Category Archives: depression

Naming My Desires

Occasionally I’ll mention something about the “old ways.” I refer to the ways of shamans in various societies, but also of laws that existed almost before there was time. For example, I said three times “I renounce thee” in one of my posts, along with the person’s name. In days not so old, a man or woman could divorce his or her spouse by publicly stating that they were doing so while turning around three times. The individual in question was not my spouse, but we were together longer than many marriages. Funny, now, we have been apart almost as long, but that’s another story.

In many old cultures, it was believed that it was possible to speak a thing into existence. Unfortunately, the thing brought into existence by speaking it is usually something malevolent. I choose to believe that it’s possible to bring something good and beautiful into existence by speaking or writing it too. I am sadder than I’ve been since my mother died on February 27. In a way, that’s good because I don’t have the usual protective armor and can allow the pain pour out into what I want and need.

What I Need

  • Shelter that I can count on
  • I need to claw my way out of this crippling depression
  • I need to know that I matter
  • I need to be clear about who my friends are and who they aren’t
  • I need to know who I can count on for what
  • I need to eat occasionally
  • I need to feel safe
  • I need to be important to someone
  • I need money to keep the house functioning
  • I need a home
  • I need to let some of this agony out of me before it tears me to pieces
  • I need to forget
  • I need to be loved
  • I need rest
  • I need help with some of the above

What I Want

  • I want one last love affair that burns so bright it lights the night sky
  • I want happiness
  • I want great monkey-hanging-from-the-chandelier sex
  • I want a partner who understands me
  • I want a partner who can console me even if she doesn’t understand
  • I want to be wrapped safely in her arms and hold her safely in mine
  • I want a chance to pass my knowledge of so many things on to someone else
  • I want someone who can love me just as I am
  • I want someone who doesn’t see me as a liability
  • I want someone who can appreciate me and see me as an asset
  • I want Glenn to burn in hell for what he’s done to me and, I’m sure, to others
  • I want to live my life in beauty, love, grace and forgiveness
  • I want to be a parent, even though I know that won’t happen now
  • I want to cry because my heart is breaking and I’m alone
  • I want to know that I’ve mattered to someone special
  • I want a garden of wild flowers that border a stone patio sitting in the middle of the backyard
  • I want to be a successful publisher
  • I want to be a person who believes other people matter

What I Don’t Want

  • I don’t want to be someone who believes they are entitled just because
  • I don’t want to forget that no one is perfect
  • I don’t want money to be my sole badge of honor
  • I don’t want expensive things to prove to myself and/or others that I’m worth something
  • I don’t want anymore dysfunctional relationships
  • I don’t want to hurt or cause harm to anyone–unless it is to promote change
  • I don’t want to feel so hurt and alone ever again
  • I don’t want to pass love by
  • I don’t want to be sad anymore
  • I don’t want to hurt anymore
  • I don’t want Glenn at all
  • I don’t want to feel like dying
  • I don’t want to see tomorrow
  • I don’t want my girls to suffer

I’m done.

Home Is Who

I woke up this afternoon and, for the first time in weeks, I felt content. For me, “content” is like “happy,” but with a side of “peace.” I think I’ve finally figured out why I haven’t been able to let Glenn go and that, by doing so, I may have tripped the mechanism that will allow letting go. Sorry if that’s a bit circuitous. It is for me as well.

I’m sure most of us have heard the aphorism that home is where they have to take you in. I don’t think that’s accurate, at least for me. The aphorism assumes a place and not a person or people. For me, the place most would consider my home was a very dangerous place for a long time thanks to my mother’s second husband. When I left to go to college, that felt more like home than my house did. Then, I transferred after my freshman year and that school really felt like home, but only if I again assumed “home” was a place.

At some point, totally without any conscious effort on my part, my “home” became a person, Glenn. I look back and want to kick myself for not figuring this out sooner, but I don’t think I had the tools then. If I had, I’m not sure he could have understood. Or, he would have understood and scampered away. Sorry, but the more I look at things over the years, the more I see him running and having to be in control. Anyway, he became my “home” because home really is where the heart is. My heart was with him. He was my very first adult love. Wherever he was, I wanted to be. I was so used to being mistreated that some of the things he did then that were definitely not cool may have pissed me off, but didn’t make me see the clues that something was up with both of us. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I was a victim because I wasn’t. But I was walking into a situation that I should have handled differently. I didn’t because I was usually too afraid he’d walk away. Then, I learned how to handle him. Give him space. Let’s just say that doesn’t work anymore.

In case you haven’t guessed, music is a huge part of my life. We are very much alike in that way . . . and many others. For about the last five months or so, maybe a bit longer, I’ve been really listening to a lot of modern country. There’s a song that’s older now by the Zac Brown Band called “Colder Weather” that I instantly liked. Why? It reminds me of a certain individual who does a whole lot of running from instead of running to.

“Colder Weather”

She’d trade Colorado if he’d take her with him
Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in,
And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay,
She’s answered by the tail lights
Shining through the window pane

[Chorus:]
He said I wanna see you again
But I’m stuck in colder weather
Maybe tomorrow will be better
Can I call you then
She said you’re a ramblin’ man
You ain’t ever gonna change
You gotta gypsy soul to blame
And you were born for leavin’

At a truck stop diner just outside of Lincoln,
The night is black as the coffee he was drinkin’,
And in the waitress’ eyes he sees the same ‘ol light shinin’,
He thinks of Colorado
And the girl he left behind

[Chorus:]
He said I wanna see you again
But I’m stuck in colder weather
Maybe tomorrow will be better
Can I call you then
She said you’re a ramblin’ man
You ain’t ever gonna change
Got a gypsy soul to blame
And you were born for leavin'(born for leavin’)

Well it’s a winding road
When your in the lost and found
You’re a lover I’m a runner
We go ’round ‘n ’round
And I love you but I leave you
I don’t want you but I need you
You know it’s you who calls me back here

Oh I wanna see you again
But I’m stuck in colder weather
Maybe tomorrow will be better
Can I call you then
Cause I’m a ramblin’ man
I ain’t ever gonna change
I gotta gypsy soul to blame
And I was born for leavin’ (born for leavin’)

And when I close my eyes I see you
No matter where I am
I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines
I’m with your ghost again
It’s a shame about the weather
I know soon we’ll be together
And I can’t wait till then
I can’t wait till then

The thing is, I’ve usually found that kind of personality in male musicians, specifically rockers. Glenn is a musician, so I guess that tracks. He is not, however, a rocker. It’s funny, but classical musicians tend to be very stable, sometimes a bit dramatic, but generally stable in a slightly crazy kind of way. Rockers and hip-hop musicians love to party. I prefer the former to the latter, though. I don’t personally know any country musicians, but I’m going to take a wild guess and say they like to drink a lot, perhaps with a little pot thrown in for good measure. Jazz musicians=DRUGS! and R&B/Soul usually means top shelf liquor, pot, maybe a bit of coke, (but that’s up to personal tastes), and they all want sex with someone or another. I do miss that world, but I’ll be back there soon enough, probably with little patience for the bullshit. The older I get, the less patience I have for people who are supposed to be adults but act like children.

What I’ve learned about myself in the last nearly 24 hours is that I can’t rest until I understand the “why” of something. I’ve known that, but I haven’t really known that. Aside from the home angle, the hardest, nearly impossible obstacle to overcome has been getting on without knowing why. Why did he become abusive? I hadn’t said anything at all that would have incited that kind of response. If anything, it was the exact opposite. Why did he think it was OK to pretend to still want and care for me only to turn around and laugh, taunt and humiliate me when I believed him? As I’ve said to him several times, he didn’t put that bottle of pills in my hands and put my hands to my mouth, but he is as responsible for it as I am. His hands are as dirty as mine, if not dirtier because I was only harming myself while he set out to harm me. He pulled the rug right out from under me and I fell into the deepest, darkest of pits. I never got an explanation. That led me to believe he had no conscience and I called him a sociopath. Really, I definitely need to stop putting people in pigeonholes. I don’t fit. Why should anyone else? But this, I must say even years later, just fit given what I knew then and what I know now since he has done nothing to even try to make amends. As I’ve said before, each moment of silence is like hearing him say I don’t matter; my life doesn’t matter; if I’d died, oh well, see ya on the other side. I wish I could say that was an exaggeration, but it’s not. I’ve seen him cop that attitude with others.

I think what hurts most is that I can’t go back in time to save the beauty I loved inside of him. I don’t even know what I’d save him from because I have no idea what happened. I can accept losing him to someone else, although I can’t respect the reasoning; I can hope like hell that he’s happy and that almost losing my life was worth it to him; I can wish him well and try like hell to just go on with my life, even knowing that he’s loving the chaos he’s causing. I can grant him grace, but that’s all I can do. The young man, the adult man and the getting-into-middle-aged man are the stages of his life in which I’ve loved him like I’ve never loved another. He is none of those people now. Mom said that I needed to be patient. I have been. I’ve been more patient than anyone has a right to ask of another. It’s done and I’m very sad. One day, I want to trade that sadness in for liberation. In fully realizing who and what he is now, I feel so much lonelier. I’ve lost my home and my heart is broken. I’ll see the “good” in all of this one day, but it won’t be today. He thinks he’s invincible because he’s got money, a growing business and a family. No one is invincible. Bad things happen to people every day who don’t deserve it. One day, fate will catch up with him. He is no innocent. Nature likes balance. There’s nothing more to say.

Letter to Mom 4/8/2012

Dear Mommy,

I’ve thought and thought about this letter while taking the girls out for their pre-dinner potty break, during their dinner and while taking them out for their post-dinner potty break. There’s so much to say. In fact, if you were alive, I don’t think I’d say any of it for fear of an argument, but I sense you’re at peace now and can listen to me when you couldn’t before. I envy you that. I am anything but peaceful. I ache inside.

I haven’t quite learned how to manage the house yet. That’s mostly because I stay so depressed that I don’t move. I lost an entire day last week. I have no idea where it went or what happened. I just know that I woke up one morning and couldn’t remember what happened the day before or the day before that. I guess it’s fair to say, then, that I lost two days. It was distressing at the time. Now, it’s more like, “Oh. OK.” It’s as though I’ve shut down because I’m in so much pain I’ll overload if I don’t. I guess you know now that I don’t overload because some of the pain goes elsewhere to crop up at some unexpected time, usually very inconveniently. That’s what happened this go ’round with Glenn. He was the last person I wanted to think about, but I also needed the Glenn who was supportive and who cared for me once upon a time.

Mom, I know that even though you never liked him, you knew how much I loved him. I know that you wanted me to marry someone older who would let me be all of who I am. I thought that Glenn, even though he’s only a couple of years older, would be that person. He’s the only man I’ve ever seriously thought about marrying. Otherwise, I’d be perfectly happy to live a nice, quiet, woman-focused life with dogs, adopted grandkids and a lovely wildflower garden where my partner/wife and I could sit and just enjoy the life we’ve made for ourselves. Well, at least after I get the magazine off the ground. I really feel good about that possibility. No, that opportunity. I think I’ve found just the right investigative piece I was looking for. It will help me make a name for the magazine and, at the same time, establish the demo I’m looking for. Sometimes God fools ya and drops things in your lap when you least expect it. But I’ve got to get out of this funk if I ever plan to get started. Is it right to dump the other piece I was working on periodically for this? My gut doesn’t feel right about it, but I can’t see doing them both right now. There’s still too much going on in my head and in my heart.

Right. Glenn. Mommy, what happened to him? What turned that sweet, yet sometimes insensitive, sometimes volatile, man into whatever it is he is now? I want to understand so badly that I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there is anything I can do anymore. I had to start protecting myself. In the shape I’m in, he could finish what was started years ago, only this time, you and I would be reunited in heaven. No more failures. You’re not here to inadvertently save me. If I ended up in ICU again, it would be because I’m about to die and I’m an organ donor. It’s the girls who’ve kept me going. Add in Glenn’s penchant for inflicting non-consensual pain and I wouldn’t survive even with them. My God, Mom, I can’t even begin to fathom the things he’s done. If he didn’t live 500+ miles away, I think I’d be seriously concerned for my safety. As it is, I had to draw the Daddy card on him and may well have to use it. If I think I’m in a nightmare now, that could easily turn into something worse. I called Glenn on all his shit. I should have done so years ago, but didn’t. Maybe I didn’t because then, I didn’t have confirmation of things I knew–those things I can’t even write or else I’d get a knock on the door asking me about cold cases. Even with the family’s help, I don’t think the non-related cops would understand how I just knew some things that were only confirmed last year. You remember, I’m sure, the barber shop I took you to. The barber, whose name shall remain with us, started asking around. He told me what he discovered. He confirmed what I knew and added something I didn’t. It’s what he added that’s my ace should I need it. I only hope the barber has the sense God gave him and keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t know how close he is to more truth that would most assuredly get someone knocking on his door and it may not be the cops.

Mommy, I keep hearing you in my head telling me to be patient with Glenn and that he will come back. Yet, you never say why you know this to be true. I long ago stopped asking how you knew some things. Again, I just learned to accept. You were right too many times like a few other women in our bloodline. There is usually a basis in the old ways and now I get it. Since you’ve been gone, it’s as though your gift has passed itself along to me. I always had it in relatively small quantities, but I feel it getting stronger. Again, it’s just one of those things I accept. “Oh. OK.” What I always found utterly amusing about you is that you accept that you’ve got the sight, but can’t accept that this house has at least one spirit. The girls see it all the time and have for generations. It doesn’t bother me and I don’t bother it. It’s the same way Micki knows there’s a critter out in the back even though I can’t see it. She’s right too many times for me to disregard her. I just have to brace myself in case she decides to go after it. Unfortunately, I don’t know if Glenn fits into the category of “I just know.” It isn’t that way for me, probably because this is the one thing I’m fighting like Muhammad Ali. I can’t be wrong. I can’t hope. Yet, I also can’t deny that I love the man he was before whatever happened to him happened. I know that he was seduced by the Benjamins. I don’t know that he’s happy at home, even though I’m sure he’s fucking that Tilman chick. She’s a yella gal like you and he and Daddy have that in common. In having to re-write this post, I am seeing that they have more than that in common. I hope his daughter was a Daddy’s girl like I was once we finally got together. Anyway, where women were concerned, the lighter the better. It’s sad, really. Very sad. It’s not like he’s all that dark. We were virtually the same shade, although I had more red thanks to Grandmother Clara.

You said that I never considered that Glenn treated me so badly because I was the one who really could threaten his marriage. Maybe. Again, I can’t hope. I hate that he’s crushed that part of me. If he were to come back to me and explain everything, tell me he loved me, he was sorry for hurting me, yada, yada, yada, the only thing I might believe is his explanation for doing what he did. I might believe that he loved me, but he’d have to be extremely convincing. I’m not sure I’d buy it then because we both know abusive men go through a honeymoon period where they apologize, say they won’t abuse you and things are fine until it happens again. It is so hard for me to write or say or think: he is an emotionally abusive man. He wasn’t that way before, but he is now. I wish that I could scream into the night and ask, “Why?!?!?!” Of course, I’ll never know. That hurts a great deal. It’s in my nature to ask questions and not be satisfied until I get an answer that makes sense. I don’t think I ever will with this one.

I think the thing that hurts me most is that he never accepted my disability. I thought he had, but he didn’t. I think I even confronted him about it when we were together. I seem to remember him saying something about being younger then. While that’s true, he obviously took it into consideration when he asked Robin to marry him. What would he have said if I’d asked him to marry me? I wasn’t even thinking about marriage then, but what if I did? He’d probably tell me no and then marry Robin. I don’t like this part of myself, but I wish she would find someone else, decide she didn’t want to be married or just die. It’s the last one I hate. I don’t want her to die. I just want her to go away. I want him to have a chance to be who he wants to be within reason, and find his way back to me. He always felt like home to me. Am I totally pathetic for thinking of him that way? Yes, I am. After everything he’s done to me, it IS pathetic and I’m not sure I care. That’s what this has been about from the start. He’s my home and I can’t break the link. I want to. Mom, you know I’ve tried. This is the first time I’ve admitted it to myself, to you, to anyone. Damn it, I now have to send this to him. I love him and I dislike him all at the same time. He damn near destroyed me thanks in part to Dr. Trouble’s magic pills; I let go for years, only to find him in my mind and heart again, up from the basement where all the deep, dark, bad is kept; I’m pestering him for an explanation that I do richly deserve and have every right to require; he lets me swing in the breeze with nothing, laughing all the while. I deserve better and I know you agree. He’s an incredible disappointment as a human being, much less a potential lover/partner as things are now.

I sent him the lyrics for Lady A’s “Dancin’ Away With My Heart.” It fits so perfectly with the exception of the age. Mom, I have never loved anyone like I loved him and still love some deep, nearly-inaccessible portion of him. He is a part of me and always will be. I can’t lose him even though I  have already. Why did he do this to me? Why did he treat me like garbage? More accurately, why did he do the equivalent of throw garbage at me? I hadn’t done anything to him at all except tell him how I felt. I didn’t know I felt as I did, but it all came flooding back and I made that horrendous tape. He mocked me, embarrassed me, tormented me, shamed me. Tell me, please, why do I still love him? I keep thinking that was an anomaly, but he hasn’t had the guts to face me since. What does that say about him? What does that say about me? I deserve better. I know I do. But I also know that there’s something I’m missing. He’s behaving like a sociopath with narcissistic tendencies. Granted, they don’t have to go together, but they often do. I wish I had a DSM. I think it would help me understand what’s up with him and what is going on with me.  Am I experiencing something like battered wife syndrome even without the paper between us? Am I experiencing some sort of PTSD?

It’s nearly two and a half hours into Easter. I tried to save as many flowers from the sprays as I could. I don’t know if any of them will bloom again. I should be grateful for having them as long as I did. I think that’s what Mandy was trying to say to me: At least I had a mother for nearly 50 years; she didn’t and that’s affected her. Anyway, many lasted nearly a month. As I watch them die, no matter what steps I take to make them last, they eventually give way to what is termed the “natural order of things.” I miss you, Mom. The natural order took place, but gives me no comfort. This is a rite of passage. I remember how cold your beautiful hands were the last time I touched them. I still can’t believe you’re gone. You looked like you were asleep. Now, I think I’m glad that you wanted to be cremated. I don’t think I could bear thinking of you in the cold ground. I do feel your spirit around me. It’s why I can write to you now when I couldn’t talk to you before. I just wish you were here to hold me while still being at peace. I don’t think you had much peace in your life. I am sorry for anything I did that caused you to have more aggravation than you deserved. I love you. I forgive you. I want you to rest in peace now, but feel free to come back when you feel the urge. Like I said, I miss you.

Love always,

OnX

Metamorphosis

Dear Glenn,

I’m writing this letter publicly, but you’ll more than likely receive a version privately as well. The readership here is much lower than my other blog, so the danger of someone either of us knows finding this blog is nearly non-existent unless they’re searching for you. If so, frankly, I just don’t care anymore. I’m sorry, but I just don’t. I’m tired of caring about someone who couldn’t give a damn about me.

These last few weeks have been filled with sadness, then action brought about by practicality, then sadness again. In other words, it’s been a rollercoaster between Mom’s death; my realization that we really are over; the pain I feel because I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to her; and the pain and anger that I feel toward you, often at the same time. I’m all over the place and I want it to stop. Now I understand why those who deal with grief regularly tell people not to make any major decisions for at least a year. If only I had that luxury! I don’t. I’ve got to deal with all of this myself, even though I do have a brother, as I believe I pointed out to you in a letter. John is Daddy’s son and Mom made sure that I didn’t know him that well. I think of all the crap she had floating around in her head about my father and realize it’s a minor miracle that I basically said, “Screw you! I’m going to call my father and learn who he is for myself.” After that, she was helpless and jealous. Indeed, I’d say very jealous because Daddy was my best friend and she wasn’t. He was so ashamed of John that I only met him when our father lay dying in a hospital bed. We’d talk about him if I asked, but Daddy never brought him up. The reason he was ashamed was because he got another woman pregnant while he was engaged to my mother. Knowing her, she made his life hell because of it.

I didn’t write to talk about John. I wrote to talk about you and about me.

There is a part of me that is in so much pain I can barely breathe because of what you did to me and what you continue doing by not explaining yourself and sadistically keeping me twisting in the wind. I know you’re a narcissist and that you’re getting off on all of this the same way you got off on sharing my honest, loving feelings toward you with someone else and laughing about them later. I have braved major depressive episodes, suicide too many times for me to count and bouts of mania. A lot of it somewhere between helped and caused by you, with an emphasis on the “caused” sided. However, at no time did I purposely set out to cause damage or even hurt to anyone other than myself. You have. Not only have you set out to cause damage and pain, but you also set out to humiliate, trample, emotionally abuse and generally bully me all because you could. And you could do so only because I loved the person I once knew, assumed he was still there and, therefore, let him in. I already know what that makes me. What does that make you? I wrote a letter to you with the Subject “blame it on lady antebellum.” I briefly told you about the song, but that’s it. Here are the words.

Dancin’ Away With My Heart

I finally asked you to dance on the last slow song
Beneath that moon that was really a disco ball
I can still feel my head on your shoulder
And hoping that song would never be over

I haven’t seen you in ages
Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are
For me you’ll always be eighteen and beautiful
And dancing away with my heart

I brushed your curls back so I could see your eyes
And the way you moved me was like you were reading my mind
I can still feel you lean in to kiss me
I can’t help but wonder if you ever miss me

I haven’t seen you in ages
Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are

For me you’ll always be eighteen and beautiful
And dancing away with my heart

You headed off to college at the end of that summer
And we lost touch
I guess I didn’t realize even at the moment we lost so much

I haven’t seen you in ages
Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are
For me you’ll always be eighteen and beautiful
And dancing away with my heart

Nah nah nah nah (x3)

Away with my heart

Nah nah nah nah (x3)

Here’s the video if you’ve never seen/heard it.

For me, you’ll always be the adult man who hadn’t turned into a narcissist yet. You didn’t feel a need to get off by non-consensually hurting people, me especially. Still, I should have seen this coming. I didn’t because I was blinded by love, to use an old cliche. The fact that we couldn’t stay away from each other even after your marriage should have told me that you thought you were above the rules instead of telling me that you still cared very much for me.

Look, you married Robin because you loved her. I understand that. However, there was more. You needed an image, which meant that you had to have someone worthy of fucking on your arm. While you may have been attracted to me, and you knew that other men would be attracted to me, there would always be that segment who’d say that I was too fat or why be with a cripple when you could be with that chick over yonder who has everything you want or at least should want? Pretty soon, I would make you look weak because you’d bow to the shallowness of the industry you wanted into in a bad, bad way. So, just as you cheated on Robin, you’d cheat on me. The difference would be that as long as I could do what I wanted with whom, I wouldn’t have stopped you from hanging out with whoever you wanted as long as you didn’t bring anything unwanted into our home. You see, there were certain rules of the game you never understood. Seeing more than one person and loving them both was very possible. I loved you for life, but I also loved another man nearly as deeply. In the end, we exhausted each other and we each went our own way. That happened in part while you were still part of my life, but mostly when you saw fit to leave me alone for two years and then called because you wanted phone sex. That, in and of itself, was crass and insensitive as hell. I wasn’t your personal phone whore.

So, we have Robin as an able-bodied, fuckable woman who made other men envious of you and other women envious of her. Personally, she’s not my type, but that’s just me. Oh, don’t get me wrong, her body was fine. She was just a snooty little bitch who was into playing games. Both of you were into the great mindfuck and I wasn’t and never will be unless I absolutely can’t stand a person and then the gloves come off. There was no reason for me to feel that way toward her. She was simply a fact of life.

The thing that really sealed the deal was cold, hard, cash, baby. I realize that when she began practicing as an attending, salaries were lower to reflect the economy. However, today, she’d make about $250,000 to a little over $300,000 a year. She could afford to buy you any toy you desired to get you started. I don’t doubt that you added to the pot and that you raised the one daughter that I know about. That, alone, saved a ton of money. I just wonder what you’d say and do if someone treated the little girl you’d raised to adulthood the way you’d treated me. In all probability, you’d tell her to dump that bastard because she doesn’t need him. And you’d be right. I don’t need you. In fact, I don’t even want you–finally. But back to the Lincolns.

There’s no way in hell a lawyer, no matter the firm, would ever make that much money. Sure, it was very possible if I made partner in eight years or so. But that’s five years AFTER Robin would have become an attending. Remember, when you decided to marry Robin, I hadn’t come down with fibromyalgia yet. The fibro only made your gut instinct about me having continued physical problems right on the money. No pun intended, but fits nonetheless. Robin was healthy and showed no signs of being otherwise. I was, as you said, “cute,” but depending on one’s taste, a yella gal will always beat a latté with people into intraracial colorism as so many of us are. In other words, Robin would pass the paper bag test while I might pass, depending on the bag’s manufacturer. Since Mom was a yella gal herself, it didn’t make any damn difference to me. I thought all of you were laughable for even thinking about something so petty and felt awful for dark-skinned women for the slings and arrows thrown at them because they were very beautifully dark chocolate.

When all is said and done, based on your perception of appearance; your discomfort with my disability that might put me in a wheelchair one day and, therefore, unable to in any way help your image, and; Robin’s money tree to help get you set up with the right equipment and other perks that go with being the husband of an anesthesiologist meant I was never really in the running to be your wife. It didn’t matter how much I loved you; what I’d do for you; that I was really opening up to you in ways I never had before because I was feeling a whole lot more secure than I’d ever felt, and; that we’d had a long history that began only six months after you and Robin got together. No matter what I did, I was never truly in the running. It is only now, in writing this letter, that I am beginning to see how used I was and how shallow, cruel and narcissistic you are. It has taken me all these many years to work everything out. I kept thinking that there was something inherently wrong with me and there wasn’t. The only thing “wrong” with me is that I had blinders on where you were concerned. Oh, yeah, I could see a lot of your faults, it’s true. I just didn’t see one of them as being a bigot more concerned with the way his armpiece looked than who she was and how much money she would bring home. Actually, I’d already suspected the difficulty you had with my disability because of the first time we had wild, monkey sex. You may not remember, but I do. You asked me to keep my prosthesis on even though it was very uncomfortable for me. I forgave and overlooked. That’s more than you’ve done for me in all these years. I can do so no more.

In the extremely unlikely chance you don’t get the reference below, (you are, afterall, the only living male I know who’s at least as intelligent as I am), 17 years. Think of the old ways.

Glenn , I renounce thee.
Glenn , I renounce thee.
Glenn , I renounce thee as the selfish, shallow, cruel, materialistic, narcissist you are.

May God forgive you. I doubt that I can. Oh, I’ll still love the person I knew, or thought I knew, but that person isn’t you. Perhaps it never was. And, as I previously wrote privately, in case you get any goofy ideas about harming a hair on my head or anywhere else on my body, or harming those I love, you won’t make it back to New Jersey one way or another. And if you do, you’ve committed a federal crime. I told you about who Daddy was and that some young gang banger looking to earn his stripes wouldn’t mind bragging about protecting his daughter even though Daddy is actually sitting on my dresser. I’ve told you about the family’s heavy background in law enforcement as judges, prosecutors and defense attorneys, not to mention a boatload of cops both retired and active duty. Hence, think at least ten times and if you still can’t see how dumb it would be to come after me if only for your family’s sake, I’ve got enough to make the cops look your way first. I hate this entire mess, but it’s one we both caused. But, as I said, I never set out to hurt, harm, damage, humiliate or cruelly play with anyone. You did and you will deserve anything fate dishes out.

OnX

Edited to change: added the redactions because there is at least one innocent; explained the renunciation in the off chance you didn’t get it, and; to say that this way is better for all concerned. You stupid, stupid, man. However, I stand by what I wrote 100%. The whole sorry business didn’t have to be, but I’m done feeling love or sympathy for you. You’ve made your bed.

What Is It With Men?

Let me start by saying that I am depressed. I was already depressed before my mother died (I can’t believe I used the word), but it’s been so much worse since. I’ve been in something of a fog for over a month. Most days, I don’t want to get out of bed. The only reason I do is the girls, my blessed furbabies. I remember that I am all they have and I love them so much. Without them, I probably would have said “Screw this! I want to get out of this soul-sucking life.” It’s as if the pain has no end and I don’t want to stay in the dark anymore. I am so, so tired, even though I can sleep 13 hours at a time. Part of that is the fibromyalgia, but most of it is stress and depression. I probably need to increase the dosage of Elavil I’m on to 75mg/day. I only dropped down to 50mg/day because my mother hated it when I slept all day, even though it was temporary until my body got used to the increase. Now, she’s gone. As long as the girls are cared for, I can sleep. But after seeing their little faces, I can’t leave them in crates all day while I sleep. If Micki would just not counter-surf on my dresser or go into my laundry to find whatever treasures it may contain, I could just let them out. Snippet would get on the bed, Micki would counter- and laundry-surf before getting on the bed and all would be well. The only problem would be that both Mick’s and Snippet’s claws are in dire need of trimming. I can see them tearing up my sheets.

I’m not sure what I want. It seems that there are men out there who want to fuck me. I wrote about the neighbor last night. He’s married and there’s no way I’m going to be with him–ever. He’s not my type at all. He’s not bad to look at, but I don’t like the way he wants money for everything. He doesn’t do anything without expecting money in return. That’s not to say he doesn’t care, because he does. He just also cares about how much he can get for things a good neighbor would do because he’s a good neighbor. Plus, I honestly like his wife. I don’t want to hurt her. I also don’t want to be in a situation where I have to shut this guy down. That would create a serious PTSD attack. I’m freaked just thinking about it. What if what I say doesn’t matter? I know he’s got a record, but I’ve never plunked down the bucks to find out what he was in prison for. Maybe it’s time I did. For all I know, he could be a sex offender. God, I don’t think I could go through with that again. I’d be trapped, though. I have to survive because of the girls.

I went to my favorite music store to see my favorite, totally too-cute-for-words musician/salesman, Corey. Now him, I’d like to more than fuck. He reminds me of someone I saw while at Kent named Morgan. For some reason, I can’t remember Morgan’s last name. Oh well. What I do remember is his wild, flaming red hair. My musician/salesman has a darker shade of red hair, but it is most definitely red. I am such a sucker for wild, red-headed music types. Where Morgan was a roadie and general all-around stage hand. Corey is a real musician who, from what I’ve gathered from others, has serious guitar chops. He’s less than half my age and I don’t even care.

Anyway, I went into the store and tried to find a book that would help me with scales and chords because that’s the best way to train my ear so that I don’t need a keyboard in order to bang out a melody. I waited and waited, learned that he was on a conference call; waited some more while he went to lunch with no idea that I was even there. I waited for an hour, not realizing he’d come back until I heard him paged, finally caught his eye and finding the kind of book I needed, sauntered over to see him and wait until he finished with a customer, then waited some more after he was paged again and just gave up. I asked the sole woman who seemed to work there to ring me out, handed her a business card and asked that she pass it to Corey and I left. I’d been there about two hours. That just looked bad for both me and for him. I think I did the right thing. It wasn’t his fault that I waited so long. He would have talked to me but I told him that money always came before socializing. *shrug* That’s just the way it is. I didn’t want him to lose money because of me. So, I left. I called the store later, but he’d left for the day.

I went from the music store to Burger King. The only reason I did was because I had to use the restroom. I also needed to eat something because I felt too dizzy to stand up. I got my food and sat down to eat, something I almost never do in fast food restaurants. There was a not-too-bad looking older man there with a thick accent. He asked what happened to my leg. I gave him the short version, no pun intended. I told him that I was born with something wrong with my leg. I didn’t feel like going into the entire story because, in fact, it was none of his business. But, since he was clearly an elderly gentleman, I cut him some slack. Somehow, we started up a conversation. I think he was talking about the weather and Mother Nature. As I listened to him, I realized that he was a very interesting man. He’d almost be the kind of man Mommy wanted for me: self-sufficient; totally into me, and; basically gave me whatever I wanted. I could see myself as his lover. He made it very clear that he wanted to be, but that he thought I should lose weight. *sigh* If it’s not one thing it’s another. Why won’t someone just care for me as I am? For Glenn, it was my disability. For God only knows how many others, it’s my weight. If they only knew how little I truly do eat, they’d be astonished. Maybe weight loss isn’t as simple as 1, 2, 3. My weight didn’t stop him from feeling me up which, probably because I felt so much like crap, I took some satisfaction in knowing at least someone appreciated my boobs. A good bra is priceless. One of these days, I’ll wear my white shell over one of the good bras and show some cleavage if Corey doesn’t get it yet.

I’m going to sleep. I still feel like crap, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t think time will heal these wounds. There’s too much loss, too much grief and too much loneliness. I’d say that I feel pathetic, but that would BE pathetic.

I’m Not There Yet

I’m listening to Taylor Swift’s Last Kiss. Although it’s about losing a lover, something I’ve done all too frequently, the premise of loss is ever-present in my life and in this house. We’ve lost so much over too short a time. Oddly, the girls seem totally OK about Poppy’s absence. I didn’t see that one coming! Still, every night for the last two or three nights/days I’ve had dreams where I was happy and content because I knew my mother was still alive. I kept that feeling even after waking up, if only for a minute or two. I cried out for her, as I often did, to get our resident pee-pot, Snippet. In all fairness to the little snip, she came here with a bad bladder infection that wasn’t helped at all by two rounds of antibiotics. Plus, being used to larger dogs, we didn’t stop to consider that little dogs have little bladders. The upshot of it all is that Mom was doing LOTS of puppy laundry. Now, it’s up to me. Thankfully, the cranberry pills we’d started giving her over a month ago and stopped about the week Mom died, seem to have worked. Now, watch. I’ll bet she pees tonight or tomorrow morning before I can get her out.

This house feels so empty. I keep wondering if my prescient thought as a teen had anything to do with Mom’s death. I knew when I was a teenager that I wouldn’t be able to live my life until my mother died. I didn’t want her to die at all. It’s just something that I knew to be the truth. I feel so guilty about thinking that way. Unfortunately, it’s the truth, as much as I wish it wasn’t. It’s as though God took my mother so I could be free. I’d been putting off my application to the grad program in Journalism at Kent State because I just didn’t like the way my mother was getting around. More accurately, not getting around. I was so worried that something would happen to her and I’d be an hour away, unable to do anything. If she’d had an aortic dissection while I was in Kent, I don’t think I would have been able to cope. In my eyes, it would be my fault. Mom kept telling me to go and do this and gave me a lot of encouragement, not wanting me to worry about her But if I didn’t worry about her, who would? Her brothers are all wrapped up in their own drama. Her oldest brother is married to a toxic waste dump of a woman. Actually, I think I called her a puta, not that she’ll ever know what language that’s in to look it up. No matter, she is what she is and my uncle married her, so she’s his problem until she makes herself mine.

It’s been a few days over a month since Mom died. I feel like it was yesterday. It’s taking me forever to do the simplest things. I need to get the VIN # for the van I drive and add another checking account # to the list of things the attorney needs to open an estate. It would take less than five minutes to do, but it feels as though it will take five hours. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately. I don’t know whether it’s because of the coming sinus infection or depression. Perhaps it’s a little of both. How can I feel so empty and so full at the same time? I feel very alone in the world, although I know I’m not, at least not completely. But it’s true that once the funeral or memorial service ends, the survivors are on their own. That pretty much describes me. It’s just three girls and me. If anything were to happen to one of them, I think I’d die right there. I pray each time I go anywhere that God will keep me safe so that I can come back to my girls. I’m all they have. Frankly, I don’t think they or what’s left of the family can support another loss. Since darn near everyone in the family from sea to shining sea knows me, I think I’d be missed a bit.

There was someone else in my dreams recently. Robin. God, I can barely type her name. She hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s just that I think back to that day when we were all at Oberlin. She walked past the car or van or whatever and I stared at her and then decided to speak. All I did was say “Hello.” She said “Hello” in response. That’s been the sum of our conversations. It’s been over 25 years and I still can’t accept that he chose her instead of me. I have to do it. The person with whom I fell in love does not exist anymore. What’s left is a horrible shell of that person’s basest being. How long am I going to mourn him? I don’t know. How long does love last? I will always be in love with the person who was and I can’t bring him back any more than I can bring my mother back to life. It’s strange that Mom would tell me that we’d find our way back to each other. Maybe she said it to make me feel better, but that’s not her style. Platitudes were her style. Spoken premonitions, especially about a man she could barely stand, were not. The funny thing is that I think he doesn’t want me around because I do jeopardize his marriage. Maybe that’s why he did what he did. Or, more probably, he can’t stand me, or is at least telling himself that.

The two people I love most in the world don’t love me. Mandy could call me from where ever she is, but she hasn’t even bothered to check in with me to find out how I’m doing. Whose fault is that? Both of us have played a part in this mess. I never should have told her. She’s distancing herself and I can understand. I lost one of my best friends because I was afraid of losing her without her knowing how I felt. Was it really that important? I’ll never know. Glenn won’t call for reasons I don’t understand. As I’ve said before, there’s more going on here than I realize. I can feel it. Still, I’m going to have to accept that he’s married to someone else and has been for a very long time now. There was a time when I wished her ill. I don’t anymore. I don’t because she doesn’t deserve it. If anyone in that family deserves something horrible, it’s Glenn himself. But I don’t want anything to happen to him either. When all is said and done, neither of them should be part of my life. I think I’m going to write to Mandy. It’s time someone called this game due to bad timing.

Oh, I didn’t feel like eating again today. My stomach hurts and generally doesn’t feel well. But the real reason for not eating is just that I didn’t want to.

I forgot to add that Clayton the neighbor is getting freaky. He ran his hand across my cheek from behind and it repulsed me. I pretended that it didn’t happen, but I fear that I’m going to have to set him straight soon. I don’t relish that conversation because I really do need a male around to help me out. I just don’t want to sleep with him in order to get what I want. That’s especially true since I don’t want to do anything that would hurt Sharon. She’s a good person.

The Unabridged, Unadulterated, Ugliness of Truth and Life

I can feel some psychological pathologies coming back because of the excruciating, unrelenting pain I’m facing with each minute of the day. Although I’m overweight, I have been a borderline anorexic for many years. Whenever I get depressed I refuse to eat. It’s the one thing that I can do to myself by myself other than the obvious, cutting. Yes, it’s a control issue. I am absolutely terrified that I will end up in a hospital within a few days to a week because I’ll momentarily lose control or I’ll be so distracted that I’ll have an accident. I’d bet on the former more than the latter. Right now, I want to lay in a fetal position and just fade into nothingness. If it weren’t for my girls, I would have ended this hell days ago.

My mother did everything she could to come back to me. I watched the hospital personnel working on her and I am so deeply grateful to them. If there was anywhere in the world she could have been saved, it was Cleveland Clinic. She died within less than an hour of collapsing, but not because they didn’t try. Funny, I immediately knew who they were working on even though I couldn’t see into the room because of all of the people. Now, she’s in an urn in a cabinet as I hope her spirit roams free to learn all that it can before coming back again.

Glenn is a completely different story. There was no closure at all. I’m not sure there ever will be. I am haunted by it, hounded by it and can’t cope without it.

Glenn’s silence makes me feel ugly. I feel as though I’m as big as a house–a fat Miss Frankenstein that he can’t stand to look or talk to. For him, I’m nothing. I am as insignificant as an ant in the street. There’s an argument going on in my head that says he’s an ass and that I’m so much more than either he or I believe myself to be. I admit to being obsessed with learning why he did what he did. I strongly believe he owes me at least that much. But he’s male and males do the dumbest things on earth and call it “funny.” His “fun” nearly cost me my life. I’m not sure he gives a damn. I sent word and asked him to phone. He hasn’t. All the speculation in the world won’t give me an answer that will be satisfying. I wonder how he lives with himself. I could never do to someone what he did to me. Most people couldn’t do it. That level of cruelty is characteristic of bullies. When did that happen? Why did that happen? Was I right all those years ago when I called him a sociopath? I know that some are made and some are born. He’s always had a fairly hostile relationship with his mother and his father seemed to be a much nicer (non-pedophile) version of my mother’s second husband in that he’d immerse himself in the newspaper to keep from dealing with whatever was going on around him, like his wife.

I wear an artificial leg on the right side. I am what’s called in the UK a “thalidomider.” My mother took the drug thalidomide in 1961 when she was pregnant with me. It wasn’t approved by the FDA because there were a large number of babies born with major birth defects both externally and internally. Many didn’t live at all. It’s killing me, but what if Glenn made the decision to marry that woman, Robin, because she was whole? This isn’t a new idea, but has popped up very strongly this moment. I can’t argue with him for it. She was a med school graduate when they married and I’d just learned that I had fibromyalgia and would never work a consistent 9 to 5 again. I’ll work again, but it will be on my own terms.

I started this post very early this morning. I stopped at the above paragraph and did what I said I wouldn’t do again and that’s write him another letter. I got a lot out, but I just want to stop chasing him and be discarded at every turn. I feel pathetic because I need and want him in my life. I’ve got this incredibly strong feeling with no basis at all that there’s something else going on that I know nothing about. Whatever the case, I can’t make him say anything. If he did say something, would it be kind and compassionate or will it be emotionally abusive? If I have to ask that question, what am I doing trying to find the beautiful man he’d become instead of a twisted, narcissistic hot emotional mess of a man? I just keep hoping that some portion of decency is left in him. And if it’s that hard to find, is he really worth it? If I had a friend in this situation, I’d counsel her to seriously re-think whether she wants to be an emotional and, possibly, physical punching bag.

I don’t need anyone who, for whatever reason, makes me feel like I’m worthless. The grief I feel is so damn powerful and it’s fucking with my brain in ways that I’d never expect. I don’t understand why this is happening? I don’t understand what I’m doing? I know that I really want to take a razor blade and start cutting again. I haven’t done that in years, but it’s as though the words I’m typing aren’t enough. I feel like I’m screaming and no one hears. I have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow. Maybe she can help me figure out why I feel so utterly hopeless, helpless and worthless. When will this hellish nightmare end?

Aside

This post was originally written March 20, 2012. I’ve been up all night, probably because I don’t want to face sleeping. It’s not the sleeping that’s the problem. It’s the twilight state just before falling asleep that reminds me how … Continue reading

Letting Go

The first words that come to mind are from the iconic Nat King Cole song “Nature Boy” with words and music written by Eden Ahbez.

There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy
And sad of eye
But very wise
Was he

And then one day
A magic day he came my way
And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings
This he said to me
“The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return”

(instrumental interlude)

“The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return”

There’s another lyric floating in my head. It’s one I’m writing so that I have someplace to put the feelings I have inside. Otherwise, I genuinely fear I’ll go mad with grief. A little background is in order.

As some of you may know, I lost my mother late last month. I don’t care what a child’s relationship is with his or her mother, the wound it leaves is devastating. Reading some of the information available online, I’m finding that it’s not my imagination or some pathology that’s making this loss so much more difficult than losing my father in 1987. Women have a special relationship with their mothers that cannot be replicated. We may utterly adore our fathers, but it’s the mothers who nurture us and understand us because they were us. I know that I’m still in the early stages of grief and I’m told my ability to handle it and/or get used to it will get better over time. It must, because everyone loses their parents and they don’t go barking mad. That is, unless the losses keep piling up.

My brain works differently than other people’s. It’s something I’ve had to accept and live with. Sunday, it finally truly hit me that the man I’ve loved for nearly all my life, Glenn, is gone. We met during my freshman year in undergrad. I saw him and wanted him BAD. And he wanted me, but was involved with someone else at the time, too. Actually, I’d say several someone elses. Eventually, after what seemed an eternity and a transfer from one school to another, I finally landed him. We carried on for 17 years, even through the early portion of his marriage to the woman I definitely knew he was involved with my freshman year, one of us going to or leaving from New Jersey to Ohio. Occasionally, if I was traveling on the East Coast, we’d meet up wherever I was. Since his wife was a doctor and they didn’t have children then, it wasn’t a big deal for him to take a drive. He was my first truly adult love and I loved him like I’ve never loved any other man. He was the only man for me. He still would be if he existed, but he doesn’t.

The rest of the story would fill a lot of bandwidth, but it’s safe to say that we each made huge mistakes. His was leaving me alone for two years and then calling because he wanted phone sex. Mine was in telling him while fuming at the gall of his request that I was no longer sleeping with men. Then, I had a nightmare of a reaction to a drug my psychiatrist had me on that obliterated both my inhibitions and my internal EDIT button. I’d wanted to talk to him ever since he hung up on me when I told him I was only sleeping with women and identified as a lesbian. In truth, had we talked about it even just a little, for him, I would have made an exception. He was the man with whom I was so utterly in love, even though I was pissed as hell with him. So, I tracked him down, which was fairly easy to do. I checked out his property and where he lived via a few paid search sites with public records. Then, I called him at work.

He decided, for reasons I’ll never know nor understand, to play an incredibly cruel and humiliating trick on me. He pretended to be interested in possibly getting back together. This evolved over several phone and chat conversations. Then, after I sent this really honest, though really corny, video to him, I didn’t hear from him. I caught him online a few days afterwards and asked if he liked the video. (Even I didn’t like the video because it was far too corny for words.) He said no. He went on to mock me, tell me that I’d fallen for a lie, tell me to give it up, to move on, he didn’t want to hear from me again, blah, blah, blah. I tried to get answers for why he’d done such a horrible thing for nearly a year. I don’t remember the sequence, but his response was usually no response. Actually, I thought he’d blocked my e-mail but continued writing because I really needed to talk with him, even if it was a conversation that took place in my head.

The last time I actually talked to him, he threatened to have someone beat me up, I think sexually assault me and kill me if I came near him or his family. In my precarious mental state, he broke me. And I do mean that literally. I tried to commit suicide even though I’d found evidence that the drug I was given went a very long way in determining my actions not just toward him but everyone I encountered. I was in ICU for four days and a mental ward for an additional three-day hold. The psychiatrist who saw me in the hospital knew that the drug I was taking could have really horrible side effects, thank God. He was perfectly happy to let me go because I wasn’t a danger to myself or anyone else. I was, nevertheless, furious with Glenn.

I am supposed to be dead, but I’m not. I took enough meds to be dead, but I’m not. They were in my system long enough for me to be dead, but I’m not. Why?? I honestly don’t know. Sunday was the first time in all the years in between then and now that I’ve seriously thought about what it would be like to make the pain stop. The reason I haven’t is because there are three lives (actually four since I couldn’t go through with Poppy’s euthanasia Saturday) depending on me. Yes, my grief may well drive me mad, but I have to hold on to enough reality to make sure they are cared for.

Sunday carried with it something else: the realization that Glenn is really and truly gone. That realization alone would overwhelm me, even after so many years. Now, I’m trying to deal with two losses, either of which would devastate me, but together have me seriously wondering whether I can absorb this much emotional pain. The Glenn I met as a young man and watched grow into a fully adult man, doesn’t exist anymore. He wouldn’t do something to me that was humiliating and cruel, (although I do remember him totally ignoring me while in the campus club one night when his current wife/then-whateverthefuck was there). I have also surmised that he did so in front of an audience of at least one other person. What does that make him? Well, it isn’t the Glenn I knew. I wish on everything precious to me that I could have the man I loved and adored back in my life, but clearly, for whatever reason, this one hates me. I, on the other hand, will always love the one I knew, even though I knew then that he could go on to a really dark and hostile place or be a loving, caring, sweet person. It was the latter that I knew, loved and believed in.

Hmph! Well, I guess I ended up telling the whole story anyway. Basically, I’m dealing with a great deal of loss and it’s going to get worse. I’m hanging on by my fingernails as it is. I’m hoping and doing a lot of praying that I can make it through. Monday, I have to go into my mother’s bedroom and start searching yet again for insurance policies as well as some other things.

I wrote the lyrics to a melody as yet to be written. In fact, I only have a very vague melody in my mind. However, that does not mean these lyrics can be used without my permission. They can’t–unless you want a lawyer on your ass that will sue you for everything you’ve got. They will be registered in the U.S. Copyright Office ASAP.

You Never Taught Me to Let Go

I’ve loved you for life
I’ve loved you for a lifetime
My heart was full and eyes were bright
Cuz you’d taught me to love right

I loved you when I hated you
I loved you when you hated me
I loved you so completely
So unconditionally.

Then one day you were gone
Leavin’ me wond’ring what went wrong
You were gone so fast, no time to ask
How I’m s’pose to let you go.

You never taught me to let go.
You never taught me to let go.

There I was alone
Left wand’ring in the cold
My heart so filled with love it burst
Leaving me broken, bent and bowed.

You never taught me to let go.
You never taught me to let go.

Lord, please, God in heaven
I don’t know what to do
The pain inside dropped me to this ground
And now I’m begging you.

Lord, please, please,
Please tell me how
To endure the ache inside
I’ve tried so hard to help myself
But break a lil’ more each time.

Please, God teach me to let go.
I don’t know how to let love go.
Please, God teach to let go.
I can’t bear this pain anymore.
Please, God teach me to let go.
Cuz I’m gonna go insane.

Love never taught me to let go.
Love never taught me to let it go.

© 2012 OnX

Goodbye, Mommy. Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you both on the other side one day.

Tears On My Tuxedo

By the time I finish writing this post, it will officially be my birthday. I was born at 6 a.m. on March 16. I was never looking forward to this one. It’s one of those “milestone” birthdays that basically says, “Yay! I’ve raised a family, my kids are all (or almost) gone, the husband/wife/partner and I can just kick it!” If only that were true for me. I am single and have been for far too long. I’m not really all that upset about it, but it would feel so good to lay wrapped in someone’s arms right now as I try to make sense of a new life.

My mother died February 27, 2012. We lived together and helped each other since I have disabilities and she was getting older. Then, one day, she collapsed on my bed and was gone. Oh, she stayed conscious long enough to reach the hospital, but crashed three times shortly thereafter, with the doctors and nurses bringing her back twice. Had I gone with her in the ambulance, I would possibly have had a few more minutes with her. However,  I was in a vehicle that had to obey all the traffic rules and in my heart, I knew she’d either be gone by the time I got there or shortly thereafter. It was the latter. I’ve known since the beginning of the year that some catastrophe was going to happen to her and I’d lose her. I just didn’t think it would be this early in the year. I thought I’d have more time to say those things we needed to say to each other. I, especially, needed to tell her something so that she could rest in peace. Hence, this birthday and all those to come, will carry with them a sense of sorrow because I may be alive but my mother isn’t.

Robin Thicke-Love After War Cover

I have this “thing” where I try to dress better when I feel like shit. Today was one of those days. I wasn’t in my usual jeans and polo, but jeans and sky blue twin set with a little lipstick. I had a horrid day that saw me begin with one bank my mother used telling me that I can’t have access to my mother’s records without a court order even though I’m the executrix of her estate as well as the sole beneficiary. I had my lawyer offer help while the other just did not get it. This was my mother and some dick of a branch manager was working under an incorrect interpretation of the law. I don’t even want whatever money might be in the account. I need to find out who she was paying so that I can begin to fight an insurance company that doesn’t want to pay, telling me that the policy lapsed three years ago. Knowing my mother, that didn’t happen. Now, the only thing left to do is go through her check copies which will probably tell me less than nothing because I’m fairly sure this was a direct withdrawal from her retirement payments.

I wrote that I really don’t mind being single. Actually, I do. My problem is that there was/is only one man I could consider spending my life with and we were over a very long time ago. I haven’t met the right woman yet and I have this penchant for younger men. Let’s face it: men in my age group are prone to erectile dysfunction and rely on those little blue pills or something similar. I don’t need or want that. “What does that have to do with that Robin Thicke image just above?” you ask. It’s simple and complicated. In essence, I’d fuck Robin Thicke in a heartbeat if given the opportunity and permission from his wife. More germane to this post, there’s something about his music that makes me feel really sexy and totally wanton. (There’s also a song on the CD called “Tears On My Tuxedo.”) It’s a feeling I love, but there’s no one to satisfy the hunger. Yes, “hunger.” I am so used to suppressing my sexuality because I could do nothing about it. I still can’t, but for different reasons. I was suppressing it because I was too ill to acquire a lover. I had nothing to offer. Now, I may have my disabilities, and there’s one very pesky problem I’m dealing with, but I’m pretty much as well as I’ve been in a decade. It’s OK to feel sexy, sensuous and ravenous. To put it plainly: I need to get my freak on. Sometimes I want a man and sometimes I want a woman. However, the word “bisexual” doesn’t really apply. The energy has to be right for me to pay attention to a man OR I have to be horny as all hell and not care who slays that beast.

My sexuality totally confuses most people. I avoid putting a label on it because that confuses the issue even more. Men, as lovers, can be good. Men as partners are just not going to do it for me. I’m working on someone male right now. I don’t know if it will go anywhere, but he reminds me of someone I once had as a lover ages ago. His hair is a darker red, but when I see that curly red mop, I smile. I saw him Thursday for a few. He was as sick as the proverbial dog. I’m trying to figure out if bringing him a fifth of bourbon tomorrow for a hot toddy would be too much. There’s a part of me that thinks it would seem as though I’m trying too hard. There’s the nurturing part of me that says he needs it.

The new reality of my life is that I can have a lover in my home now. I couldn’t before. That, too, was an impediment. Unfortunately, that son of a bastard child at the bank is making it impossible to determine whether the house is automatically paid off when I tell whatever insurance company holds the policy that my mother is deceased. (God, I still can’t wrap my brain around that.)  Nevertheless, the reality is that I can have whoever I want in this house wherever I want them. I have two drawers full of fabulous underwear to perk me up, a closet and other drawers with clothing that makes me look better than I feel and I can paste a smile on my face to show the rest of the world I’m good until I actually feel it. And yet, the tears fall.