monday

I’m so lonely this morning. Maybe it’s just my meds causing this feeling…I just don’t know. I told Head Doc that I didn’t feel lonely anymore. I told him, quite confidently, that I am alone, but not lonely. That was not 100% true. But, I wanted it to be. I’ve been trying very hard to make it so.

At the end of the day…each solitary motherfucking day…I am both; alone and lonely. I suppose it’s my own fault. I’ve sought anonymity for some time now. I just wanted to disappear, so I did. Not that I’m some celebrity, or even very popular…it’s just that I found that the people closest to me aren’t necessarily good for me. So much so that my relationships had grown so toxic that I wanted to die. Still do. It’s an everyday struggle not to put one in my brain. In any case, I decided that I needed to just go away, to the extent that I could. I have always been lonely, so this is nothing new, but I didn’t think leaving who I was behind would take the toll that it has. I only do business in my legal name, even though my alias IS my real, real, name. The one given to me at birth. Anyone with any drive to do so could find me. As it is, my youngest son is the only person on this planet that even knows where I actually live. lol! OMG, I sound so paranoid. But I had to defend myself, somehow, and this is the way I chose, for better or worse. Let me say this: Those toxic relationships were NOT one-way streets. I accept my responsibility in them. But the cycles would not stop and I didn’t know how to disengage any other way but in the way that I have. That’s all.

I’ve been trying to overcome agoraphobia for some time now. There are many days that I cannot even make myself walk out the door to go for a drive. If it weren’t for Walmart Grocery Pick-up and drive-thrus, I’d starve. I’d also be unbearably sober. Head Doc says I have severe PTSD, which is a diagnosis that I don’t think is right for a civilian to have. When he first told me, I told him that. I said that’s for soldiers and I’m no soldier. He said that thirty years of abuse by my husband was justification for his diagnosis, which, in terms of my behavior and state of mental health, is appropriate. Even so, I think it should be called something else if you haven’t fought in a war. He wants me to go to AA. He thinks that I may be able to function around alcoholics, who are my tribe, basically. There’s nothing I don’t know about drunks and how they think and the terrible things they do. In fact, I hate them so much that I became one. lol! Imagine that…

I think that another reason I don’t want that diagnosis is that it reminds me of what, exactly, I have been through over the thirty years before Exish died, nevermind my childhood. He only hit me a few times in all of that time. But, he’d yell at me. Every day. Just scream and yell and turn the furniture over and scare me. Then…grand finale…he’d spit in my face. Just like that. One minute, he’s shaking, an inch away, then he’d spit in my fucking face like I was nothing. I’d have knocked the shit out of him, but I never knew what might happen. My entire life was spent getting yelled at and talked to like I didn’t matter. Working for my mother wasn’t the good time you’d think it might be. She didn’t treat me any better than Exish did. She was mean and demanding and just kept wanting more, even though I was operating at 100% while working in a tremendous amount of pain. Then, it was home to Exish. After a round, or ten, with him, I’d hit the road to the fucking dope house looking for our youngest. The days never seemed to end and, to me, it was all just yesterday. In reality, it was almost ten years ago that Youngest got off drugs and 3/12 years since Exish died. At the end of his life, he was so doped up that he had little energy to flip furniture over and scream much. He took to sitting in his favorite chair with an AK next to it. All he had to do was tap it for me to know it was time to see things his way. I still don’t know why he didn’t just kill me. I think he knew it would’ve been doing me a favor.

So, basically, that’s my life: Trying to figure out the future and shake the past. Isolating so that I don’t have to pile on to what’s already there. I do talk to my mother daily, but only as much as I want to. She has no idea how I feel, except for the few things I say now and then. Unlike me, she has a bullet-proof ego, so nothing I ever say will matter. All this bullshit and I’m 52 years old. I shouldn’t be this way at this time in my life. If things don’t start to line out soon, I’m going to move on, so to speak. Anything would be better than the life I’ve had. Especially the last twenty years. I was happy for about ten, when things weren’t so bad that I couldn’t cover them up and make things look nice to the outside world. Once that ended…well… Anyway, it is what it is.

Peace out, girl scouts…

alone

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day bleeds into night as i make ready to sleep, at last
yet, i lie here, drowning in pillows and comfort
a mist of jasmine here and there
in an empty room to suit my empty bed
i toss and turn until it exhausts me
alone, again, till morning light
when i awaken to birdsong and the sweet smell of pine
to begin another day of living
my tiny life
in my tiny home
alone
stark reality sinking in
i may as well have slept upon a bed of nails

 

always your girl

20160618_090307i dreamed of you last night
as darkness swept over the land
we were young, you and i
in love
full of joy
as we strolled down the beach, hand in hand

in my dream, you smiled, so sweetly
as you did when love was new
in your eyes, i saw my future
our children…
that was back before we were ‘me’ and ‘you’

time began to move faster, then
even though it was only a dream
days came and went
and we couldn’t save us
nothing between us was as it seemed

everyone who saw us
even those who knew us very well
thought you and i were great together
and so we were
as we’d created the perfect Hell

on the day you died
it was far too late
to say another ‘i love you’
so typical, such twisted fate
but i knew you loved me, too

it’s so hard to make a life
in this wicked world
till we meet again
and, in spite of all that happened
i will always be your girl

i miss you, b.

Etc., And So On…

I’ve spent far too much time on FB today, reading about almost nothing but strife between the races. Per my norm, I don’t attack individuals, but I do ask a lot of questions. This is always met with racists, blacks, Mexicans, and whites who wish they were any race but white. Liberals, one and all. 

Most of my FB friends know I had two extra sons who were black. One was an addict, the other was mentally ill, but he was a thinker. I hate to say that, of the two, the one I loved most was D, the thinker. And I really hate to consider that he and I would have been on opposite sides of this racial situation. D was proud to be southern, extremely proud of his Texas roots, but I think he’d be an the side of Antifa. 

D passed away two years ago, last Halloween. One car fatality accident. His beautiful wife died one month before him, on the same road, in the exact same way. D and I had a lil fallout before he died. It was over a racial issue. We only talked a few times after. I’ll go to my grave hating myself for that. I shouldn’t have taken such offence to what he’d said. All this chatter on FB, of all things, reminds me that two people who love one another, like family, can be separated over things like race and politics. Sometimes, that idea is more than I can bear. 

I think I’m going to avoid FB politics for a little while. Just stay in my lane…a lane which is not occupied by psychotic liberals. The people in my lane are good hearted and kind and funny; they’re people I would like to meet, one day. 

I must admit to being caught by surprise by the way liberals behave now. When I was young, they wanted peace and freedom. Today, they’re tyrannical and violent. That’s what happens when you praise everything a child does, and don’t enforce any discipline, while raising that child in a culture that has become almost completely amoral. I used to feel sorry for liberals, until they showed us who they really are in the hateful, fascist, children they raised. It’s quite clear that they are so accustomed to following the crowd that most aren’t even sure what they hate. But, hate they do! We’ll have to wait and see how well that works out for em…

Secrets

I hate to open my eyes in the morning. No matter how hard I look, he’s never here. Never will be. Yes, I know…bastard this…s.o.b. that…Well, maybe so. Maybe I miss him because, somewhere inside of me, I am the same as him, and always was. 

Perhaps this sorrow is not me mourning my husband, but me confronting my true self for the first time. What if he was right about me? Is all of Hell truly at the root of my being? 

On the outside, I’m kind and generous…smiling…pleasant. The only indication that something could be wrong is my weight. After all, who allows themselves to put on so much weight were they not hiding something? I’ll tell you who…Someone trying to stop herself. I suppose I should say no more than that. 

I’m trying, desperately, to understand the situation I’m in. My eyes are nearly swollen shut from crying. I know myself well enough to know that it won’t stop until I figure it all out. I can’t believe that I only began to understand my heart’s misdirection this very morning. In most matters, my mind follows my heart. That has always been my undoing. 

As I sit here on this beautifully somber day, my head spins with new insight. Could I really have been the impetus for the way he behaved towards me and for the violence that literally coursed through his veins, bringing about his end? And, if that’s the case, what about me made him confident that he’d get by with it? It makes no sense that I’d be both the cause and enabler. Maybe it’s because he knew of my darkest heart. That which came down through the women of my family for generations. The secret I shed long ago, but not soon enough that he had not witnessed its power. 

The secrets we keep are what make us who we are. It isn’t love or faith or any good thing. That is a lie perpetrated by the guilt of generations so that we won’t see the truth in our humanity. We share a veil with the other side. It’s thin and flimsy and corrupted by the slightest touch. It is only a single breath that separates the living from the dead. One. Were it not for the lies we’re raised on, perhaps we’d see that the best part of who we will ever be lives within that one breath, and that, should we gather the strength of heart to reach out and touch that veil, we would truly, finally, be free of our secrets. 

big ol nuts

My brother, K, is bipolar schizophrenic. He ain’t nothin nice, either, unless he forces himself to be. At this time, he’s fully delusional 24/7. He currently lives with our mother, who he has hit, (did a short time in county jail for that), shoved into a cabinet in her own kitchen, and has basically taken over her life. This morning, she texted me that she’s giving him an ultimatum: Get help, or get out.

In Texas, the laws that govern the mentally ill work against them as much as for them. Actually, they only work for people who aren’t actually ill, but who someone wants to have locked up. This type of abuse of the mental health system is one reason that it has changed so drastically in the last twenty years. Couple that with the general public’s collective delusion that the mentally ill ‘just need a lil help’, and, if you live with a seriously mentally ill person, or care about one, you’re screwed. The only options you have are ultimatums or seeking a conservatorship that costs five thousand dollars. Should you be appointed the sick person’s keeper, you are responsible not only for their care, but for any felonious behavior they might participate in, up to and including, homicide. They are, in the eyes of the law, little more than human Pit Bulls.

I’m sick and tired of people’s attitudes about the mentally ill. Most think that the term refers to harmless simpletons who wouldn’t hurt a fly. In MANY cases, the opposite is true and the ones caring for them out of love are often times putting their lives at risk to do so. My brother is a bomb waiting to go off. When he does…when the voices finally give him the go-ahead…there will be extreme fallout. It pisses me off because local authorities know, the mental health deputies know, neighbors know. Yet, my mother still has to feel ashamed to wash her hands of a man who she doesn’t know, even though he occupies her son’s body and has openly stated that he wants to kill her.

It’s time for the public to grow up and stop the hypocrisy about mentally ill. People will drive past a bum and make snide remarks but, chances are, at least one of those people you see a day is mentally ill. You gonna stop and clean them up and ‘help’ them? Hell no. Because you can clearly see that they are not able to fit in with society, much less you and your lil family. You see someone like my brother, clean and always dressed well, and you think he’s just a big ol teddy bear, so childlike and precious…God bless him and his defective mind. Guess what? That big ol teddy bear would drop your ass like a rock if you touch him. Because he thinks you’re a demon. That’s why. Nobody touches my brother. Nobody. And that’s no shit.

I guess I’ll finish up this rant. I’m just so upset by things right now. I wish my brother was normal, like my other brother, but he’s not. Never has been, really.

peace, man

It’s a lovely and quiet grey morning. Beyond the window, I see a million things to be thankful for. I’m so fortunate to live here, even though I never though that I could be happy here. I suppose I couldn’t have been happy here, had he not passed. Without him, and the constant stress he brought to the table, life is actually peaceful. The lumps and bumps I’m encountering are just that; lumps and bumps. There is no one here to make them into mountains.

Peace can be a difficult thing to accept. It’s almost like faith. For me, at least. I’ve never known peace, even once, in my entire life. I jokingly tell people that I wasn’t raised on the sunny side of the street. If they only knew what that really means, they’d be shocked. My childhood is one that a sane person would look upon in horror. Even now, when I look back, I cannot believe that was me. From my earliest memories, I was just a tiny adult, maneuvering through crowds of predators as I accompanied my grandparents, who raised me, to one bar after another on a daily basis.

Looking back, it’s almost funny. Almost. But, I learned many valuable lessons and some get me through, even now. I am highly functioning in violent situations, (yet I have panic attacks at the Stop N Shop), which helped a lot when my son was on drugs years back. I know how I’d react with a gun in my face. I stay squared up with God on a daily basis because I know that anyone could take my life any time they pleased. That’s a truth about the world that most people refuse to accept, but their lack of acceptance makes it no less true. I know a lot of things about people and how dark they can be. I also know that I can survive anything, if I have to.

But peace…I am enjoying it. I’m feasting on it. It feels so unusual and good. Some days, I wake up and notice my heart isn’t instantly pounding and it freaks me out! I open my eyes to each new day feeling that part of myself that was always waiting for the next shoe to drop sliding away into wherever God puts our messed up parts. I haven’t been yelled at in 41 days. That’s never happened before. Not one time since I can remember in my whole life. How weird is that? lol! It’s super weird! And it’s super great!

I’ll wrap this up by saying that I am overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude. I’m sorry that he had to die for me to enjoy this, but life happens as it will. I spent a lot of time sharing in his bad karma because I wanted to do the right thing by my boys, as I saw it. Now, I get to enjoy my own karma, that I have always worked hard to keep clean and positive. Everyone receives their due in life. Maybe peace is mine. Or…maybe it was there, all along, but I couldn’t see it through the pain of my life. Either way, I’m grateful to have it. Finally.

pj in my bed

pj

i imagine you

in the still of the night

you lie there, asleep in my bed

and i lie next to you, thisclose

listening to your breathe

i stare at that spot on your neck

…the one that drives me wild for no reason, whatsoever

i want to kiss and nibble and bite you

there

just there

so that you’ll wake up and kiss me

and i will kiss you back

so, it begins

as our bodies play

and sometime, deep in the night

we make love

amongst the pillows and comfort

 

sex&love&the middle

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I find that I’m in a strange situation. I’ve been celibate for more than five years now. He and I lived together as roommates, only, while we were separated. This caused a lot of tension between us. He viewed me as his property, as far as anyone could tell by the way he treated me. In his view, how dare his property refuse him that which was his? But I didn’t give in because I knew that, if I ever did, there would be no end to it. He always seemed to forget that I only returned home on the advice of our attorney, retained to handle the serious legal issues we faced.

The day he died, once the doctors left and things were quiet in the room, my mother, brother and oldest son sat at his bedside. I was crying…I could not believe he was gone. I mentioned that I felt strange being so very upset since we’d been separated for years. I did not expect to experience a feeling of such deep loss. My oldest son looked up and said, “Mom, Dad always said you’d be his wife till the day he died. Yep, he called that one!” We all had a good laugh as we sat together, taking in the sight of this man who was so alive only one day before. He grew colder and colder as minutes wore on. Finally, I had to leave, so my mother and brother went to get my truck for me. My son walked me downstairs and we embraced and he told me he was going to sit with his father for a bit. I told him I loved him as I walked out the doors of the hospital.

Though he and I had no sexual relationship, I did not date during our separation, although I did talk to several men I was interested in. Prior to an actual date, I’d come up with some crazy shit to argue with them about and they’d tell me to fuck off and that was that. I had good reason. In spite of my insistence that I was a single individual, I always knew that, were I to actually date anyone, he or I would end up in the morgue. My husband’s addiction had led him to a point where certain aspects of his personality, already volatile, were greatly exacerbated by his drug intake. He was always a jealous man, even though he was the one who cheated and was well aware that I never had.

Last year, after we moved up here, he began a habit that I found chilling and infuriating, at once. If he thought that I was chatting with a man on my phone or pc, he’d go get his AK and prop it up by his chair. He’d say he heard a noise or what have you, even in the light of day. A man stoned out of his mind sitting next to a rifle is a powerful image. It was an image that did not go ignored by me. I told him on many occasions to go ahead and shoot me and get it over with, since he was slowly sucking my life away, anyhow. He wouldn’t even say a word. Sometimes, he’d roll his eyes, but that was about it. But, to me, at the end of the day, it wasn’t worth the trouble. So, I never dated…although I did fall in love with someone online. Yeah. I did. I’ve written about it here a little. But, that’s another story.

The thing is that I’m starting to really feel as though I want a man in my bed. Not necessarily in my life. It goes against everything I believe to have that ‘hit it and quit it’ hookup thing going on, but I just want to make love. I don’t want any S&M involved, or any kink whatsoever, for that matter. I just want to feel the touch of a man who at least pretends to care.

Yes, I do think that it would be settling to engage in that behavior. But I don’t know if I’m ever going to find a relationship. I don’t ever want to marry again. If I do, it will only be a promise we both make before God, no paper for the tax man or the national headcount. I want to have big huge love in my life. I want to take care of a strong man and know that I’m the only woman in his mind and heart. I want an honest man. One who’d never cheat and lie to me. I want a man who can handle me. And that’s asking a lot. I’m too much. And I know that. But I can’t change it.

Being 49 and pre menopausal, there are days on end when I don’t even think about sex. Then, there are other times when it’s all consuming. During those times, I feel so incomplete as a woman without a man to call her own. This didn’t just start when he died. I’ve felt this way for years. Only now, I can pursue any sort of relationship I want to. When I think about it, my brain literally shakes. I swear! And my eyes feel as though they’re gazing into a vast canyon…miles and miles of emptiness before me. I don’t know whether to jump off into it, or run away from it.

I’ve been on a dating site for some time now. Mostly for conversation. It would be so easy to pick up the phone and have a man in my bed tonight. I think that’s pretty funny, since I’ve gotten so fat, but lots of men like that. lol! Wow! I could have a slave, a man with a foot fetish, one who likes to be tickled…a true blue masochist (yummy!)…on and on. It’s like standing in front of the cooler at a convenience store trying to decide what type of soda you want. But, the thing is, what none of them really seem to need is love. And I need to give it as much as receive it. Love, that is. It’s an aching need to care for a man…to truly love someone.

One of my FB friends left a comment on my timeline one day. He said: ‘Elle, you’re like a box of chocolates.’ He was absolutely right. Even I never know what I’m gonna get from one day to the next, especially since he died and all these emotions about my childhood and life with him and so many other things have surfaced. It’s all coming at me so fast and I just don’t know how to …get it from my head to my life to problem solved status. Now this love thing is rearing its head again and I’m so confused.

I guess I better get something done. It’s nearly five o’clock and I’ve spent the day thinking about sex and love and watching The Middle. Maybe a lil chocolate will help…

 

Miss Spider midnight singsong drivel

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Miss Spider could not sleep that night

Her dreams were full of shock and fright

And nothing but love would make it right

But she knew it wasn’t worth the fight

Her legs were crossed

And her face was grim

The moment she caught sight of him

She posed as pretty as could be

In hopes of attracting he to She

Perhaps this one would behave

And cherish all the love She gave

As he walked by, she gave a wave

And a big smile crossed his handsome face

He sat down near Her feat

The look in his eye was such a treat

Under the moonlight, She would meet

The one who’d sweep Her off Her feet

In only days, it turned to love

Her dream come true

A gift from above

He showed Her a side of things, unseen

He made Miss Spider his love

His Queen

As She reveled in his love and passion

She wondered how She’d ever fashion

A life with one who could hurt her so

Should he decide to up and go

Then She began to push him away

Harsh words and actions to hasten the day

That She knew would come about, anyway

“Goodbye, My love. Now, go away!”

Though he did not understand

Was he not enough a man?

He was simply too blind to see

That She was terrified to be a We