Archive for category inner demons
It’s a weird feeling to suddenly look around at the people in your life, and realize that absolutely nothing is the same anymore. Sure based on my judgement calls of late I’m not suggesting that I’m the same person I use to be. In fact I’m completely open to the possibility that the only person who has changed is me. It’s like I woke up one day with a completely different set of eyes.
I simply do not see the people in my life in the same way that I once did. Do you think it’s possible to assign certain personality traits to the humans in our lives the same way we give our pets human attributes? Do we give the people in our lives personality traits that help us maintain a certain comfort zone in our own perception of how we believe our lives are? People who I use to find that I could not go a single day without talking to simply do not interest me at all. It’s like leaving your home planet. and waking up in some alternate one.
I cannot see myself, so you are only getting my side of the story from my point of view, but my life is no longer the same. I can only tell you that after an hour, or two of being around someone I am ready to run. I have completely let go of some of my relationships. I read a quote that said ” Let everything go, and see what stays.” I could not have predicted the consequences of this one seemingly simple concept.
When the will to live again finally kicks in again you might think something really exciting must have ignited the spark. The truth is while lying in my bed I looked around my room, and realized my surroundings matched my insides. The room like my mind had become absent of any signs of life. It was cluttered with piles of unresolved dust, paperwork, and laundry. This prompted me to venture out to the rest of the house which of course was in exactly the same condition.
I made my way to my Mr Coffee, and put on a pot. I tackled a sink full of dishes, then room by room I began to deal with the clutter. It seemed that my mind cleared with each pile of mess. Cleaning up your physical mess is a lot easier than cleaning up your cluttered. unattended relationships. For months I had been as absent from my relationships as I had been from tending to my home.
The big problem was that even though I could no longer deal with my cluttered surroundings, I was still content with not dealing with my relationships. I did not have even a twinge of desire to reach out to the people in my life.
I have been thinking a lot about the way I live within my own little world of “Me, Myself, & I.” At times I can be very painfully oblivious. Like so many others I selfishly wander around having the distorted outlook that somehow everything is about me.
I have a client in her 80’s who has Alzheimer’s. When I blog I refer to her as Ms, Lee. She was a teacher by profession. Ms’ Lee was born, and raised in Mississippi. Her mother was also a teacher, and her father was a pull-man porter for the railroad service. What makes Ms. Lee & her family so extraordinary is the fact that they were African-American citizens with careers in Mississippi during the 1920’s & 1930’s. No small accomplishment by any means.
Ms. Lee is declining on a daily basis, but her essence remains powerfully in tact. I have grown to both respect, and love her. When we are together I confide in her. This has become beneficial to us both. It helps to stimulate her mind by focusing on real situations. Ms. Lee naturally falls into the role of teacher, and I have the privilege of being the student of a highly educated beautiful soul. Her wisdom is timeless, and she possesses the ability to remind me in the most gentle manner that my way of viewing the the world is not the only way.
After Tarzan took his life I found myself in such a dark place. I questioned my every conversation with him. I went over every single scenario trying to figure out why I had not been able to see how much he was suffering. Why didn’t he confide in me the same way he did when something was going on with he and Jane? Ms. Lee continued to listen to me ramble on as though I had been somehow more hurt by Tarzan”s death than he had been. At that point I was still completely oblivious to my own behavior.
Then while staring directly into her eyes, I felt the warmth of her hand as it covered mine. Very softly she said “It hurts me to see you suffering so much. Maybe your friend had no words for his suffering.” The empathy that filled her powerful words immediately removed the “Me, Myself, & I” from mine.
It’s entirely too easy to get caught up in the whole “Me, Myself. & I” world. It’s also deeply humbling to realize that some things are not simply about us. “When the student is ready the teacher will appear.”
I can hardly believe it’s been two months since Tarzan’s funeral. The last thing I wrote about him was our discovering his alcoholism. His stay at rehab was followed by a blackout drinking binge after just four short days of sobriety. Tarzan returned to rehab again. I don’t believe he went back because he wanted to, I believe he went because we all begged him to try again.
When he returned home he was clearly not the Tarzan we all seemed to know. I think we just never knew him sober. He was not the kind of drinker who smelled of booze. He was always upbeat, and busy. No one in our little circle ever once had even a single clue that he had an issue prior to the incident before his first rehab stay.
Tarzan committed suicide two weeks after his return from his second rehab stay. It’s been two months since his funeral, and it still does not seem real.
Most of the time when your phone rings in the middle of the night your mind knows that something horrible is about to change your life. All I could hear was her uncontrollable crying while she tried to tell me that she just couldn’t breathe.She was panic-stricken, and she started to speak so rapidly that my still groggy mind could not keep up. I thought that her brother had died, so I asked her if she was at the hospital. She told me no, then I heard her shudder through the phone.
I asked her if she needed me to come, and once again she said no. Then she stopped crying, and asked me “How could she have done this to us?” I felt a sudden chill run through my body, and her sudden calmness was so much more frightening than her uncontrollable crying. I didn’t want to wake up Mr G-uno so I slipped out of bed, and went into the other room.The “She” that she spoke about was her mother.A woman who had married a man who had abused her children for almost a decade before she finally divorced him.
He was publicly a man of God, and a prominent man in his community. In his private life he was a monster who had tortured, and raped his step daughter, step son, and his own biological son who was several years younger than the other children. Like all abusers he had carefully chosen a weaker woman who he understood he could manipulate, and terrify into obeying his every command. She is the kind of woman who I suspect felt so unlovable that her mothering abilities had always taken a backseat to the man in her life.
I have never understood why her children did not walk away from their relationship with her years ago, or why they have continued to be a part of her life. I can only tell you as a mother myself I will never understand how she could have allowed the horrible things that happened to her children to go on for even a single day. She still pretends that she didn’t know her children were continuously raped, and tortured in their home on a nightly basis, Maybe her own mind will not let her comprehend the deplorable act of sacrificing her own children to this monster. I am not a psychiatrist, but I have seen the irreparable damage that her now adult children exhibit.I know that it is wrong to sit in judgement of another person, but I would be a liar if I told you that I don’t judge her, or the monster she married.
As horrible as the abuse was, I believe in my heart that the most severe damage was caused by knowing that their mother knew about the abuse they endured, and simply did nothing. After dinner he would pick the child that suited his monstrous desires as casually as one might pick a television show to watch after dinner. He would then instruct his wife not to disturb him. Then he would take the tearful child to the basement as the other children watched in terror knowing the horror their sibling was about to endure as the door to the basement closed.
As I sat on the couch in the dark with tears running down my face she waited for my answer to her question. A question that I had no answer for, because some questions can not be answered.
Drama everywhere I look these days. Jane could have never guessed that Tarzan’s secret daughter would have been the problem she wished for instead of his problem with alcohol. I myself come from a long line of alcoholics, and I truly didn’t see this elephant in the room. To be perfectly honest though I have been wrapped up in my own menopausal woes here lately. Like most addicts Tarzan is masterful at hiding his addiction.
I hold no superior judgement on this subject. Alcoholism is no different from having any other disease in my opinion. I would not judge a person harshly for having diabetes, or any other illness in spite of a rather horrifying childhood of having an alcoholic father.
Jane herself is no stranger to life with an alcoholic. Her story differs from mine though. Her mother died from sclerosis of the liver when she was just three years old. Her father did not drink so she really doesn’t have any experience with detecting the symptoms.
So you can imagine her great surprise of finding him passed out cold on his back doorstep completely unresponsive. Having him rushed to the hospital by ambulance, and having the doctor ask you how long has he had a problem with alcohol?
Jane’s response was that he does not have a problem with alcohol. The doctor looking at Jane with an expression of great belief replied that his blood work results showed otherwise. He then strongly suggested that rehab should be the next consideration.
I believe all of us go through various stages of our lives where we look up and suddenly think, “I HATE my life right now.”
I did that just before I got a divorce. I did the same when I hated the job and the town I lived in and just found out I was going to be a parent and moved a couple thousand miles back.
I had the same when Spawn was a few years old and my career was… well, really fucking boring and leaving me strapped. It was mindless, repetitive, and just when I was done and updating my resume, I received a call from a former boss who wanted to lure to me their current company. Not only would I be using more of my brain, it held a significant pay raise.
It was great too, for a while. But one of my co-workers was as mercurial as they come and I was often walking on eggshells. The work itself was great and I was learning a ton, but the environment… not so much. However, a friendly buyout that turned hostile takeover nixed that job for all of us. The best time I had there was when the mercurial one jumped ship early on and the rest of us just didn’t give a shit anymore.
I landed this job right as I was ending that one. The work itself is a mostly mindless again, but the pay, on paper, is better. What I get to take home though, is significantly less than it was at my last job and although I know the benefits are a part of that, I didn’t think they were that big of a chunk.
We’re given no authority over our own position, but then they complain that no one takes initiative. Neither owner can keep their hands out of the cookie jar when things are good, and don’t hesitate to jump your shit when they aren’t. Hell, the CFO’s mom just died last week and one of the owners commented to her yesterday “What the hell is wrong with you, you look like your dog died?” She broke down so badly she had to go home.
Right now, things aren’t so great and its all to do with that fact that when we’re in our busy profitable season, the owners couldn’t buy new toys fast enough, despite my boss continually telling them we would need to sock away what we could for the lean season. They assume no one has their grand vision, so any counsel is ignored.
This is also when I’m told my communication needs work. I’m the connection the outside world comes to when they want information and when things aren’t going so well, that communication increases by several fold. It means I have to come in and choose whether I’m going to do my job or just sit there and get back to people and I do balance both. But the bottom line is I’m never going to be able to make someone happy if I can’t give them what they were promised and that’s what they want me to do.
So I hate my job. I hate where I live. I hate that I hate both so much that I’m both restless and uninspired to do even the little things. I hate the debt I hold for a degree that has proven nothing but worthless and I feel that it will inhibit everything else I do for the rest of my life.
I want to move, I want to have a cafe, on the side of a cliff with a view to the ocean and I want it too fucking cold to see even a single surfer unless they are batshit insane.
But for not, I would settle for moving to the area where I hope my kid’s future school is and get a job that lets me take home the amount I was promised, or at least a significantly bigger portion than current.
I want to get just a little ahead instead of struggling so far behind.
I want to be inspired.
I want to be challenged mentally.
I feel like a corpse in motion.