relationship with someone who swung between being a caring parent to being a monster who thought it was okay to touch me. I've never understood the why of all of that. Never.
After the blackmail fail he never made a pass at me again. We just moved on.
And now, he is dead. Just like the other father, dead. Neither have been a part of my nightmares for a long, long time now. I have been long past the whole thing. Seriously. I have a good, but stressful life, children, a husband who is a good and normal man. I haven't been a victim my whole life (not the whole thing anyway). Not that I'm naive enough to think that that he, or the birth father and their actions had no affect on who I am, or who I have been. I'm sure I could pay someone to attribute all of my current failings with the shadows of my past. But what is the point really? Sure, I beat myself to death with criticism,..and I'm a veritable vat of guilt. My self esteem issues can be directly linked to those moments when I laid quietly staring at the ceiling of some old address, waiting for something horrible and ugly, and painful, to end. I get all of that. I have just refused to be defined by someone else's lunacy. It was a process, not a decision. It was years and years before I could be alone in a bed with anyone without the shadows dancing over me. I had to hate myself for a long time before I learned, at least in part, to love myself. What took me there was loving others and loving them enough to work at being a whole and complete me. I didn't want to look into the eyes of my children and see disappointment.
In a way, I can close that last window still ajar with the issues from the past. I can think of him and know that he is no longer of this world, and that when he met the maker I was one of the things he was called out on. I can stop feeling guilty for not calling him out myself.
Done
I know
I've been trying too hard
for too long
to be quiet
the screaming in my brain
is hurting my ears
and the things unsaid
are hurting my heart
The things I want to say
that rattle around in my brain
like unspent coins
were at one time said about me
"Get your head together"
"think about your child"
The reason I don't say anything
is that I know how those words are heard
for too long
to be quiet
the screaming in my brain
is hurting my ears
and the things unsaid
are hurting my heart
The things I want to say
that rattle around in my brain
like unspent coins
were at one time said about me
"Get your head together"
"think about your child"
The reason I don't say anything
is that I know how those words are heard
Friday, January 3, 2014
Desert
There is something consuming about the desert at night.
Not in the back yard, or the edge of town, but miles into the desert, on a dusty, dark road.
Some moonless summer nights in my youth found me there. Smoking pot with friends, sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck, or on the hood of a powder blue Camaro.
Speaking hardly above a whisper,..as if the dark would shatter into a million pieces if you didn't
and looking up into the sky and a million bits of light to think it had happened before.
with a good buzz, a whole bunch of nothing felt like it swallowed me up,.. and left me floating
I think of that sometimes now,..with a good buzz, wishing I could do that again and feel that way.
maybe time travel awhile
maybe after I retire. When I was little I wanted to be a hippy because they always looked so happy. Maybe I will retire and be a hippy and soak up a few moonless summer nights in the desert.
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Not in the back yard, or the edge of town, but miles into the desert, on a dusty, dark road.
Some moonless summer nights in my youth found me there. Smoking pot with friends, sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck, or on the hood of a powder blue Camaro.
Speaking hardly above a whisper,..as if the dark would shatter into a million pieces if you didn't
and looking up into the sky and a million bits of light to think it had happened before.
with a good buzz, a whole bunch of nothing felt like it swallowed me up,.. and left me floating
I think of that sometimes now,..with a good buzz, wishing I could do that again and feel that way.
maybe time travel awhile
maybe after I retire. When I was little I wanted to be a hippy because they always looked so happy. Maybe I will retire and be a hippy and soak up a few moonless summer nights in the desert.
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Friday, September 20, 2013
Sure,..............
Weathering the storm. Again. Too often this life feels like that's all that I do. Weather storms. Head down,..keep going. The latest storm was like one of those summer reports from accuweather,..unstable air,..rising pressure, dark clouds that hover, pour and then blow away only to be followed by more dark clouds that hover, pour and then blow away.
The pain had been coming and going for weeks. Grudgingly he would take some advil and complain, but it got to a point that he decided to go to a dentist. Went to the dentist. The dentist gave him nothing but a laundry list of procedures on eight teeth that totaled 14K. No antibiotics, no pain medication. Just a diagnosis. He came home to consider options, financial and otherwise. With another appointment scheduled for later the next month. And then the storm blew up. The pain grew severe, fever, swelling and then a trip to another dentist that turned into a referral to an oral surgeon that turned into emergency surgery. Two days in ICU and another day and a half in the hospital. Every moment stressful and exhausting.
I brought him home, went for his prescriptions and shopping for food he could eat. He lumbered around the kitchen,..bitching about the shit hole it was,........but finally he took his pain medication and there was a couple of hours of close to normal with him in the bedroom, I thought, sleeping. I went in to check on him and he was in the pain position again. I asked if he wanted some medication, he said he "couldnt take it until tomorrow" (antibiotic, not pain medication) and then told me his stomach was rumbling and he couldnt take anything because of it. I asked if he wanted me to make him something to eat and he said "no you wont".
"No, you wont",....................WTF did that mean? I walked away.
This isnt the first time in this storm that I offered to help him and he rejected it. Other times he asked for something and then criticized or complained about how I had done it. Those times I walked away too. I know he's in pain, I've tried to be patient and understanding. I've bit my tongue over dozens of hateful comments and complaints,..walked away.
Head down,...keep going. Auto response.
The pain had been coming and going for weeks. Grudgingly he would take some advil and complain, but it got to a point that he decided to go to a dentist. Went to the dentist. The dentist gave him nothing but a laundry list of procedures on eight teeth that totaled 14K. No antibiotics, no pain medication. Just a diagnosis. He came home to consider options, financial and otherwise. With another appointment scheduled for later the next month. And then the storm blew up. The pain grew severe, fever, swelling and then a trip to another dentist that turned into a referral to an oral surgeon that turned into emergency surgery. Two days in ICU and another day and a half in the hospital. Every moment stressful and exhausting.
I brought him home, went for his prescriptions and shopping for food he could eat. He lumbered around the kitchen,..bitching about the shit hole it was,........but finally he took his pain medication and there was a couple of hours of close to normal with him in the bedroom, I thought, sleeping. I went in to check on him and he was in the pain position again. I asked if he wanted some medication, he said he "couldnt take it until tomorrow" (antibiotic, not pain medication) and then told me his stomach was rumbling and he couldnt take anything because of it. I asked if he wanted me to make him something to eat and he said "no you wont".
"No, you wont",....................WTF did that mean? I walked away.
This isnt the first time in this storm that I offered to help him and he rejected it. Other times he asked for something and then criticized or complained about how I had done it. Those times I walked away too. I know he's in pain, I've tried to be patient and understanding. I've bit my tongue over dozens of hateful comments and complaints,..walked away.
Head down,...keep going. Auto response.
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