To share my life’s story, my reason, my existence? My why.
I’ve started writing this, years ago, and I’m nowhere near the end, I’m probably not even quite to the middle.
Where is the end? Where’s the middle? Is there an end?
And, at one time it was uber important to me, and I wanted to be heard, I wanted to be understood, I wanted to be…
I wanted to be different. not me so much as, it, I wanted “it” to be different.
I wanted an end, I wanted a beginning, an explanation, a why.
I wanted, what could not be.
and then, silence.
Why? I’ll tell.
Silence because I wanted to sit back and observe, I wanted to see what would happen if I turned it around, if I didn’t reach out first, what would really happen? If I just sat and waited, waited on you to fix things, waited on things to just go away, waited on… waited on nothing, on no one. I wasn’t seen, I wasn’t heard.
Nowadays, I find myself, wanting to be left alone. I guess, I’ve turned into a horrible friend, a horrible person, a loner in some ways. I don’t return calls, I don’t always push send on that text, I won’t answer the door, so don’t bother.
Why, am I really being so selfish?
Well, for once, I’m trying to find balance, I’m trying to find myself, and I’m realizing now, that you aren’t calling to check on me, in fact, quite the opposite, you’re calling to tell me about you, about what’s troubling you. Disguising it with sprinkles of hope, sprinkles of thoughts of us being the same. But, you aren’t even listening when you ask a question, are you waiting for me to finish, so you can interject with your story? Why can I now, see right through you?
Truth is, I always thought I needed the reassurance, the gratification of your approval, your head nod, your handshake, your words of encouragement. Come to find out, I don’t.
What I need is, I need me. I need to understand why I do what I do. I need to love me, I need to love the fact that there is a reason I’ve been put here. Is it to make a difference? Is it to just exist? Is it to be an example of how not to be, or how to be?
Do these things go through everyone else’s heads? Or just mine?
How are we not overloaded, overwhelmed, or just flat over it?
There are times that I want to say WTF? WTF really? I mean, really??!
Here’s the deal. No, I don’t want to hear about you, no I don’t have the answer to your same story, just with different actors. No I can’t change the outcome, no it’s probably not going to be any different, no, no, just plain no.
Then I think, I have never, even in the height of being angry at someone, angry at my day, pissed at the world. Angry at the fact, it seems everyone else has it so easy, feeling sorry for myself, looking past all the good things I have and focusing on the shit, or just plain angry… I would not put any of that in front of them and wished harm on them, or wanted them to hurt in any form or fashion, or just call them up with the only intention being to use them. Telling them what they want to hear, to use to my advantage, you know bluntly use the fuck out of them, with no intentions of caring or helping them in any manner. I would rather take all the pain, then to have another person hurt in any way.
Especially, to not be heard.
So, I sit, ears ready to listen, ready to help in any way that I can. Disregarding my day, my anger, my happiness, disregarding, me.
So, what does this say about me ? Am I just a big push over?? Am I just a slug with no personal self-worth? Why don’t I value myself any higher? Why don’t I say, why don’t I interject, and say, but first, listen to ME.
What I say, means something. What I have been through is something like no other, how my life has unfolded could not have been made up, there is no other life like it, because, it’s mine.
And, if I was to ask you, would you really know anything about me, my life, my goals, my morals, my past, my present, my future? These times have passed us by, or passed me by, and now it’s my turn.
And so now, it is time. Time for you to ask me, ask me how I’m doing, or hey, what’s wrong. It’s time for you to sit and listen, let me talk, let me get it all out. It’s my time.
And so, it begins…
See, I was, born into a family, of first, a mother and a father, that we were supposedly “soul mates,” or “the One,” you know, “your person.” All because they dated in school, got married, and they had a child, they brought a person into this world, because, love was so prevalent, that consummating, and producing this baby, was the right thing to do, the next step? Right?
Well, being the product of these high school sweethearts, you could only hope and wish things would be okay, turn out normal and lead to a loving by -product of a long-time love. Right?
Yet deception is in the eye of the beholder.
Because, happy relationships produce happy marriages, and happy marriages produce happy children, so, happy children produce happy adults and happy adults have happy lives, right?
Like a circle, like one big, fucking circle.
Or, is this too, deception?
Who tells us what is happy, how do we know what we should expect, and what should we wish for? Was it an untroubled relationship? Were they content in that marriage? Was having a child well planned and timely? Do they feel fortunate as adults? Are they satisfied with their lives? Can they pass it on, to this baby, the good, the bad, and the ugly?
Furthermore, my story began…
November 3rd mostly falls on Election Day most years, but unfortunately for me in 1972 it was the opening day of deer season. Sequentially it was the start, the beginning of, the unloved and undervalued part of my life.
So, it was my parents who graduated from high school, married, and were blessed enough to get a head start in life, with a job and a house, from my grandfather, and they appeared to be happy, joyous, and free, while, awaiting my arrival.
But you see, it was my dad that had to get that deer instead of witnessing the birth of his firstborn, which many refer to as, the girl/boy that stole their heart. Not for my dad. Well, not for me, either.
And, from that moment on, that feeling was not felt by me, often. I know, I was too young that exact time, in that exact moment, at the time of my birth, to know the difference. But, later in life, throughout my whole childhood, into my adult life, it was very apparent, that the feelings of neglect and abandonment, would, in fact, follow me around, hover over my head, and into my heart and mind, keeping me from true happiness like the beer, or whiskey that was drank, or the cigarette smoke swirling through the air, or the shit talking, potty mouthed men that sat around the beloved and scared deer camp, on November, 3, 1972, keeping my dad from me, from his beloved wife, and starting this never-ending journey.
A journey, a story to find myself, to love myself, and to find happiness. Finding out the true meaning of deception, of being duped, and trusting no one, but also trusting everyone, except trusting myself.
A journey to find my person, my one, my reason. It’s a journey. It is a story. And, it is my story.
The journey of living through a nightmare, a nightmare that seems to never end, a nightmare, that becomes familiar, a nightmare, that where escape seems so far from sight, so far from reality, so far from truth, that deception feels right. But yet, deceiving does not.
As I grew, we welcomed a sister and then a brother all into a family of appearances. My mom making my dad do things with the family, except, some things, some really important things. Things that quite possibly could have changed so much.
But, because he wasn’t “a family man”, my dad did most of them reluctantly. Which caused my mom to constantly nag, to scream and many fights after many fights occurred. Which in turn resulted in the bad-mouthing of my dad and of my mom, retaliation after one-upping the other, over and over again. All along, appearing to the outside world, living a life of true bliss, with no signs of trouble.
All along, knowing that young children really shouldn’t be subjected to, acting like it’s not really there, like, all’s good for me and mine, and learning to live in a lie. A life of deception, a life of I’ll deceive you, before you deceive me. I’ll get you, before I’m gotten.
I’m sure my father thought enough is enough; this would beat anyone down, wear on your inner self, which lead to the true “physical” departure of my father, and perhaps the true “emotional/nurturing” departure of my mother.
“We do not develop habits of genuine love automatically. We learn them by watching effective role models — most specifically by observing how our parents express love for each other day in and day out.”– Josh McDowell
well, sorry lucy (Mandy) and matto or roola (Matt), we are doomed, don’t watch them, the love has gone…
Wow, this cannot be, a divorce in the works? The high school sweetheart’s relationship was just that, troubled. The love had gone. The kids had arrived, and the love left. Nonetheless, did they not recite “I take you for my lawful wife/husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
Obviously not content within themselves, within each other which caused the debacle of this “glorious” and “Godly” marriage. Trusting that God has your back, watches over you and wants you to follow in his word and he will show you the way. “…for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” Phil 4:11
The definition of contentment from a biblical perspective is “an internal satisfaction which does not demand changes in external circumstances.” Holman Bible Dictionary
Therefore, if you chose marriage, or marriage chooses you, making that marriage work is all you should do. For the sake of the vows you took, for the sake of your personal being, and furthermore for the sake of the innocent minds of the children that count on the safety and security of togetherness, for their sense of well-being, and to show them what a marriage really means, what being in love really is.
Finding contentment does not mean complacency. Being content with oneself and with your marriage is ideal, according to God. Being complacent or smug is not. As Godly people we can strive for more, in our marriages and in our children’s lives, only if it doesn’t lead to greed. What others have is not your concern. Keeping up with “The Jones’” definitely cause’s trouble in the marriage, therefore in the family. Be blessed, love each other, and make it work. Be content and live satisfied, protect your children with all that you have! They are precious, and what you dreamed for them to be, will never be if you slip up and let them be mistreated, used and abused, nothing will be the same for them again…
Or worse yet, death. Death is always there, everyone has to face it, at one, at several and at the finale, death, there’s no hiding. But, when you lose someone, someone that you once loved with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your being, but just couldn’t work it out, to stay together…When you lose this person, this is a guilt and shame like no other, you will now live in a life of “what if’s.” I can’t fathom, anything more, this has been one of the worse, yet confusing hurts that I have ever felt, I wish things could have been different. As does everyone else.
Talk to your children, listen to what they say. They want to talk, but may be scared, I promise if things are miscued, they want it to be fixed. Do not stop until you know, because you’re their protector. There is so many times, I spoke but no one listened, I tried again, with the same results, eventually, I spoke no more.
No one is perfect, and all things can’t always be seen, but look for signs, look for the damn signs!! Listen to what is being said, and believe in the speaker until proven wrong, because, you never know, and eventually they are the ones that suffer the most…
My story, I’m sure is like many, some worse than mine and others not quite as bad, but in telling the whole of it, my story, has helped me and ultimately, I wish to help others, countless souls of scared skeletons, a shell of a person, that has no voice. If it takes sharing my truth, my soulless journey, my broken heart, my long and fearful days and nights of not knowing if it takes that, or that, or if he’ll stop, or if she’ll believe me this time? I’ll stand up and shout it from the rooftop, to save someone from the pain. The pain sometimes unfathomable, the pain that eventually becomes familiar, the pain that you almost welcome, because you know no other. I’ll do it a thousand times over, to save you from it.
Now let’s look through my eyes…