free thought ramblilng


I’m missing something, inside. It’s something that was never really there, but having him in my life made me feel as though it was. The pain he caused made my insides feel full…bursting at the seems at all times. I was an emotional Roman alone in my vomitorium, awaiting the next course.

Tonight, I feel the vacuous me that I am. Neither drug, nor drink can stir any emotion but dread. The dread one might feel as they stand at cliff’s edge, wondering if someone might come along and give them a push. Because that’s all I need. I need push. A reason. The lightest tap will do.

In my wildest dreams, I never thought he’d die. I wished it, begged God for it…There were many times that I was close to dispatching him, myself. The love his sons had for him saved his sorry ass. I think that’s part of why I feel like I do. I am shocked that I didn’t kill him. Is that bad? I don’t know anymore. I honestly don’t. He always said I was a sociopath. If I were, he’d have been gone long ago. I’m only a woman who has lived with a fucking pain machine for three decades. That’s all. I. Am. Only. A. Woman.

I feel as though I’m dying, too. I can feel the cold of the Darkness inside of me. It’s all consuming, and something I haven’t felt in a very long time. Even as a child, it was there. I was a child living in a world of degenerates. Every minute of spare time was spent tagging along from one bar to the next with my grandparents, who raised me. It isn’t easy for a girl child in those circumstances. My Darkness saved me. It allowed me to recognize the Darkness in others and, knowing mine was always stronger, as my grandmother taught me, I was able to deal with them. These disgusting men with their wandering eyes…hands…stealing kisses from a child. Disgusting maggots. I wish I’d had the ability to kill every, single, one. I never told my dad because I knew that he WOULD kill them. My grandmother knew, but did nothing about it. I quickly learned the art of being frozen in a smile. I was a mimic; a puppet with no emotion of her own, only that which she adopted from others.

I don’t understand how his death has brought these things up in my mind and heart. I don’t allow these thoughts in my world. They are lighting in a storm, already raging. Perhaps it’s because I have never had a moment on my own. Truly on my own. I went from home to being a wife, mother, reconciled with my own mother…the list is long. Maybe the pain was good for me because it occupied my mind. And there was love. There were good times. Great times, even. But things didn’t end well between he and I. And, the second he was gone, I felt it…the Darkness at my shoulder. Within a week, the memories came to the forefront, tired of their home in the recesses of my brain, I suppose. They seem to have mixed quite well with the guilt and sorrow and grief. I feel like a playground for devils and fallen angels. Overrun and pushed around. Yet, I know that nothing they do can compare to the damage I can do to myself, of my own free will.

I’m tired now. Meds are finally beginning to do their job. I hope to sleep tonight. I hope he stays put and leaves me alone. I want him to go on to wherever he is supposed to be and leave me be. I want to close my eyes and see nothing but blackness. No faces. Not his, not anyone’s. I just want to be left alone to figure out who I’m supposed to be. It has to happen soon, or I’ll cease to be.



I miss Bennie today. Can’t put my finger on why. I just do. Fuckin bullshit. He’s dead and suddenly I give a shit. There was a time when I’d lie awake at night praying for his death, fully expecting that, sooner or later, it would come by way of my own hands. Now, I’m falling apart without him. I’m so angry with myself for that. I did love him. From the second I ever laid eyes on him. But, that’s the problem with me…Once I love someone, I won’t let them go or let them down if there’s any possible way to avoid it. I’m what you call a stupid bitch like that.

Jay called yesterday. We were talking about our phone plan and he mentioned that he had taken his dad’s memory card out of his phone. I told him that it was ok, I’d pick it up next time I was down there in case there was anything special on it. He said, “No, Mom…I still have his laptop and I put everything you need off the card onto it.” Sonofabitch! I knew there was shit on that card, but I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to keep our boys from seeing it. All the time, Jay was worried about what I’d find. I love that kid. Both of my boys are good men. But, I’d never have put that on one of my sons. Never.


…and then he was gone. – Pt.2


At 9:30 a.m., on the morning that they say Bennie died, I was asked to leave his room so that they could perform a sterile procedure. Minutes earlier, I had given written consent to one of the ghouls to allow him and his cohorts to attempt dialysis. I made it clear that this was their only shot. I could not bring myself to pull the plug, nor did I realize that it was within my legal ability to do so, at the time. Honestly, the thought did not cross my mind.

I was escorted to the waiting room where I encountered a woman I’d met the night before. She and her sister were there for the duration, as their brother was receiving a liver transplant. Both were very kind and sociable women in their late 50’s. I politely engaged in light conversation with them for a few minutes, then turned to the window and tried to pretend I was somewhere else.

The scenery was industrial and, to me, beautiful. I greatly enjoy the shape of things meant to work, maintain or create. Those things interest me. And so I sat in total silence, listening to the sisters giggling and staring through the glass. Suddenly, a flutter caught my eye. It was a sparrow that had flown from beneath a nearby overhang. I watched fly for a second, maybe two, then it fell out of the sky onto the roof of the building below. It flipped and flopped for a good half minute before giving up and dying. I even took a picture of it. I was so shocked I couldn’t even call the sisters over to have a look. All of everything inside of me was focused on the sparrow and I knew then, more strongly than I ever knew before, that Bennie had died.

I couldn’t help but cry when I saw this terrible confirmation of my feeling. It was a bit after ten, so I called the nurse’s desk and she said it could take a bit longer, not to worry. I got lost in the blue sky that presented itself so gloriously on the other side of the window. You could see beyond the buildings, all the way to the Gulf. Pelicans flew their patrols in groups, as always. My eyes could not get enough of them as I sat there wondering what was going to happen once he passed. I tried to remember all of his funeral songs and which tee shirt he wanted to be dressed in. I couldn’t remember a thing, but it gave me something to occupy my brain with.

The younger sister had gone to visit her brother in his room for a few minutes. When she returned, I heard her saying that there was a big commotion going on ‘back there’. She said someone was dying and that every doctor and nurse on the floor was in the room. I turned and asked if it was the first room on the left. She said that it was. I told her it was Bennie and that he wasn’t coming back. I let more time pass before I called again. It was around noon. The nurse told me the same thing as before. I thanked her and hung up. I wondered if they were preparing his body, somehow, since I knew he was dead. I thought that they might be taking the tubes away and whatsuch. The sisters kept asking if I was okay and if I wanted cookies or a sandwich from the giant bag they’d packed. I tried to just be quiet and think.

Two more hours rolled around before I called the nurse, again. There was noise in the background this time. Her voice was shaking as she reassured me, finally telling me she’d send a person to come get me soon. The older sister had, by now, gone back to see her brother. She had trouble walking and complained quietly to the younger sister that she had to take the long way ’round because the hallway was blocked with machines and people. I could still hear her, though. They began to speculate on whether, or not, Bennie would survive. Then, out of nowhere, a young girl appeared. She asked me to come with her. As soon as we cleared the waiting room, she took my arm and said we’d be talking in the conference room. Everyone knows what that means. Oh, shit…

I walked into a huge room with an equally huge conference table. At the end nearest the door sat the anesthesiologist and, across from her, a doctor. The girl that brought me there pulled the seat at the head of the table out and asked me to sit down. The doctor immediately began his routine…’Ma’am, we’ve been doing chest compressions for two hours and he is not responding….’. I went crazy when he said that. I told him to tell those bastards to get their hands off of Bennie NOW. The doctor just stared blankly at me like he didn’t understand why I wasn’t thanking him. I repeated myself, even louder, until the anesthesiologist finally got off her ass and went to tell them to stop. I asked the doctor if they could please removed the machinery before my sons arrived. He agreed, and left the room. I called both of the boys, but told neither that their father had passed. I didn’t want them driving with that in their heads. They would find out soon enough. I called my mother…

I’m not sure how long I spent in the conference room. It was so quiet and serene in that room. But, when I came out and went into Bennie’s room, my mother and older brother were already there. A very attractive young doctor came in to explain that they did the very best they could. I asked him to stop the bullshit because the best they could have done was let him die with some dignity. I told him that I did not want to hear another thing about it and I wanted him to leave. He asked if I’d sign papers donating organs for research before he left. I told him that I would not, since they’d experimented enough, already. Again, he came back with more soft voiced reassurances that they were, in fact, a team of heroes who’d given their all. He just could not stop himself from trying to paint the situation into a pretty picture. I told him that they are only people and that there was nothing good that came from what they did and that they knew they couldn’t save him. I asked why they’d do chest compressions on someone with no brain activity…someone they already knew would be paraplegic. Not to mention that they did that on someone who had a chest full of microscopically attached arteries and such. Did they plan to send home a biologically functional meat sack? Was that the goal? Would they have considered THAT a success? Why would anyone do that? Dr. Goodlooking didn’t like my line of questioning and he did finally leave the room. Thank God.

The rest of the afternoon and evening went much as you’d think it would. Now, it’s…now. I’m alone. The boys are doing fine. Life goes on. I left some details out of this story because they are simply too painful to recall. I have never witnessed anything as horrific as I did in the 14 hours I spent with Bennie’s corpse throughout the night and morning after his surgery. I know that I’ll never be the same again. Maybe life feels a little more valuable to me, at this point. Moreso, the end of life seems more precious to me. We have a right to die with dignity. No doctor should be able to rush us into emergency surgery that we don’t want simply because they can’t legally give you some pain medication and put you in a quiet room until the event occurs. They knew Bennie would die that day. By their own account, he’d have been dead in five seconds after the aneurysm burst. Instead, they subjected him to what was supposed to be a twelve hour procedure, even though they closed him up after eight, then put him on life support just to cover their asses, as far as I can tell. His kidneys had stopped functioning during surgery. That certainly coincides with the cause of death on the death certificate. Then they did two hours of chest compressions to finish up the show? I haven’t seen anything that says that’s protocol. I’m so disturbed by it all that I can’t sleep well. It’s just all too, too much. And it always will be.

666 Memory Lane


It’s a peaceful morning here, as usual. Miss Cocoa has taken up a spot in the litter box and the girls are outside rolling around and playing in the sunshine. As for me, I’m just smoking and waiting for my pain pills to work so I can clean the kitchen.

I haven’t cleaned since Bennie passed. I keep putting it off, thinking that, if I take his cup off the table by his chair, he’ll be gone for good. But he’s already long gone and I’m being silly. In the back seat of my truck are two large plastic bags, full of the work clothes he took with him when he left for his last job. My brother loaded them up for me when I came home two weeks ago. I need to bring them in and hang them up, wash what needs to be washed, and find someone who could use them. They’re all fire retardant and are very expensive to buy. I know there’s a young hand out there needing work clothes and feel terrible about keeping them. I just don’t want to bring them in. I don’t want to touch them. And I don’t know why.

Life with Bennie was difficult, to say the least. He made sure of it. He cheated on me before our first anniversary, and never stopped. He seemed to enjoy ‘accidentally’ letting me find out. It hurt so much, at first. I thought I’d die, honestly. But, I was busy raising our boys and they worshiped their father, as he did them. I could never justify hurting them by taking them away. I even asked Bennie if he’d keep the boys and let me go. He said there was no way he’d do that. So, I stopped taking his cheating personally and went on with life.

I think what I hated more, much more, than his cheating was his bullying. He hit me a few times over the years, shoved me around, spit in my face. Just bully shit. Once, he got a butcher knife out and I figured I was about to get it. He had it raised over his head and I was just staring at it. I knew that, coming downward that way, it was gonna hurt like a motherfucker. I saw his arm start to move and shut my eyes, but, instead of stabbing me, he brought the knife down and stuck it into the kitchen table. When he did, his hand slid down and it cut the shit out of his hand. I was shocked. He was shocked, too. I grabbed the first aid kit and wrapped his hand up for him. Things were very quiet after that and, a few hours later, we went to his mother’s house for gumbo. The boys were already there, as they spent most weekends with his mother. His whole family was there, as well. They thought the cut was a defensive wound and they were very outspoken about it, even in front of my boys. I couldn’t tell them the truth, so I left.

Looking back, our relationship was very abusive. He knew I loved him with all of my heart, and he used that as a weapon against me. Eventually, I just stopped feeling a lot of things. It’s funny…the things you can get used to just to get by. I really hated the screaming. Bennie would get so angry that his face would turn red and he’d shake. He’d get right in my face, almost touching nose to nose, and he’d scream at the top of his lungs calling me every name he could think of. I was raised in a violent home, so it probably never bothered me as much as it should have. I had no natural fear of violence…still don’t…so I’d just sit perfectly still and zone out while he screamed. Spitting in my face was always the grand finale. I knew that, if I had moved an inch, he would have beaten my ass, so I almost feel fortunate that I was raised the way I was.

There is so much more to recall about that man. Things I don’t want to recall. I guess that I need to accept that he never loved me like I loved him, even in the end. One of the last text messages he sent was to a woman who he’d been seeing off and on throughout our marriage, long before we were separated. She wanted him to leave me and be with her. He told her that he couldn’t, or I’d get half of everything. The thing is, we were going to hire surveyors to split this land in half after he got off of this job, but I told him that I’d be fine with the back eight acres and a tiny house. That parcel is on a separate deed and he could just do a family sale to me. Done deal. That was the plan. He got everything but just one little bit. He’d have lost virtually nothing.

Bennie passed on a Friday, so it was the following business day, Monday, before I could do anything like an obituary. I went on his FB and let his friends and relations know what had happened. The next day, I checked his FB and the woman I mentioned had posted some pretty harsh things about me not caring enough to get an obit done. I messaged her, reminding her that I couldn’t take care of that over the weekend, but that I was getting it done that day. She messaged me back telling me how miserable Bennie was and that is why he died. She said he worried too much about supporting me and, were it not for that, he’d be alive. I told her that wasn’t true, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said she knew A LOT about our marriage. I informed her that she knew what he wanted her to know. I also let her know that for five years, he’d been free to live with her, date her, whatever he wanted, without any reprisal from me because we’d been separated all of that time. Yep…I guess ol Bennie failed to mention that to her. I haven’t heard from her since then. Score!

Well, I’m gonna wrap up this lil walk down Memory Lane. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I really need to get some perspective on who I’m crying over. Bennie was my own personal pain machine. It ran all the time. I went dry inside keeping it fueled. That’s the man I have been married to for the last twenty years. That’s why I feel empty inside. Not because he’s gone, but because the part of me he killed off left a hole inside of me that is no longer filled by the daily pain of living with him. I always say he was my best friend. In many ways, he was. But in more ways than that, he was anything but a friend. Maybe I need to remember THAT.


No Rest For The Darling!

I can’t sleep. This unholy combination of physical pain and emotional dizziness serves as a condom…magnum…between me and my dreams.

I’ve written, chatted and spoken of so many personal things this evening that I find myself asking a host of new questions. Do I truly have what it takes to love another man ever again?  Do I have the will to lose weight and get in shape without having some perverse surgery? Do I want to trade Broomhilda, my truck, for a Dodge Challenger…the one with the giant Hemi? Because that would be pretty awesome…Would that be a good substitute for sex? I’ve heard it’s pretty damn close. Omg…so many questions!

I think I may get time to go see S next week. Depends on his schedule. Frankly, I could use a night of ridiculously great sex with a man who has never hurt me. And, before you judge, please note that I’ve only been with two men on a totally intimate level in my lifetime, and have never cheated on Exish. Not that I need to make excuses. After giving things more thought, my conscience is clear.

Youngest called this evening. He was sober, so I knew he was broke and why he was calling within the first ten seconds of the call. He said he needed gas money because he has a job interview. Tomorrow. You know…SUNDAY? Yeah, I just snapped to that while I was lying in bed, trying to sleep. And, yes, the money has already been sent. Damn it! That kid knows I’m scatter brained and he gets me every time. Ah, well…I bet he’s not sober now. Thanks Mom!

I should at least go back to bed and try to sleep. I barely slept last night, either, and if I don’t get some sleep soon, I’m gonna have all the grace of a bathsalt zombie.

Peace out, girl scouts!

You Win


I thought I could make the last stretch
…run the last lap
Like a fool, I thought I could outrun you
But you’ve broken me
Tore me down like an old house
But, what difference does it make?
The house has been empty for years
Left to itself
Falling to ruins
Once filled with joy and life
Yet you destroyed it so efficiently that even the memories have taken their leave
And the ghosts have gone their way
All that’s left is the Darkness that, for all those many years, had lain silently beneath

In The Twinkling Of An Eye


Driving home this summer’s day
Windows down
Feeling that thing you feel
When the wind is blowing through your hair
And the sun shines on your face
Listening to Pantera
Full blast
Fat Pat…Big Pokey…SUC

Then a call to a good friend
Also making his way home on this same summer day
A conversation that goes on for hours as you both race towards home
Talk of the intimate…the mundane
Talking about Life
Then, a word within a certain context is spoken
Never meant to hurt
Even still, you’re sent back to a terrifying place
A distant memory takes hold
Violent and cruel
It envelopes your senses
You’re back in time
In a dark room, shaking and so afraid
But you are not alone
Not nearly alone
Every sensation…every nuance
Of the evil forced upon you
Devours you
And, on a summer day
While talking to a friend
The terrible thing…the ugly, horrifying act of a depraved few
Seems to happen again
As the wind blows through your hair
And the sun shines on your face


imageShattered like so much glass
Lying in an alleyway
Once beautiful and full of purpose
I lie broken at your feet
You bend down and I’m certain
That you’re going to gather me up
Repair what you destroyed
Instead, you brush me away
You step over me
Avoid me
I’m lost forever to your indifference

random is as random does


this pic has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but it’s my favorite

This has been such a peaceful day. In spite of not sleeping since Wedesday, I felt pretty good today. Chatted with some cool people online. Now I’m sitting here, listening to Judas Priest, awaiting Exish’s arrival.

I enjoy living so much more when he’s gone. When he leaves, the negativity goes with him. I can turn off the TV, open the windows and listen to the birds…I can breathe. He’ll be leaving Monday to go to a job about five hours away. That’s is SO cool with me!

He bought me a new pistola for the house. She’s a beauty. Taurus .357 magnum. I still sort of like my little ..22. It’s got a history behind it. I love it when things have a story. Inanimate objects, once used by humans to perpetrate whatever nefarious thing they choose. It’s so silly when people say that guns kill people. Well, of course they do. If some fucktwit picks one up and uses it for no good reason. Other than that, they just sit there. No, really…they do.

I’m so random tonight. Someone I met online was supposed to call and I was so nervous I had a panic attack and took an extra med to calm me down. Then a benadryl because my allergies have gone batshit crazy. Then some DayQil because the other stuff was really knocking me out. Even now, I am writing this with one eye closed, because if I don’t, I’ll see double! lol! Holy shit…Then, the guy decided he didn’t want to call me after he saw my real pic. He is the first person I’ve sent my picture to since a man calling himself Memnoch stalked me for four years, but that’s another story.

It’s weird to be rejected when you already told the person, “Look, I’m fat and I’m bossy and am not your type.” Whatever. It does stand as testament to the power of the written word and the power of fantasy/thought on human beings. But, when confronted with reality, things change. It’s much like the way we leave a book on our nightstand and go about our day. It was fun having feelings for a few hours, though. That’s normally not an issue for me. I’m at my lowest point in my entire life. I am numb as fuck. I might get angry, but there isn’t really a full range of emotion for me to draw from. It is what it is.

OMG…Exish will be home in an hour. He’s going to be pissed because the window is up and I’m here alone. Who fucking cares? I am armed to the teeth, and almost out of smokes. By all means, kick my door in. I could give a fuck.

When Exish leaves, it’s diet and exercise time. I just need some time to myself, for myself, so I can get my shit squared away. When Exish is here, he sucks the life out of me and I feel paralyzed and I don’t even try. And I don’t want him to see me try. Does that sound strange? The man looks at me like I’m his worst nightmare. He doesn’t like the sound of my voice, so I have to watch how much I talk to him. And I better damn well watch my tone. It’s too much. He’s never abused me physically or anything, but he’s taken everything that was good and happy and joyful inside of me and pissed on it. He made me hate myself enough to nearly double my body weight. Because I am the type of person that needs something external to cope. I don’t have the internal capacity to just deal with my life. I never have.

When I was 18, I was put into and eating disorder unit for six weeks because I was bullemarexic. While I was there, I got sober for the first time since I was nine. But I did great after I got out. I was an aerobics instructor, I worked out every day…worked the program. The whole nine. Then I got married. Funny how things change with that fucking ring goes on your hand.

I don’t blame anyone but myself for being how I am now. I accept full responsibility. But I do know and understand that certain people bring certain things out in me. Everyone has someone like that in their life. So…when my soul sucker leaves, I’m getting on my path again. Thirty years later.

you bend me

you bend me
and i become all that you’d have me be
you try me
and i prove that i am loyally yours
you hate me
and i turn the other cheek
because if you knew the truth
if i told you what you really are to me
how much i love you
loathe you
you would blow away in a gale of your own self importance

i wonder if you will ever understand
that the power you have over me
comes not by way of your strength
nor by your innate ability to tear me down to nothing with a few words
the only real power you have over me
is the sincere love that i have for you