Tag Archives: grief

Naked Honesty

I’ve been running around in circles all day because I couldn’t decide what to do. I damn near had an accident on the freeway because I was trying not to have another panic attack and not to cry at the same time. I am in so much pain I don’t even comprehend it. How can I expect someone who isn’t in my head to do so?

My mother and I had a very complex relationship, to put it mildly. I was 10 minutes too late to tell her that I forgave her for allowing her husband to molest and rape me. She needed to know and I hope more than just about anything else that there was enough of her brain functioning to hear me when I took her cold hand and told her. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her collapsing in my bedroom and on my bed, face contorted, no doubt that it was absolutely urgent that she get medical attention immediately. My thoughts were confirmed when the paramedics/EMTs did a “scoop and run,” much against her wishes. Then, they got diverted from the closest hospital to the Cleveland Clinic. That would have been great IF she’d had a survivable injury. She didn’t.

I got back to her cubicle as they were running a second code. I knew who they were trying to save, but I asked anyway. Cardiology wouldn’t come down unless they could see her via either a CT or MRI, I think the former, but my memory is a little fuzzy on that detail. She coded for the third and last time. I got there just as they made a decision to stop compressions and call time of death. (And yeah, that part of it is very much like one sees on television.) It was the only thing they could do because they were just doing more damage, but she hadn’t been conscious since the first code. Had I ridden in the ambulance, I would have had a few more minutes. I don’t think they’d let me anyway, but I knew there was no way she was going home with me and drove to the hospital myself. That took so much longer because I couldn’t risk being stopped by the cops and further delayed. Damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. The death certificate says “cardiac arrest,” presumably doing as cursory an autopsy as possible since I didn’t want her body to go through that at all. In reality, she died of an aortic dissection. I know far too much about medicine for my own good. When the attending told me that, I called the attorney and told him to begin preparing the paperwork. He insisted on waiting, not that it would do any good. However, he’s one of these holier than thou people who work my last nerve. I think that was the first time I wanted to yell at him, come to think of it. I called my uncle and his wife answered. I told her to haul ass to the hospital because Mom is dying. My uncle’s wife made it, but he didn’t.

[ETA: Remembering that night made the dam burst.]

I remember when my cousin died in Arizona died around the same time I ditched one of my dear friends because she wouldn’t pick up the phone and tell me her father died, no doubt because of her asshole racist husband who didn’t think I belonged and made it his mission in life to break us apart. I collapsed. I mean absolutely collapse in wails and screams on the floor on this very room, my bedroom, the same room in which my mother, for all intents and purposes, lost her life. I haven’t had the chance to grieve like that for my mother. It is costing me a lot in so many ways. It’s not that I don’t feel it. I do. I feel it probably more than many would think. I don’t know what the reason(s) is/are, but I strongly suspect it has something to do with the past, the present and the pressure to will myself to go on because, if I don’t, I’ll never stop crying.

Oh this is just great. I’ve just received a push news alert that means I’m going to have to find a way to insert myself into the Obama campaign. FUCK!! The last thing I need is to work right now. However, I’ve got to get my butt in gear before it’s too late. I haven’t watched much television since my mother died. That was months ago. I’ve only paid a scant amount of attention to politics because I knew who the Republican nominee would be. I’m far more interested in the senatorial campaign. *sigh* Yeah, I’ve got to make some decisions and start putting them into motion early Monday or Tuesday. It was inevitable, but I’d really hoped to be farther along in my healing before all this hit me in the face. There are too many ways to screw up.

Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band is just ending. I’m looking for the person that song brings to mind and hope like hell I still know someone who knows someone who knows where he is and what the hell is last name is. I’ve tried to remember for weeks. I got home today and an old black & white photo of him working on a gel light for one of the gym shows at my alma mater popped into my head. I wonder if the kids running the organization know anything about its history and, most of all, where that photo might be. It might give me his last name. My life is just too damn complicated. I was going to write about him but thought I’d better wait until I hear something definitive. Honestly, I’m hoping he’s still alive. Please, God, let him be alive. I don’t think my head can take any more deaths of people I’ve loved even a little. And yes, it is quite possible to not remember a lover’s last name if it’s been as long as it’s been and I had to leave while he was out of town. Don’t judge!

Between all of this and trying to figure out which part of my brain is trying to reinvent history, I’m a barrel of laughs these days. I want to go back before conception and start again. I’ll get there one day. I’ll get there.

God, PLEASE Let This Day End

I’m sitting at my living room table typing this post on my laptop. That has never happened before. In fact, there are very few computer-related things that take place downstairs even though I’ve got a 700 MHz eMac here that I somehow made run Leopard with a software patch and a bit o’ tinkering. If I only had myself to worry about, I’d still be in bed, probably in tears, feeling empty and wishing I’d followed my gut and bought another fifth of Jim Beam. Empty because this is the first major holiday without my mother and I feel empty except the enormous well of pain and loss that could easily drown me. Hence, the Jim Beam. There’s a somewhat amusing story that goes with the JB that I’ll indulge myself by telling.

The very first time I got rip-roaring drunk was when I was 17-years-old and everyone on my floor at Oberlin was going home for the summer. Oberlin was and is a dry town, but getting liquor wasn’t hard as much as it was inconvenient. That was also the last time I got rip-roaring drunk and whiskey, specifically bourbon, were largely the reason. I have to laugh as I think about it now because my mother came to collect me and I vaguely remember her shaking her head and cutting me a whole lot of slack. I don’t think either of us ever mentioned it. That’s not to say that I haven’t felt impaired in some fashion by alcohol, but I rarely drink, (even though all three of my dogs are lushes). I take too many drugs that would not mix well with alcohol of any kind were I to imbibe. That’s why it’s taken me over a month to go through the fifth of JB Red Stag I’m just finishing. I wouldn’t even know about that had the guy from whom I bought my guitar and I not gotten into a conversation one day about hot toddies because he was sick and didn’t have anyone to take care of him. There is some mixture of maternal and sexual instinct going on inside me where he’s concerned that I am damn sure ain’t right, but I’m equally sure would feel oh so good if I could just get myself and my life together. Because I can’t, I’ve stopped going to the store and hanging out. It’s too hard. And so, we come back to the raîson d’etre of this post.

So much has happened since I last wrote I don’t even know where to begin. There is a very large part of me that has absolutely no idea how to cope. I can list the things that need to be done, but that doesn’t mean I can do them. On top of that, I was using my mother’s lawyer, a cousin-in-law who either bought or inherited one of my great-uncles’ law firms. That bastard got pissed off at me because I dared to call him on a Saturday at 6 p.m. because I got a call from an antiques dealer who was coming by the next day, a Sunday, and I needed to know what I could and could not do legally. It was on from there. I should have cursed his ass out then and there, but I didn’t. In fact, I basically hung up on him when he started whining like a little human bitch about interrupting his freaking Saturday. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to tell him that when the probate judge asks me why I did such and such, I’d tell her that my lawyer didn’t want to work on Saturday. Instead, we got into a shouting match that Monday and I had him send me the paperwork to open my mother’s estate. This is now the third time I’ve had to run behind him cleaning up his messes. [ETA: Actually, the fourth time because his paperwork was supposed to conform to my mother’s will and it didn’t. I cleaned up what would have been a big and very ugly mess that would have created a rift I don’t know would heal at all among her brothers. In addition, the probate clerk caught another error that I didn’t.] I’ve made more appearances before judges on family matters than he has and I’m not licensed to practice law. What does that say about him? Yet, this is the man my mother trusted with her will and there was nothing I could do to shake her into making a proper trust for our circumstances. She’d always say that we’d do it after whateverthefuckwasgoingon was over. It never happened and I’m supposed to take this manure and turn it into a watermelon patch.

I didn’t realize it, but I’d gotten to a place where I just couldn’t function. That was in large part due to one of my mother’s creditors. As far as I am concerned, most of them can go pound salt. However, technically, the minivan that allows me to be mobile and have a life is in my mother’s name for a number of reasons, most having to do with an unsteady stream of income. At any rate, the lender’s probate department was relentless. I could count on at least two calls a day even though I couldn’t tell them any more than I had the previous day. I’m going to run into trouble with them again and it will be my own fault, but I’m jumping ahead of myself. I could see my life slowly ebbing away thanks to them. It wasn’t as though I had nothing to sell that would get them off my back for a minute, because I did, Mom’s truck. The problem was that it would cost me more money to get it repaired than it would to sell it outright. However, selling it outright wouldn’t even come close to what it was really worth, but it would take care of the money the lender informed me she was in arrears. I think that’s when something inside of me broke. Everyone has certain buttons that if pushed will cause all sorts of generally negative reactions. I knew two of mine already. I learned a third.

The one time I broke and didn’t attempt suicide, the local shrink police had me committed because someone in my family, and I’m beginning to figure out who, got scared. It didn’t help that I publicly upbraided the cousin-in-law for being a jerk and said that my uncle most assuredly did not allow him into his practice to ignore his family. That sure as hell went for ignoring my mother and me where both of my great-uncles were concerned. They raised her!

The thing about any psych floor is that the patients have to figure out what it is the doctors want and give it to them. It’s the same game with everything. I’ve been through this too many times, so I knew what to say and what not to say. It helped that my lawyer is my former Mistress and now friend. She said that she was actually glad someone from the family did it because she’s been quite worried. Yeah, well, so have I, but I couldn’t say it. My actual psychologist was on frakking jury duty! What idiot of a judge puts a practicing shrink on jury duty knowing that there are people depending on her? Had I known, I could have gotten her out of it, but I didn’t know until my last appointment with her. By then, it was too late to have someone intercede on her behalf. But when I find out what judge this was, I’ll make a contribution to his/her opponent along with a note. In the meantime, there was no one I could turn to. I was more or less alone. I say “more or less” because I had my mother’s youngest brother, the only two cousins I have in my age range and my great aunt. I couldn’t and wouldn’t trouble my aunt because she’s got health issues of her own and I didn’t really want to lean on anyone. My mother’s brother has what is both a passive attitude and a vengeful one. He’s sure God will take care of those who don’t make amends for the dirt they’ve done. Me? I’m more active. You fuck me and I’ll fuck you harder. That’s the phrase that kinda had the ex a bit worried. She hadn’t seen the side of me that’s basically Rahm Emmanuel in a darker color and a sex change. It wasn’t necessary when she knew me. It became necessary over time.

To close this out, Lady A is singing Dancin’ Away With My Heart and I’m thinking of someone I shouldn’t. (For the uninitiated, that would be Glenn D. T-something-or-another. *smirk*) Something occurred to me today for reasons I honestly don’t understand. I would have made that person I shouldn’t be thinking of an excellent wife. I hope he got what he wanted when he chose someone else.

Another thing occurred to me as I reach the end of this entry that has nothing to do with the above. I’ll always have a weakness for red-headed rockers/roadies, beards, badboys, and; women who love fast cars–both of which make me drool–like the cutie one who picked me up yesterday to take me to Goodyear to get my minivan which, if I didn’t say so, I did save, but only for a little while. If that chica weren’t engaged, we’d both have gotten ourselves into some well-deserved trouble. I even let her get lost so we’d have a few extra minutes. She may not have been from the area, but no one is that directionally challenged. *laugh*

It just occurred to me that there’s another reason I want this day to be over. If I plan to survive, and I’ve never had a really strong survival instinct, I absolutely must put the insurance paperwork in the mail that I’ve carried with me for months. No one seems to understand that by doing so, I’m admitting that the person closest to me in the world, who was also a stranger in other ways, really isn’t coming back no matter how many dreams I have or call out for her. She’s gone. She stupidly trusted me to survive. If it were just me, I wouldn’t care if I ever drew another breath. However, I have three furbabies who depend on me and I will not allow “the system” to have them. They are the only reason I didn’t take my life a few weeks ago. I found a way to do it almost perfectly, but I refused to take them with me and I could only find a destination for two of them. I don’t think God would forgive me for making the third come with me and, frankly, I don’t think I could have forgiven myself in whatever afterlife there may be. We’ve been together 12 years. With some luck, there’s no reason she can’t stay another two or three years. Little dogs tend to live longer and she’s small. She’s the one who sees my soul, although I think the youngest is here for a reason, too, and it frightens me. I think she’s here to develop the same empathy that the eldest has. I see it happening more and more as she’s gotten older in the nearly one year we’ve had her. Thank you doG for sending someone to watch over me and giving me a reason to be here.

C.A.B.

I woke up around 3 a.m. and the first thought I had was, “I’m a Crazy-Ass Bitch,” and kinda smiled. For those of you who have been following this season of I Can’t Quit You, the former keeper of my affections, Glenn, pulled the great mindfuck on me a few years ago after being my lover for 17 years. At the time, we hadn’t been in contact in nine years since he freaked out about my sexual orientation which, at that point, did not involve sleeping with men. (If you’d like to know precisely what he did, then click on the “glenn” Category.) Helped along by a very bad reaction to one of the benzodiazopines, his non-consensual sadism put me in ICU for three or four days, followed by a psych ward on a three-day hold. There is so much more to the story, but it’s all rather irrelevant now. The point is, I must have been dreaming about him because I heard his voice call me a “Crazy-Ass Bitch.” It made me smirk in a particularly devilish way. It still does as I’m writing this. I wouldn’t have found it amusing until that moment because I was mourning and seeking answers. I was deep into the deep dark pit of my soul looking for some way to make sense of what he, and probably a friend of his, had done. I still can’t grasp the enormous cruelty on any “normal” level because what they did was abnormal. Right or wrong, since Glenn wasn’t talking or writing except to say that he’d kill me if I went anywhere near his family, which was not even on the table, (too many viewings of Fatal Attraction I suppose), I had to come up with my own answers.

I’ve also been listening to the loop inside my head from a conversation I had with my lawyer/friend/ex-Top, Karen, who pointed out that Glenn really wasn’t that great of a catch to begin with. Certainly, on several levels, she’s absolutely right. However, when things were good and held the promise of being even better, yes, he was worth it. That’s the person I loved and will always love, and; that’s the person I have mourned. The current incarnation of Glenn is an abusive sociopath/narcissist in my eyes. Be aware that I can only provide my own point of view and a lay person’s reading of symptoms from the DSM-IV because my medical degree was lost in the mail from Granada.

My shrink and I talked about him for a bit. I told her I’ve tried to find a way out of my obsession with the “why” part of the whole, sordid mess and with him altogether. She said that I shouldn’t even acknowledge the thought, but when I do find myself thinking about him, just wave it away. Strangely enough, it’s kind of worked. I didn’t expect it to, but it did.

I think I like being a Crazy-Ass Bitch. I don’t normally condone the use of “bitch” when referring to humans, but in this case, it’s a statement that I choose to reclaim. Where Glenn would view a C.A.B. as a woman unworthy of his time and energy while being annoyed that the woman has taken up his time and energy, I see the term as empowering in this instance. After what he’s put me through, hell, he should be glad I’m 500 miles away from him because you never know what a C.A.B. will do. I have visions of Miranda Lambert and Jazmine Sullivan when I think of the appellation. It means strength, forthrightness, perseverance in the face of obstacles and a deep dish of mischief. Nevertheless, even though C.A.B.’s are strong women, we can be very vulnerable. In fact, I’d say that the reason there are C.A.B.’s in this world it’s because we’ve previously opened ourselves to love and had our hearts break into a million and one pieces. When we finally do catch our breath, it is then that the “crazy” comes out. For me, it was continuing to refuse the acceptance of silence when I ask Glenn “Why?” That is the very least he could give me.

A little voice inside won’t shut the fuck up, though. I think it is influenced by my wish that Glenn would still be the man I loved for so very, very long and my mother’s belief that, eventually, we’ll find a way back to each other even though she didn’t particularly like him. It’s the same voice that says, “Maybe he was trying to protect your feelings because he wasn’t attracted to you anymore.” That would make Glenn semi-noble, but it flies in the face of reason informed by his actions. Hence, I’ll go with Miranda Lambert and Jazmine Sullivan.

Little voice aside, I’ve accepted that I love both the dark and the light sides of the Glenn I knew. You don’t spend 17 years of your life not loving someone in some fashion. I was so naive to the point of stupidity then. I should have realized that he loved me back then, even if the words weren’t forthcoming. I can’t blame myself completely because it was his responsibility to tell me. It’s all pointless now. That Glenn is no more. Glenn 2.0 is not someone I want to think about. However, I do like the thought that he’s probably called me a “crazy ass bitch” dozens of times even though he can’t manage to tell me why he did what he (and another) did to me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s less than the man that was. It is he that is not worth my time and energy.

Missing Person

I really wanted to get a new post up this week because I’ve got a lot to say and no place to really say it. For example, I’m so ashamed that I can’t tell my therapist about my latest “tryst” with the man who was old enough to be my father. I’m not so much ashamed because of his age, but the circumstances were all wrong and I have no real defense, only an answer to the question, “Why?” I’m having a battle with what shall hereto be referred as the Food Monster. I don’t eat when I’m depressed, but I make myself eat usually a bunch of carbohydrates because my body craves quick energy to prevent me from literally passing out. Carbs are addictive. That old ad slogan, “Nobody can eat just one” was the truth! Potatoes, from which potato chips are made, are carbohydrates. The more you eat, the more you want to eat. Sugar is also addictive because it is also a carbohydrate. So, the Pierre’s Spumoni and Pierre’s Cinnamon ice creams that call my name each night get me eating what should be a little bit, but ends up being more than a little bit. Then, I hate myself because I’ve given in to the Food Monster.

I don’t remember what day it was last week, but I think it was the one where I had the disgusting encounter, I tried to put on a pair of pants that fit just days ago. However, because I’d eaten, the pants were too tight. Mind you, this happened in less than a week. If I could figure out my menstrual cycle, the difference might be explained by water retention. However, after a little over a year of keeping track of my cycles, and after three months of not having a period, I gave up. There were other things I could do with my time. The chances of me running across a “baby daddy” in the near future are remote. That’s several more posts alone. I’ll deal with that another night.

The point is, I have so thoroughly fucked up my metabolism that the only way to lose weight is by eating more or less nothing. I’ve been toying with going against several doctors’ advice and exercising. Understandably, they’re all concerned that if I manage to hurt myself, they won’t necessarily know how to fix me. The surgeon who performed my knee replacement is definitely a star already and getting to be more of one as time flies. I don’t remember his exact words, but they went something like this: “If Humpty Dumpty falls, I can’t promise I can put him back together again.” That kinda made me swallow hard. I know cutters. They have egos bigger than my house and if several of them say the same thing, then I’d better listen up. About the only thing I can get them to agree to is water therapy. I’m going to have to get another referral since I’ve misplaced the original, but there’s a heck of a great water therapy facility I’d like to try. My problem then becomes one of how to keep the liquid in my body from pouring out of my body at an inopportune time. Sorry for the ewwy imagery, but the truth is the light. Swimming pools make me have to pee and that means I have to rush, thereby risking injury should I slip and fall because I wasn’t careful.

It was a particularly sad day for me today. I got some paperwork mom’s lawyer sent over for my signature as well as the signature of her three brothers. I know that Mom didn’t mean to do this, but she left her youngest brother out of her will. None of them will get anything anyway because I’m alive. However, I don’t want David, who’s always said my mother and their oldest brother favored the middle brother, to feel left out AGAIN, so I told him that he had to sign as well. Fortunately, sloppy lawyering on the part of my mother’s attorney made the white lie pass the “smell test.” The lawyer relied on his memory instead of looking at the will itself and put David’s signature line in the way it should have been in the first place. However, he left another person out because he forgot that I’d told him she’d reached the age of majority only a few weeks prior to Mom’s passing.

My point is that, yes, David is right. She’ll take her middle brother’s side over darn near everyone else, including me. She did so even when I was being verbally attacked by him in my own house over some shit he thought I’d said. Mom was sitting right in the middle of this and said she didn’t hear anything. She’s taken loans against life insurance policies where I’m the beneficiary for him and she’s placed a second mortgage on the house largely because of him. For the first time, I am truly afraid that I will lose this house because I can’t find insurance that pays off the mortgage or even establish that she had such a policy that was active when she died. I’ve found one that the company says lapsed, but I can’t see my mother doing that unless there was some financial benefit. So, I get to look through all her check copies post-2009. The reason being that the bank will tell me nothing without a court order. That’s where we get back to getting the paperwork signed by the brothers and two of my cousins. This is also where we get back to the problem of my mother putting not only her youngest brother behind the middle one, but me as well. I begged and pleaded with her not to take a second mortgage, especially one that I couldn’t pay if she died. I even threw a hissy fit in the loan officer’s office for making a predatory loan to an old woman left behind somewhere in the 1960s or 70s. Sure enough, I’m screwed, in all probability.

Finances and will aside, I just miss my mom. That’s the center of it all; I miss my mom. I go to sleep and wake up and she’s not here. For a minute or two, sometimes more, sometimes less, I forget that she’s not here and ask if she’d mind taking the dogs out for me. My little spoiled “Brat,” (as I’ll refer to her here) came to us with a horrid urinary tract infection that has cost me over $200 to clear up. I’m still not completely sure it’s gone, but the odds are fairly good that it is. My “B&W child” now has a bad ear infection that may or may not have damaged her ear drum. The tissue is so swollen that the vet can’t get a scope in there to look around. Then, through my own negligence, we got off-schedule with her meds and I have to start all over again. I hated seeing that sad little black and white face and not be able to do more. B&W and Brat got into it for unknown reasons except that Brat may have believed that being on the grooming table was some sign of weakness OR, more likely, she was jealous because I lifted B&W onto the table where, in Brat’s mind, I don’t carry/hold her nearly enough. You have to understand that Brat and B&W are both little foundlings. B&W was found by my mother traipsing through snow that was far taller than she was, about to get mowed down by a vehicle of some sort. The decision to keep Brat was more or less mutual, but Mom let me make the final decision. It didn’t take me long to decide to keep her. She has a face that’s so ugly she’s adorable. She’s also extremely intelligent and is of like mind as my middle child, B&T (for black and tan). Both of them have larcenous hearts and I love watching them plan how they’re going to pull off their next caper. I thought Brat would be my mother’s dog/puppy (we think she was about nine months old when we got her), but she chose me. I don’t mind at all.

We all miss my mother. Maybe I’m projecting my feelings onto them, but I know that B&T was far more quiet than usual. She’s usually just a big kid. Today and tonight, she was depressed. I think I spent most of my time today either on the phone or giving love to and soaking up love from my girls. My mother wasn’t perfect as either a person or a mother. In fact, an argument could be made that she was not emotionally equipped to be a mother because she hadn’t confronted her demons and tried to pass them along to me. She did pass some of them to me, unfortunately. However, she also passed along a love of learning, especially history and anthropology. She taught me to love birdwatching, something I do in the backyard with relish. I love animals, that was her doing as well. Finally, but no less importantly, she taught me the love of family, even if there were, and are, times when that love was a horrible perversion. I wish that she’d passed on her artistic talents because I’m not even a mediocre artist. In fact, I rather suck at it. If I happen to get even 10% of a subject right, believe me, it was by mistake.

I am so torn. I want my mother back, but I also know, and have known since I was in my early teens, that the only way I’d have a life was when my mother passed on. This house holds a lot of very bad energy because evil took up residence here for over a decade in the form of my mother’s second husband. I understand through the grapevine that he nearly destroyed the next woman he married, too. I think that she also had fairly young children. I’d bet those kids, now adults, would have stories to tell that are very similar to my own. My question isn’t “Why did [the perpetrator(s)] do it?” Hell, that answer is fairly simple. They–he occasionally included his best friend–were in search of power and the only time they felt powerful was when they made children complicit in their own rape and/or molestation. No, my question is to the mothers: “Why did you let that bastard do this to us?!” My mother swore up and down that she didn’t know, but the evidence was there in front of her even if she didn’t want to see it. I’d made up my mind to forgive her and had planned to tell her the week she died. I hope enough of her essence was around when I held her beautiful, cold hand and said goodbye to hear that I forgave her.

I am trying so hard not to be angry with her anymore. I think what I feel these days is more pity than anger. She allowed one person into our lives who ruined both of us. We never recovered. She got angry with me for being angry with her all the time. According to her, I had no right to feel the way I felt. Hence, I had to cope real time with her emotional abuse as well as the mess that was left after being de-humanized, molested and then raped thanks to her choice. I get to be the bad guy here, too. In her mind, she was not only a victim of her husband, but the victim because I didn’t tell her. Well, duh, if your kid asks, begs and pleads with you on a DAILY basis before and after the marriage for about ten years to dump some guy, you bet your bippy something is wrong! But in her mind, she married that bastard because I needed a father. She forgets that her future hubby wasn’t the only man she dated, nor was his the only proposal she had. There was a really nice guy she was seeing who’d proposed, but he was between five and ten years younger. What would “people” think? Um, maybe they’d think she made a smart move by marrying a young, successful entrepreneur instead of the freakin’ mail man! Yet more stupid crap left over from an era that was long gone even in the 1960s that she held on to like a life preserver thrown to a drowning woman.

Breathe.

There’s no point in rehashing old arguments with a person who is no longer alive. I don’t miss arguing with her at all. I don’t miss the manipulation at all. I will be extremely glad when the real estate market recovers to the point I can sell this place and never have to set foot inside of it again. Honestly, I don’t wish the people or person who buys it any harm, but like I said, there’s a lot of negative energy in these walls. A good cleansing ritual might do some good.

ETA: a fair amount of exposition regarding Mom’s estate crap as well as info about her brothers, and; a lot of exposition about my mother’s abusive second husband.

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.

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

Something Strange Happened Yesterday

Well, I finally did it. I drove to the Flats and handed over Poppy for euthanasia. On the way I said a lot of prayers and tried to convince Mom that this was the right thing to do for everyone, including Poppy. I felt so badly for her. She was drooling, forgot that she had food in her dish, didn’t bother with any of the cat boxes, which were spotless, btw, and kept getting harassed by Snippet. At 20 years old, she did not need a young whipper snapper of a small dog thinking of her as just another toy. I could look at Poppy and know that she wasn’t thinking straight. On top of it, she was skin and bones. No matter how much she ate–and we gave her two cans a day–we couldn’t put any weight on her. Peeing in Micki’s downstairs crate sealed her fate. It was just time.

The drive to the Animal Protective League (APL) was uneventful until I got off the highway. That was when I realized the APL was in the Flats. For all you non-Northern Ohioans, the Flats is an area that runs along the Cuyahoga River and has a lot of businesses, factories and tony restaurants and clubs. It was the first part of Cleveland that was settled in the late 1700s. It is very easy to get lost there because the streets wind around the river bank and there are hills that bring people up and down from other parts of the city and back home again. In addition, it’s one of the few places that still has swing bridges. They are so cool! I’d kind of hoped I’m see a ship navigating the water as I drove through the maze. Alas, no ships, but for once my GPS got a Flats district address right, even though I didn’t do exactly what it said.

I got there and told the clerk that I wanted Poppy euthanized. I told them that she was 20 years old, she was drooling, had some sort of infection in her guns, had licked her fur into giant mats that she wouldn’t allow anyone to comb, etc. They said, “Euthanasia. That will be $35.” My eyes bugged out. When I phoned them–twice, no less–there was no mention of a fee for euthanasia. I thought they’d do it for nothing since I didn’t want cremains. Would they rather I let her lose in the area so that she can get killed by a car? I’m on frickin’ MEDICAID, for Christ’s sake! My mother just died and her retirement checks haven’t started coming to me yet. I said, I’ll give you $20, but that’s all. Thanks, Poppy. I won’t be eating anything soon. I had to split the $20 between cash and an almost maxed out credit card. Just peachy.

I went to see my shrink before the trek to the APL. I was 20 minutes late because I’m still learning how long it takes to take the girls out, get them watered and fed, sit with them while they eat and then take Micki out again to poop. I still have to wait for her to poop since she’ll look around and see what else is going on before she feels like going. *sigh* That’s about 10 minutes spent waiting for her.

Finally, Micki does her duty and I can hurry up and get dressed. I’m really glad I took a shower the previous night because that saved around another 20 minutes. I knew that I’d see the shrink, but I also wanted to stop where I get my music supplies and show my lyrics to the sales guy who’s quite knowledgeable about things musical except music theory. Now I’m wondering if I showed him the right one. I went through my WordPress app as opposed to the browser. The WordPress app is annoying in that it doesn’t show the finished post. It shows the HTML of the post you were editing until you hit Preview and then it will show not the final product, but the edited product. Oh well. I’ll show him again later. It will give me an excuse to go back.

Like I said in another post, there’s someone I’m working on and that would be him. I don’t know what I’d do if someone called me a Cougar. I think I’d probably say, “Oh well. Just because he’s half my age doesn’t mean a very nice man should be ignored. There aren’t many left in the world and he’s single. There are even fewer of them. I told him on a previous visit that he’s been messing around with girls. It’s time you got yourself a woman. I wore a nice, little dark pink camisole top, blue jeans, sunglasses, dark reddish-purple lipstick sand black sandals. Under the cami, I had on a pink bra that, because I’ve lost weight, doesn’t quite do what it’s supposed go do. Therefore, I have to work on it a bit to get it right. Regardless, I made sure that I was noticeable. He liked the lyric that I had on my iPhone. When I left, he said, “It’s always nice to see you.” I smiled because that made me feel better and that also means that he’s getting to know me. I think he’s got an old soul. Then again, he’s also a musician and I’m used to that. Slower wins the race, in this case.

So, after I leave the music store, I drive to the Shoreway. It’s the beginning of rush hour, but traffic is moving east and not west until the split that goes to the West Side and the other to downtown and the airport. Now that was backed up. Still, we made it there by a little before 6p.

I really didn’t want to put Poppy down. She was such a spirited little devil! Even as an older cat, she was spirited, but in a gruffer way. For some reason, she looked as though she was in a permanent scowl and would accost anyone who’d dare mess with her. It was just a front, though. She was as gentle as ever. But picking her up made my skin crawl because she was all skin and bones. No animal should ever be that thin. I’m sure there was something very wrong with her that we didn’t take her to the vet to get straightened out. Most of the reason is that we thought the other cats were eating her portion. Then, when all the other cats died, Poppy really upped her intake. Still, she was skin and bones. Even the bones felt like they’d break under too much pressure.

Even after putting down my last $20, I wasn’t allowed to be with Poppy when she made her transition. That hurt. I really wanted to be there with her and not all alone with people she didn’t know. I’d been talking to her a lot on the drive there and talked to her some more when she was on the desk, knowing I’d never see her again. I told her that it would all be over after a few minutes. Then, she could run, jump, chase mice and butterflies all she wanted. Best of all, she’d be with Mommy and that would make both of them happy.

So, I said in the title that something strange happened to me today. I got off the highway and made it into my garage. I shut off the engine, but after that, I have no idea what happened. I fell asleep right in the Puppy Van with the garage door open. I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I didn’t wake up until about 11p and realized what happened. It scared me a little, especially since I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I’m not on any meds during the day that I haven’t been on already for ages. Falling asleep in the car while in the driver’s seat is something very new and potentially dangerous. OnX, get thee to the Sleep Disorders Clinic pronto!