It’s my birthday :(
The 24th of May…
I am speechless.
But I know you will fill me with the words I can’t find today…
It’s my birthday :(
The 24th of May…
I am speechless.
But I know you will fill me with the words I can’t find today…
My mother has demanded my presence. A completely unexpected and random request that came in the form of a very serious-toned phone message, followed up by an even sterner in-voice conversation that has since then filled me with dread and anxiety and anger and frustration, as well as a longed for kinda of silly hope that maybe she really does care for me after-all at this late stage of the game…
For nearly a week now I have been dealing. Unfairly. She wields her mighty right of rule motherhood sword and I am at once 7 again.
I hate her. I love her. I wish she would leave me alone. Because I hate the effect she has on me. And I wish I could somehow be indifferent.
Happy Mothers Day to me.
More to come…. Sigh
To say that these past few weeks have been spent in self-reflection, denial and a deep depression would only be a kernel of the truth of the present state of my existence. Epiphanies have been abundant, but fleeting in their grasp of my happiness and life has seemed weak and helplessly unable to contain the magnitude of realization and emotion ripping through my consciousness.
Lost and alone in a darkness I’ve been told is of my own making by an unsympathetic and impatient observer, I have had no lightness of being, no reprieve from this internal misery, and my hope has been fading each day. My very reason for being has come into question. Repeatedly. The moral compass that keeps me in touch with me is spinning out of control and I don’t know how to stop it. Or talk to it again and slow it down. I have locked myself inside myself and forgot to leave a note as to the whereabouts of the key.
Words, which have usually been my solace, my guide and at times, my only friend, have melted in the heat of my thoughts leaving a sticky, gooey substance too thick for comprehension, self awareness of self-compassion to penetrate. There has been no light touching the understanding usually present in my mind. It is there. I feel it. Always on the cusp of the horizon. But my feet, my hands and my heart is bound in this sludge and I have been a prisoner of its suction. Pulling me deeper and deeper into the darkness…
And then, just moments ago, I found this link, which had been sent to a sister blogger in need, whom I adore, from another sister blogger who I also adore.
And I had a moment where I felt the sludge give way, ever so slightly…
(Ann, you know I love you right?)
An unsent text to P…
Your snide comment last night about me not “getting it” at all was unappreciated and incorrect. I do get it. I get it because it’s not that complicated. You’re not that complicated. Your needs and wants are fairly basic and simple. Like you.
The problem is now, and has always been, your behavior when those needs and wants aren’t being satisfied. We are currently in a situation that has escalated to this point due to an example of that bad behavior. You seem to think that because you’ve apologized and promised it won’t happen again, that I should readily and easily be willing to forget the damage caused and move back into a position of safety and trust with you. And when I’m unable to do so within the time frame you’ve allowed, you get angry, paranoid, frustrated, accusing and insensitive.
It took a long time for me to get here P – to this place of distrust and total confusion about you. The constantly picking at me and the essence of who I am, the put-downs that made me feel small and inadequate, blaming me for your unhappiness and worst of all the disparaging constant reminders that I’m not like any other person you’ve been with and that no relationship you’ve ever been in has been as full of turmoil, drama and frustration.
Somehow, I must admit, I do find that hard to believe.
You tell me now that you’re unhappy, that you walk around on pins and needles. That you don’t know what I’m going to do from one minute to the next. That I have some kind of power over your life and treat your emotions as if this relationship were a game to me. That I’m just “playing” with you.
I think that may be the cruelest things you’ve said to me yet.
I have always tried to treat you with patience, acceptance, understanding and love even when you hurt me so deeply I didn’t think I could get back up again. Sure I have been scared and angry and said some unkind things out of that fear and anger but I have never ever not taken your feelings seriously or treated them with the respect they deserve.
The thing you don’t seem to “get” is that you began this dance of emotional insanity between us with that ferocious need of yours to be paid attention too, to be loved, to be consumed and to be put before and above anyone else. When you felt that was being given to you, you became the loving, compassionate, giving and generous partner I’ve always wanted…but when those needs weren’t being met you became mean and selfish and demanding.
The irony is that you’ve now created an insecure, confused and unsympathetic partner for yourself out of a woman who was once strong and confident and empathetic to all your scars and tragedy. And you want her back. The one you met 4 1/2 years ago. The one with the laughing eyes, the easy smile, the fun, the wit, the humor, the sex… Who would have given you the moon and the stars if she were able, who did make you the center of her universe and who did put you before others, at times even before her own daughter – a fact I’m ashamed to admit – who would have played into all of your sexual and domestics fantasies and who would have shared your sense of adventure.
And yet you’ve done every possible thing to destroy her!
Why???? Is that how ultimate your need for control is? Ruin, breakdown and then rebuild in your own image?
You tell me that I don’t talk to you. That I don’t tell you how I feel. But I remember a time when I used to talk to you non-stop. So much and so fast in fact, that you couldn’t keep up! I used to tell you exactly how I felt. I used to share my dreams with you and talk about the future. But, apparently, you were never listening. Not really. And the day I realized the truth of that statement, is the day I stopped talking.
You probably never even noticed because, as always, you still had so much more to say.
Now there is nothing left of her but a hollow shell with a ghost of a smile filled with a useless sadness. And yes, a growing, simmering deep rooted anger that this has never been what it should have been…could have been. So beautiful. So perfect in loves wonderful imperfection and would have been if you had understood from the beginning that “we” was not simply about you. That “we” had an “us” and in that “us” there was me! An equally valid member of this relationship. One whose needs were voiced but never fully acknowledged – but I suppose I have only myself to blame for that. I didn’t scream loud enough to be heard over you.
I have heard you, listened to you, hurt for you and wrapped you in my love a thousand fathoms deep, a thousand times over to try and show you that you were cherished and loved. By me. Fully, completely and honestly. And in return you have snarled, hissed and even bitten me in my efforts to soothe your disquieted soul. And over time my love has weakened from the continual battering of its walls, it has cracked openly from the brutal attacks that rip at its mortar, and now it is truly in danger of crumbling into a broken, dusty pile of fractured rubble that will never be rebuilt again.
You say you are unhappy. You say you don’t know how to “be”, what to say, what not to say… You sound just like me now. But you have always mirrored me. Perhaps, its that fluid Pisces things you do? You say you’re afraid to be yourself? Well, to that I can only respond with the deepest regret, “welcome to my side of the relationship”.
I wish you weren’t here with me. Hell, I wish I weren’t here. But I have been living in this barren, cold and unfulfilled wasteland for quite some time…catching glimpses of beautifully inviting mirages and oasis’ of misty lush havens. I touch the cool grass, I drink the fresh water, I rejuvenate and begin to feel comforted by their pleasing affects and then “poof” it’s all gone. And I am alone again in the scorching wilderness of your virtual abandonment filled with curious, questioning scorpions always ready to attack if I move the wrong way. Because once again, you’re needs aren’t being met by some inadequacy in me.
So my love…
I think we should say goodbye.
I think we have to.
There is nowhere else for us to go.
As much as I know a piece of me will die without you, an even bigger piece of me is dying with you. I can no longer see the silver lining of our emotional cloud. It’s dark and gloomy and depressing and the rain just never let’s up. And I’m too beat up, too tired and too emotionally drained to fight for this anymore. I don’t even remember what it is I’m fighting for now. Whatever sweetness we used to share has turned sour from discontent. Whatever compassion we had for each other has turned to contempt. Whatever we once had the potential of becoming is far removed from the reality of what we have become. This is not how the story was meant to be written.
I have loved you deeper then I have ever loved a partner before.
I held on for as long as I could.
I wanted your sweetness more then life itself.
But you weren’t able to give it long enough for me to grab hold of and feel its stability.
I wish I could have been who you needed me to be.
But I’m not.
I wish your love had never hurt me.
But it has.
Irreparable damage is not negotiable.
I am a foot soldier of life.
A nameless. A thankless. A dispensable.
Engaged in this bloody crusade to teach you a better way of human being.
But, make no mistake. This path was not my choice…
I am a weary combatant enmeshed in the dark, polluted battles that thrive in the blackest pits of humanity so that you can have your life, explore your fantasies, realize your dreams and live in the light.
I am the warrior who, with my battle scarred body, allows you to be who you are even though I can never be who I am.
I am the one who allows the rape so that you can remain pure and unscathed.
I am the one who gives so that you can take.
I am the reason you are happy.
I am the reason you have memories of times when things were simple and easy and filled with laughter.
I am your peace of mind.
I am the facilitator of harmony.
I am the all-knowing aunt who calms the family squabbles and reminds you all how much you truly love each other.
I am the friend who reminds your partner that you have never been unfaithful and aren’t about to become so now.
I am the stranger who smiles sweetly at your “not so cute” baby and validates your role/identity as mother.
I am the woman who holds the door for you, a man, and gives you that knowing, playful smile as you pass close enough to smell my womanhood.
I am the balance you need to blanket your sorrow as if it never existed at all.
I am the one who commiserates when you’ve had a bad day and takes your abuse when you’ve lost patience with the world.
And I am the one that reminds you, when you feel small and helpless and insignificant, that you mean the world to someone.
I am the voice inside that corrects your bad behavior and the remorse that you feel when you don’t.
I am the one desperately holding on to the shining hope in that thinning, single stranded, damaged tapestry that weaves your life together.
I am the one watching its glow diminish and fade into an ashen ember of what once was being replaced by what now is.
Your pride and ignorance, your brutality and greed, your selfish lust and perverse desire, your reckless pursuits and foolish abandonment, your powerful manipulation that oppresses, your bullying and victimizing, your prejudice and blasphemy, your angry spite and jealous rage is twisting your truest colors into psychedelic spirals of brilliant malice.
And still I can see the beauty in you.
I am an angel in her most perfectly failed form.
But I am your undeniable, imperfect salvation.
I am a foot soldier of life with blistered feet and battered soul, wearing only the markings you have carved in my skin.
Yet each day I rise and take up the battle again.
So that you can have your life, explore your fantasies, realize your dreams and live in the light, all with the assurance that you are deeply, forever, unconditionally loved.
(Aaaahhh. Frustration be thy name. I just needed to write something!!!)
Don’t even ask. Explanation will follow.
But, one thing I have learned already in this new year is this:
If the tears smudge the ink, it’s too soon to write.
Still trying to come back here but circumstances being as they are, I will have no access to the internet until this coming weekend. I do, however, have access to a laptop just waiting for me to burn my fingers on its keys…so perhaps, if I can, I will write now and post later.
In the meantime, I do wish you all a belated Merry Christmas and all the very very best for 2013!
Oh… And when you lose your new gloves in 15 below, retrace your steps and find them!
suddenly i have none
the well is overflowing
ever full and abundant
but time is no longer my luxury
parchment beckons as i hesitate
pen poised perfectly in anticipation
as i stumble over my thoughts, my pain, my life
edit. rewrite. something. anything!
drip. drop. ink blot
blue black bleeding out on white
tiny arteries racing to scribe my secrets
exhausted before they reveal the story within
ink deep, but growing thin in the waiting
drying to a translucent smudge of a broken sigh
i don’t know how to get there from this place of occupied confusion
i hurt. i want. i hope. i wait.
so much to say and no time to say it
i miss my words here
i need to find the time
i need to come back
to this place that gives me peace
i need to come back to me
my first follower on this blog appeared like a bright and shiny beacon on a dark and stormy night. cliche, i know. but, it actually was a dark and stormy night when i started this blog. i was adrift in an emotional abyss of confusion and uncertainty, blogging my heart out to a black sea of facelessness, having no idea where I was heading or what choppy waters awaited me and my flimsy, bare-skinned raft.
and then she appeared. literally out of nowhere.
a twenty-something from Manhattan. bisexual. beautiful. and from all accounts. rich. she was struggling, clearly trying to find her identity in so many ways. a witty, intelligent and expressive writer whom i have enjoyed reading over and over again. she blogs her heart and passion with eloquent, meaningful prose and has touched my emotional, sensitive soul. relating to her fears, her wants, her hurts and her desires, i wanted to share with her all of my fears and wants and hurts and desires too. there were times when her honesty reverberated so deep inside of me that when she cried, i wanted to reach through the screen and hold her. to ease the ache of her heart.
i breathed her in and the scent was intoxicating. reveling in the heady power of shared wonder and joy. the hope in loves fresh bloom. so sweet and innocent. her wanting, her lust, her dreaming, her sacrifice and ultimately, her frustration. i understood the need in that wanting and the depths she would sink to, to satisfy her lover. i knew how important was acceptance. and i feared for her in that vulnerability. she has no idea how amazing she truly is. that her light shines so much brighter then the love she so desperately seeks. but she is young. there is still time for her to learn the truth of her value.
often, in her late night blogging with liquor loosening her tongue and me in my late night reading, with liquor sharpening my hearing, i have connected so intimately with her that to simply embrace her with my complete understanding was something i felt compelled to do. so she would truly know that she was not alone. that someone out here really understood her heart and her mind as much as another human being can.
i’m not sure why she has affected me so deeply, but she has.
i follow her here. from miles of distance. offering sage advise and sometimes laughter when i know she feels broken. she doesn’t write as often anymore and that saddens me. i am one of several loyal, addicted fans and want so many good things to happen for her. maybe her dreams of love are shattered? maybe her world has crashed and she can’t mend the pieces? maybe her girl has left?
i sincerely hope not.
hopefully she writes again soon.
i am her friend although we have never met.
and i have missed her.
yes gen, this is for you.
I realized my mother was no longer in love with my father when I was about 10 years old. I never questioned why my parents didn’t ‘kiss and stuff’. I just figured my dad was always in the dog house, like the rest of us. And hey, didn’t all parents sleep in separate single beds?
My mother never seemed anymore pleased with my father, at any given time, then she was with us kids. I think that’s why I felt such an instant kinship with him. He was constantly trying to win her affection too. She always seemed annoyed with us. Spit out the term “you people” – (as she so affectionately referred to us) – as if we were a scourge. Scum of the earth. The very bane of her existence. And muttered incessantly under her breath about how we didn’t appreciate anything she did for us. And why did she even bother.
Her frustration grew louder over the years, and so did her muttering.
I had no perception of how parents were supposed to love each other. How it looked. How it felt. How it tasted. How it smelled. How it sounded. All of my senses were ignorant of such knowledge. I certainly had no idea what it was like to be immersed in it. Enjoy it. Aspire to it. I had no basis for comparison. But even so, when I saw my mother openly rebuff my father, as if repulsed by his very touch, I knew I had witnessed something dreadfully dreadfully wrong.
It was a private moment. Not meant to be seen by anyone, of that I am certain. And I happened to stumble into it quite innocently. Just making my way from dining room to kitchen through the connecting swinging door, lost in my own little world of imaginings and adventure, heading outside to play. You know. Just another summer day. Cruising along in kid control. Blissfully unaware of the tensions that weighed heavily between the two adults I had come to appreciate as my parents.
I pushed the swinging door open, one foot landing softly on the lanolium flooring and came to a sudden stop. There they were. My mother at the sink, hands in soapy dishwater and my father standing intimately behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He leaned in to kiss the back of her neck and in that split second before his lips touched her skin, I felt such a sweet joy.
I can’t explain it fully. It was as if I knew I was about to witness love in action, an event I had never observed before. Adult love. My parents love for one another. A love that, up until then, had not been revealed to me. And I was deeply affected by the beauty of the moment. Even then. With no real understanding of any of it, I was open to the endless possibility of what it could mean. My heart leaned through the doorway, championing, embracing, wanting…for something.
And then she moved. Away. Her entire body reacted with revulsion. Bitter, open rejection. Palpable. Heated. Ugly. And cruel. I know this because I felt it.
She turned her head, tilted her neck from his warm breath, arched her shoulders back, and pressed her hips deep into the kitchen counter. Pushing herself as far away from him as possible. Her intent was clear. Her rejection obvious. The pain in the stain of the red in his cheeks, that she hadn’t seen and I alone had witnessed, was fleeting but, indelible as ink. She had scarred him. Deeply. Or perhaps, it was just another in a long line of many.
The sight deflated my sweet, building hope. My heart retracted with a dull thud. And I felt so incredibly, indescribably sad.
For all of us.
I had been on the brink of some new and incredulous discovery only to have it snatched from my reach before I fully understood what it was. I can only imagine how my father must have felt.
It was all so fleeting. Had happened so very fast, yet every time I replay it in my memory I see every nuance. Every line of their bodies. Vividly etched in my minds eye. His wanting to give and hers simply taking away. No loud voices. No arguing. No noise at all. Just the quiet, undeniable death of love.
That I wish I had never, ever seen.