Shit hit the fan...

I was thinking of Mona recently because she or her Dad made an indelible impression on me in saying that they wish Mark could have reached out to them and let them know how he was doing. They would have been there for him and I believe they would have done anything.  

So I let family know (for the sake of my daughter and son) that while not imminent, I am unlikely to outlive my parents, even though I do not know how any of them, alone or together, can change the direction I am going.

Truth is... I have been in a horrific state for a long time physically and emotionally. I am not suicidal rather I have been wanting to want to live and wanting to be able to die. As of now unless something changes, I don't know how to not let myself die. I have been wanting to find a way to make that ok with my kids. It's not possible and I am being unfair to them to try.

I told my mother I don't think I will out live her and that if I die, that everyone would say "If she only lived closer, we could have helped" and that would not be true.

I asked my mom to set up an account with Christie on it and then send her the checks. I told her I did not know how I was going to handle all the bills, and I wanted to know if she could help pay off my car. I asked if anyone could put in $50 or $100, even some help is good. She will look into it.

I am not asking for help with my house. No one thinks I should live in Vermont. Besides it is unclear how it could make a difference from their point of view. What would make a difference is finding me someone reliable and reasonably priced to fix my bathroom floor and the tub/sink installations & electrical. Having someone help me figure out how to best fix the stairs would be a real plus. I did talk to the guy who renovated my house in Lexington and asked if he knew anyone in VT. He might stop by. But I warned him that it is bad here.

Sh*t hit the fan... not from my father nor my mother (who listened to me), nor Bob (who was very sweet about making sure that his kids knew I was his sister and to hug me as family).

A little from Rich, who was honest and logical but he does believe that my problem is Vermont and that living with my mother and father is the right thing. And I should give away or euthanize my last remaining dog. He was well meaning and he listened to me and took one request seriously. And the as we left he said that what he could is give me everything in his wallet and he did ... over $300.

He remember vividly remember my response to living near them after separating from Bruce. He felt shunned and was hurt by it and felt unwanted, rejected, and used just for the money he could offer me. I understand how he came to that conclusion. But he did not know about Rai, and he did not understand the effect constant bullying had on me, particularly after Rai molested me. When I moved from Hawaii, I was in love with Bruce and mourning the loss and the last thing I could imagine doing it was exposing myself to my family. I felt unsafe around them and could not imagine living too near them.

I had not considered this before but I don't remember Rich at all after Rai left for school. I think I missed knowing him at all during my high school years because I was angry and shunned the family. I regret that I didn't get to know him then. What a shame and unexpected casualty of what Rai did. What Rai said about wanting to help me then if I had lived near by... I wanted nothing to do with him then or now. I think he regrets what he did to me, because it is a potential threat to him as long as I am alive to tell the story. I did not and will not get involved in his life. Why would I ever want that. I hope his kids thrive. When his kids are grown, I would be delighted to know them. The little I have seen them, I have enjoyed and liked who they are. I am and have been happy to have my children know them. I understand how Rich must have felt and why by my blunt statement. He not have possibly known why I said it.

Rai was something else.  Said I should stop being a victim and ridiculously overly dramatic, that I should think of other people other than myself. That instead of being selfish and all about me, For once, I could do something that helped someone else other than me. I could help out my mother. (As though I have not ever done that or wanted to do that.) He said that would be worthwhile and not selfish like I always am. That I can and ought to learn how to control my emotions. That my inability to remember names was from lack of interest and caring about people. That I could make better choices. That I was the talk of everyone and that I was very selfish to have let that happen.

Kind of ironic.

I did push back when the first thing Rai said was that I was a victim. Immediately I said he victimized me and was causal to where I am now. That set him off... he ranted and said that everyone knew what happened to me. And I answered I don't know who knows what and no one has ever asked or heard my story.

I went on to say that I am writing about it and that I could put it in a book for the world to see. Both he and Rich reacted, with Rich saying so you are going to black mail us now? That surprised me because how is the truth ... which he claims is no big deal ... blackmail. I said no. I told them that I don't any need to keep anything silent any more and I don't care who knows. I don't want to know him or have him in my life.

The rest of Rai's tirade and complete belittling of who I am followed. Rai admits to being a bully. The one fascinating thing Rai said was that I did stand up to him when he tried to bully me today.

Rich implied that my settling debt was irresponsible ... negotiating was unethical. I think banks giving more and more credit with enticing low interest offers was even more irresponsible, and in doing so they took on risk which they have more capability of accurately assessing than I do. So if they had to cut their losses then it also a bad business practice on their part. I think I made a mistake and should have filed for bankruptcy as I would not have financial issues today.

Towards the end of our conversation I told Rich that it wasn't about the money. I don't expect anyone to help with the house or taxes. I had no idea how anyone could help. I think he saw and felt my despair. I think I surprised him by my statement.

I also think I learned how I can aim live or be living until I die. I need to take a stand and I need to speak out.

This would be how:

I want Rich to hear the story of Rai. I want him to read my poetry. I want him to know that 11 year old girl I was and see to the innocence, the violation, and impact as only a father with 2 little girls could. I want him to understand that I could never not be victim until I could stand up to Rai. Even Rai noticed

I want to tell my parents that they need to hear my story. That I do not think fair is about giving money equally. Fair is about righting a wrong and I was wronged by Rai. I don't think it fair to treat Rai the same as me. It is unfair to treat me as though I am less worthy to have around than him. It is unfair to treat my children as less important than his. My daughter needs to know how much you love having her in your life and my son needs to know that you won't abandon him or write him off, even if he exhibits immature or insensitive behavior at times.

I want to tell Bob that I felt more welcomed into the family by his stand to his children that I was his sister and they should hug me as family.

In writing this I ended up in a different place than where I began. How interesting. It's a good thing.

the saying goes ... watch out what you ask for ...

Well, I asked for help. It seems that the universe delights in tempting me.

So many forces are pulling at me. My childhood friend, Mona, answered by FaceBook request. Phil called me on the phone and I told him about this blog. My daughter and her boyfriend and I had a really wonderful interaction. My aunt passed away, which means the choice to attend a large family event is days away. I have no nice clothes, shoes for that. There is a rally for sanity scheduled on October 30, 2010. The stupid congress couldn't even repeal the blatantly unconstitutional policy of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" of our armed forces, even though a significant majority agree to the repeal across party lines. The mice in house are getting bolder and noisier. Winter is approaching and I don't see how I will get the wood into my house or keep warm. Every day another day slips away. Rory, my son's childhood friend, exchanged some humorous banter about his birthday. A stranger from Turkey friended me because of my post on the survivor blogs The trash in house is piling up and the deadline for overdue bills is days away. Keeping my home is up for grabs because of a back tax bill that I should not owe.

Seems like randomness, but I am moving towards the clarity of possibly looking forward to living and the clarity of having no idea of how I can possibly succeed at not dying. How do I turn the tide on what I have let happen to my body and to my home? Not deciding is deciding. Am I going to protect my children from the possible truth that I let myself die and did nothing. I am going to do nothing or am I going to do something and then something else, until, if I die, it was not because I did nothing. If I fail will it be because I just failed to succeed, because I did my best and I just didn't make it?

Help is not completely in my hands, and there is risk. I am on the edge and interacting will likely open the flood gates.

Will I go to the wake? How can I not go after all she was to me? What will I do or say, especially when people ask? What will I bring my uncle Bernie that ?

Coincidence. luck, karmic irony... this is the next  entry from my obituary journal ...

05-08-08 4:09 pm

I am all over the map. I tore off my HEALTH sign on my wall. It was a lie. I don’t want to be alive anymore. I am spent.

My parents want me to come to a party a week from Saturday. Why? Do they really want to see me broken? I will go I expect. Foolishly, I will hope, I will believe I can protect myself, and I will fail. Honestly, I will believe I am safe. It will make sense that I am safe. So, if I go, I will believe, so I will go. 

I never went to that party. I did what I always do... keep thinking I will, until it it too late and I don't.

This was a one of many points of no return... Moments when I know there is no stopping where I am heading, and though it takes a long time to unfold, the inevitability about it is set.

I put the HEALTH sign up when I chose health the last time I lost the weight I have gained back. Then was when I realized that being obese meant I was not choosing health. Then, I asked myself if I wanted health. Then I did and it reflected in my actions. Tearing it down was acknowledging that I no longer cared. I didn't start gaining any serious weight (more than 20-30 pounds) until this February... you can't want health and let yourself die.

I look at remembering this is making being blind not an option.

I have been thinking about taking all the pictures off my wall and making them into something for Christie and Kian. Now I know what it will mean if I do. (Unless I am relocating to a place I want to be and happy about it.)

My aunt phyllis passed away ...

My grandmother taught me to value family in the way she brought everyone together because we were family. My aunt lived that way too, She welcomed me and my children in her home as valued family and was always kind to us. She supported my dreams and she loved me with her words and deeds. She always wanted the best for all of us. I loved hanging at her home, watching TV, and talking to her about anything. She loved who I was unconditionally as I loved her. She was very proud of me and my children. She loved it when I called to say hello and she also would called me. She happily came to my home in Vermont when she was invited. I remember that she was delighted to be invited and happy for me having bought my home. Visiting her was always a happy time for us. My children enjoy her and seeing me happy there. She was my father's sister and she was family. She was always so incredibly welcoming and kind. I loved her dearly and I will always remember her fondly.

Oprah!

I get a kick out of how even the comedians don't pick on Oprah... I am not that reverent and I have been an avid fan, and I do still admire her. So I did post my poem Dr Ill And Pope Rah!

I found this quote on twitter: "Whatever has happened to you in your past has no power over this present moment, because life is now." -Oprah


That sounds really good and like the true meaning of choice and I would like it to be true. It would justify our distain and public humiliation of drug addicts, the homeless and poor, and those who do not rise above their circumstances. There is a difference for admiring someone who has overcome difficulties in their lives, but we don't truly understand the dynamics of how that happens. Life is now. However, that does not lead to the conclusion that the past has no power over you. How you are is a product of genetics and your childhood. And depending on how indelible that has been, what you do as you mature can seem like overcoming the past or succumbing to it.


Some children who were molested or abused become child molesters or abusive, others do not. Some children of alcoholics become alcoholics themselves, others don't drink at all, and still others manage moderation.


We say that children learn, not by what you preach, but by your example. It's just not that simple. Selfless mothers who do everything for their children, do not raise selfless children who do everything for their children. 


We try to reconcile our discomfort with some of those who do not overcome their past, by attributing their behavior to diseases or addictions, like depression, or anorexia.


There's an interaction from the "how you are" that has evolved from living, and the "who you are" that evolves from self reflection and values you take on as your own.


Freedom and choice are idealistic concepts that give living meaning, being human is whole lot more messy.


If we don't have real choice, then how can we judge and condemn, and execute people for their horrific behavior. If we don't have real choice, what meaning is there to living, what significance is there to what we do.


Oprah has an awesome ability to rally people to good causes and to inspire people and instill hope. Religious extremists, of all religions, have the same ability but they apply it to the destruction and killing of others.

stupdily blind

People say things like, "Why does she stay with a guy the beats her." or "with a husband that is cheating on her." It's sadly amusing but we are all stupidly blind at times. Some times people are actually a little bit stupid, most often they are just act that way.

I find it sadly amusing that a find a revelation in something that was shoved my face years ago by a my David, with whom I had deeply personal and intellectual conversations. I thought he really liked me and I found it odd that though the time we shared together, exchanging massage and discussing ideas, seemed like a spiritual. But then, if called him he would be abrupt and annoyed. I couldn't reconcile the difference so I asked him over the phone once, "Do you like spending time with me or is it just about getting a massage?" His answer floored me. He said "What have you to offer me." I was floored and I wrote poetry to work it out. I didn't speak to him again until we bumped into each other at go event in Cambridge.

I had a marriage where I thought it was "love at first sight" and that it would last forever. And I wrote about being misled in a poem Chameleon.

Stupidly blind. Missing the obvious. It is as though I don't hear the words I say, or that what I learn is not really absorbed. Irony is everywhere.

05-07-08 3:47 pm

Taut. I have written a number of versions of this over the years with different titles. The essence remains unchanged. I learned something this morning: I want to want to die. I don’t want to want to live. Yet I do. I had an undeniable taste of the brilliant burning hope that someone cared and wanted to help.

Last night I had a revelation about people. They make choices not based on kindness or character but rather on “what’s in it for me.”

I don’t get that. I do kind things because I can and I see the opportunity. Why not? Or more accurately, how can I not? 

holidays

I find holidays hardest to bear. Anticipation of them is difficult. I shunned my family when I was young because I was so angry, and now the consequences of not being  close is hard on me.


My father only hit my brothers when being punished and they got even by teasing me. Calling me an ostrich was one of their names. It wasn't till I was older that I appreciated the accuracy of the image.


In 2008, Mother's Day was a very long day. I wrote a lot. It's harsh to realize that it is nearly three years that I have been living this way.

05-06-08 1:33 pm

Mother’s day is coming up and I still hang on to impossibilities. My daughter has shut me out. My son talks to me briefly, if I talk to him, if lets me. My mother never calls me to see how I am and she knows. Maybe she is the ostrich my brothers always called me, able to put her head in the sand so as not to see.

I have all these fantasies of speaking out, screaming what’s inside, being heard.

Ellen DeGeneres: she represents kindness, the possibility that kindness and real generosity matters. I want to believe she is real. But, then I always live through TV, imagining I am a part of these TV lives. As if I could be a part of anyone’s.

I always want something more than what people want to offer me. I am despicable – a leech. I suck the life out of people and they through me away. Unless it is their job to help me, even then I expect over time, even people are paid to listen grow weary.

Kindness and generosity are no match for needing people and exposing that insatiable need is deadly. People have to leave.

Ice Princess: I watched this movie the other day and I was appalled by it. A girl’s mother rejects her daughter, because she wants to follow her dreams not her mother’s. When her mother comes around in the end, it’s her daughter’s success which justifies everything. How appalling. As though, if she had failed then her mother would have been right. As if success is the true measure, not the child’s choice and passion. I was so repulsed by the mother and by our society valuing success over valuing someone for they are, for what they want, for what matters to them.

I raised my children well, I delight in who they are. An extremely underappreciated, misunderstood gift. I never had that. Am I broken because of it? Was I born broken?

I WAS broken before my brother Raimond molested me, before he sat at dinner table and threatened to hit me over the head with a buttered ear of corn, and I said he couldn’t, yet he did. And everyone laughed, said I asked for it. I expected too much. I expected not to be bullied, not in the presence of my mother and father. I expected to be protected and to be respected, and that was not offered as an option.

I was an ostrich to my family. I hid my head in the sand refused to be a part of their lives, though I desperately wanted that.

When I was in junior high, I hit my head and wrists against the brick fireplace trying to bruise myself. When I was 18 I cut my arm – desperate and yet appalled at the idea that I would be faking the real desire to die in order to get attention. An expected consequence was how pain felt less painful.

I feel this rage inside about how horrible it is to be human, to be alive. I want to die. I hurt all the time, unless I am numb. The pain hides when I laugh. But, I am tired of fighting to live. I am so tired.

Christie, it is not your fault. I should never have seen your light as a star I could hold onto and nourish myself from. That is a burden no one should have and you do not deserve that. I am blessed to be have been a part of your life, to have had an opportunity to give to you, to see you grow up. I don’t want to break you.

I don’t want to let you go, but I have to. I am an insatiable void that sucks life from what I touch. I don’t understand why I cannot be enough for me. I have to die. I want this to be true. I want this to be the best option.

Mother’s day: I dread it. My son will call, I don’t think my daughter will. I will call my mother – or I think I will.

I am so tired. I hurt so much.

I don’t want to wait and be disappointed.

Kian, I don’t know how you will be impacted. I know you don’t want me to die. I am so proud of you, you are so kind and generous. I know I am not fun to be with, and I wish I could be easier to tolerate. I am so sorry.

I am holding on by playing repetitive solitaire games, watching TV shows, imagining someone will save me – that someone will care enough, that I will matter. I can’t do harm to my children. I need to believe dying is better.

Ellen: I would love to be able to spend each day doing kind things for other people, quietly, outside any limelight, just knowing that my being alive that day was better for even one of people I touched, no matter how small the gift of living that day was. That would be a blessed way to live.

 05-06-08 5:38 pm

Four hours later and I am numb, but not devastatingly sad anymore.  I am so exhausted doing nothing but eating and peeing and shitting. If only my mind went, I wouldn’t know and it wouldn’t matter.

I often think about Robert and Rosalind: gifted creators, arrogant and snobs. I believe them – what they taught about freedom – but it was a lie. They lied to me about paying their cleaning help $10 an hour so they could change their agreement with me and pay me $12 an hour instead of $15, claiming it would have been more if I had been doing computer stuff. I think it was Robert’s desire and Rosalind’s lie. I will never know. When they gave me computer work and did not pay me $15. I could not understand why. But, by then, too much time had passed. I was hooked, caught in my own pattern of behavior. That missed opportunity to say “no” when they changed the deal from $15 to $12, followed by my inability to speak when I need most to. I justified that moment of weakness, even though originally I spoke the truth. Today, I believe they paid me less because they saw their “help” and “time” as payment for my work. They saw their generosity as more than enough compensation. And it didn’t matter that I didn’t know their generosity wasn’t free. I was expected to pay for it. I owed them and in their eyes, I was more than fairly compensated, because they felt what they gave me was more than fair. From their point of view, I was ungrateful. Oddly, I was more grateful than they ever knew. I thought they gave freely. How naïve of me. In the moment, I think they did give freely. But over time, the gifts became obligations, compensation, something I owed them back.

I think there were times Rosalind gave me things freely, but later those gifts were tallied as compensation. What surprised me most is that seeing that didn’t change anything for Rosalind. In fact, she was mean, rubbing it in, as though she was right and I deserved it. But I was grateful. I would never harm her.

Rosalind would like me to think that my behavior is driven by avoiding knowing that I think I am stupid … ironically, I do think that. I am very stupid about people. Some things I am very slow to learn. Stupid is not as a hidden revelation, that drives my behavior. The pattern of my behavior is blatant and it appears immutable.

I am exhausted by living. I have been lying in bed for over 6 months and I would be content if it were viable for me to live this way. Disgusted by my life, but at least I wouldn’t harm anyone.

         wishes of me

         cyclonic, tornadic, strings

         to others

         are never free, wishes

         slip in

         to an endless hole

         implosion in

         to a darkened soul, hoping

         to die free

APril 22, 2008

In reviewing the obituary journal I wrote, I see myself in the same place I am today. At least in how I was thinking.

04-22-08 12:33 pm

How can anyone be blamed for being blind and oblivious? I’ve talked to my mother, the conversation was normal, she seems oblivious to my pain. She does not understand what seems so blatantly obvious to me that it screams. Deafening.

If the harm I have felt was evil I could fight it, but it come from good people.

I suck away the life from my family who help me and I would suck it away if I died. I have never felt so hopeless.

It's ironic that I feel like a victim when no one notices me. Yet, I don't reach out to anyone and strangers do not have any obligation to be concerned about a neighbor they do not know. It is not like the houses are close. And I have lived here for 16 years and have not integrated myself into the community. The reset of what I wrote was kind of whiny. Sometimes I sound like a small child lost.


Cheryl is someone I liked. I thought we were friends. Bur it turned out not to be a friendship she wanted. I I felt like a victim that she didn't choose my friendship. Like she owed me. It's not a very admirable thing to see exposed.

04-22-08 12:33 pm (continued)

On Ellen today she interviewed this guy who claims that acts of kindness heal depression. Everything I have most enjoyed about life is kindness. Small things like letting someone with a few items ahead of me when I have a cartful. I like being nice to sales clerks, even if they aren’t being nice back, because you never know why. Whenever I think about the rest of my life, I think about doing kind things. I feel connected and a part of people when I am kind; whether or not they are aware of it is irrelevant. 

Kindness doesn’t cure depression though it does give a momentary reprieve. I do it because I like me better, because it seems like the only worthwhile way to be.

This guy on Ellen is advocating forgiveness, compassion, love in your heart. I agree. But that doesn’t stop the pain. It doesn’t enable me to desensitize to people.

Ellen has this challenge for people for a month to keep a notebook and keep track of ways to give specific acts of kindness without expecting anything back. About just helping someone. 

What an obvious idea to me. But Ellen is correct in thinking it is completely foreign to people. No one wants to help if they cannot see the value of it. Why help me shovel out of my driveway, if it is going to snow again, if I have nothing to offer you that is of value in your eyes. This entire town left me snowed in for more than six weeks and I cannot fathom why.

Cheryl at the post office won’t stop by and have a conversation with me or help me clean up maybe because it’s not visible to her. How would it make a difference in the long run. Even when I tell her it does help, it doesn’t matter to her -- perhaps because it is not enough to change things for me, and if she can’t make an impact, she doesn’t want to be involved. That’s my best explanation. Truth is probably worse. Nothing she needs from me, why offer? Perhaps, simply a change of heart. I am not a friend she wants in her life. She has plenty. Why add me? Most likely, I am simply unimportant in her life.

People think the future has to change for what you do today to matter. but the fact is we only live in the moment.

The second thing I learned...

I have a gift for for empathizing and basically getting people for who they are. I love easily. I don't get social interaction and superficial shit. I don't know to engage in a relationship well. If I don't pay attention, ie I relax, I can miss obvious clues and interrupt people. I get who people are, not how to read social interaction. And while I can tell someone is uncomfortable, I can't always tell why. 

That is not what I learned. I know why I am hard to have around. I am intense and I can get involved in my thought and go on in conversation, not realizing I share too much. Or I can have too much pain inside so it is hard not to show it and just hang out. It isn't always about pain. The way I connect to my experiences or get involved in someone else is deep and unchecked, because people tend to be polite and indirect, I go on too much. Managing at a superficial level is hard work and I also suck at it. 

I saw this in its best form. I got deeply involved in conversation via FaceBook with Tim, who I have never met and it was real and personal. I cared about him and I listened to him and I enjoyed him and appreciated who he is. Seeing this I realized that is not something to change or wish was different. I don't feel wrong about how I am with people anymore. 

Getting how I get lost or involved in train of thought, topic of conversation, and explore tangents ... that is all about genuine interest and curiosity. 

Like this journal, I repeat and revisit experiences, thoughts, etc. I have a depth of focus, I turn on myself a lot. 

I perceive a lot whether I want to or not. Massive input. A multi-focus. When I focus on others, myself, or what I am doing, I get involved in the complexity and depth. When I use in massage, it is the same love and care and seeing (knowing). A non verbal perception (sight being perception, not using my eyes).  People feel better. Massage is about interacting my energy with theirs. I feel healthier afterwards.

The perception is emotional input, an abstract, non-visual, sight. I miss the elephant in the room visually if I don't focus on it. Maybe that's why I don't read nonverbal social cues.

I find connection and or pleasure in involvement. There is a fair amount of narcissism is self focus. I like what I am doing and writing and it is not unlikely that is is boring to most. The repetitive amount of content would wear out many, but for me it is like polishing a crystal or cleaning a window, clarifying. If you are a perfectionist you can spend a lot of time cleaning every smudge, if you are not, it will drive you nuts.

The narcissism is accurate because I am interested myself. But I also get drawn into myself because of how I connect emotionally, even when I don't intend or want to turn the focus into me. And I am so easily distracted by tangents. And if you are too polite...

I have a lot humor and light heartedness about myself ... about this.

Maybe I am just light hearted because I laughed a lot with Christie, and enjoyed her sharing about being in love. Enjoying her happy will never be boring. Nor will enjoying my son.

I have to laugh at myself cause I know that I repeat things, infinitely, enjoying the variations and nuances in the differences that I see. Like the way I hone my poetry. I never get bored working on poem, or reading it out loud. Like listening to a song I like over and over and over ... (amused that I drove my kids nuts cause I couldn't ever remember the lyrics of a song. I would always mess them up.) or watching Craig Ferguson tell the same joke, like his Paul McCartney photo ... I laugh every time because he is funny.

I understand 2 major things I didn't... The first:

Wow... I had a delightful conversation with Christie and Tim, her boyfriend, on face book texting. Besides the fun conversation and laughter with my daughter, very personal things were discussed between myself and Tim (who I just met).

I learned new things that surprise and come out of all this writing and poetry.

I never understood why I lose control, like when I said "rape" instead of "molested" to Rich about Rai. I wrote why but I was missing the point. I said "rape" because I was became so connected to the my experience when Rich inaccurately used the word "rapist" about Clinton with Lewinsky our conversation. I was upset that he didn't know what that meant and it was belittling real rape. I was upset, because I felt my experience being equated to a mutual indiscretion between consulting adults. And I felt that because I was connected. RIch kept pushing and wouldn't let up. The feeling was like he was telling me and so I took a stand and said "No they are not the same. I know. Rai raped me when I was eleven."   Because I didn't have a notion of what was upsetting me and driving, I didn't understand why I used the wrong word. I was pushed by his misuse of the word "rape" and I said that word because that fit how I felt not what happened. I was violated and forced and I was unable to physically stop him. He was bully. What he was doing to me as innocent catholic eleven year old was unspeakable. The incestuous element of it still is. He violated my love for him as my big brother, by pretending to like who I was for the first tine ever, to be interested in who I was, and to be my friend, in order to persuade to allow him to touch me. And when I said "no", he did anyway, because he could, because he was stronger and I couldn't stop him.

I was shocked hearing myself "rape" about Rai to Rich. I knew what I said was inaccurate as soon as I heard myself speak. Then I didn't know why I made the error. Hell, I didn't know why I blurted it out.

Why? Because I automatically connect to the emotion and experience of things that I have felt deeply. It's like I am reliving them. That's how I am. I don't watch horror, because I feel it as it were happening and real. I connect to it as if real. That's not an option. It's how I am.

And because I don't ever say anything, when I finally can't help but take a stand and I do speak out, and what I do say comes out loud and uncensored. When my family bullies me either I cannot speak and shut down, or I take a stand and I blurt out uncensored.

I have felt guilty about what I said to Rich, but I don't anymore. And because my brother Rai was a jerk about it, I no longer have any remorse, in that I don't think I wronged Rai in any way. I did think so then, but now that his children are young adults, I have no problem speaking the truth if it comes up.

My father bullies me when I don't agree with him, or even when he doesn't agree with me and I am talking to someone else. I have no tolerance for it anymore. It doesn't take much to push me to taking a stand and speaking out. And who knows what he will could touch upon, that I am holding back, so I could say anything. And my language is not polite when I am pushed to take a stand. I don't know who will be around and I will not allow myself to lose control around children. I love my parents. I don't need to tell them anything. They can live their lives happily without if they prefer peace. I would like to share their lives with me. I would like to know them. But I do not have to. I do love them enough to leave them alone. I am willing to keep out of their lives as much as it saddens. I cannot be around my father and not react to being bullied.

My mother is not a bully. I like spending time with my mother. I miss her and I miss out on that. But she is a package deal. She comes with my father. I do respect that. It saddens me.

I have been crying all my life...

There is a war in me between who I am and how I am, like magnets reversed, repelling, they do not coexist in peace. Which is why living is so hard and so exhausting.

I think of how I am, as based in the physical, in my brain. Who I am is about my values, what matters to me, the soul. My abilities and inabilities are how I am, and who I am is kindness and love.I don't understand what makes us human, and I  don't understand all this pain that is ever present and always has been, in my most successful moments, in my happiest ones, in all the rest.

I used to believe that if saw reality for what it was, that would be enough to change things, but it doesn't, because the pain doesn't go away. Pain wears you down, like the sea on rocky shores. It is persistent and it prevails.

I love writing and crafting imagery from words. Bless the invention of the computer and the electronic dictionary and thesaurus. There is so much beauty and pleasure in finding the words to take the impression, the feeling, the abstract imagery and crystalize it into being with the sounds and rhythm of words. With poetry, there is also the visual placement of the line break.

Victory Buzz is about a race I won, my last summer at camp. It shows how I am. That summer I went to camp I weight 100 pounds and wore size 14 (back then sizes were different) I was chubby. I grew 3 inches and lost 20 pounds. I worked at it intentionally. I used to look at my thigh pressed against the wood of the picnic table I sat at and it looked huge. But by the end of the summer, I actually saw it looking thin. I was fit and muscular and strong. That summer we had junior life saving. I was saving one of the counselors and she warned me that my grip wasn't tight. Made me smile inside to know what was true and then to see so, because when she tried to squirm and sink me she was unable. I impressed her and I was pleased. I was one of the best swimmers. From the start of that year I was given a white cap (the color for the top swimmers). I was the youngest and the first to have started out that way as well. There were a few girls that thought I didn't deserve it. They were jealous. But, I knew I did. One in particular. She lost that race to me and thought I was lucky. I knew I wasn't, I was better, faster, fitter. She came in second, but the race wasn't even close.

I cried easily when I was happy, frustrated, sad, for no particular reason on a dime. No one bullied me at camp, but I knew they looked down on me with distain, even when they were discreet, I knew. At the end of the summer, my family was supposed to go to the world fair in NYC. They went without me instead.

That summer was a moment of blossoming. It was short-lived. Like in the poem. Then there was my oldest brother, who like a little boy, sees a pretty flower and uproots it from the earth, curious, fondling the petals, and then letting go, dropping it on ground, off to doing something new, oblivious.

been here forever it seems

It is profoundly blatant to reread words I wrote nearly 2 1/2 years ago and find them as current as today. I relive events over and over. And each time I do they are like new, fresh and raw and real. It is not just about telling any person, it is about not telling the person I don't tell in first place. It's indelible. I can't wash it off. I can't cut the strings because it is only an illusion whenever I do. I think the past is over and it reappears at the most inopportune time, in the most inconvenient, humiliating, and degrading ways.

I spent a huge part of my life trying to understand me as if knowing would set me free. It isn't that I dwell in the past, whining about what happened to me, and I know it seems that way. What happens is that there is this infinite pain that is ever present, that is just below the surface, and it comes through and leaks into my life. I wrote all my poetry in 1990's to now and a lot of them during times I thought I was doing really well, that I was creating a life and living. Confession was first written at one of better times. I thought then obesity was behind me, just a matter of time. I was losing weight, choosing health, and getting thin. How ironic.

I can't escape my past. I can't escape how I am. I wouldn't give a shit about the past if it didn't impact my actions today, It is as though I can fight to try and change things (like swishing a foam pillow into a different shape) and it is a lot of work and as long as I keep at, it seems like it's working. But then I let go, take a breath, relax, or get distracted, or I am taken aback, off-guard, and the old pillow is back.

I have kept cutting strings to my past all my life and whenever I look, they are still attached as though they grew back out of me.

For a long time, I thought knowing or understanding me would set me free. But I eventually I saw that it does not. Then I thought, just being truthful about reality and what I want and living freely, but it is not, or maybe I just cannot. Being blind to the pain, doesn't free it. Moments of reprieve do not seal it away.

blame.... and guilt ...

It's interesting to look back on my entries in my Obituary journal. It is probably obvious by reading what I write that I that part of me that doesn't match my values blames people I love and who love me for not loving me enough to help me or believe me.


I didn't want to admit to writing the posts I will include here, because part me want redemption. I don't want to be written off as someone who would have been better off not existing. I can't find the right words for the feeling. It's about being disdained for for how I am. (a lack of empathy).


My intent in writing is to be honest and I think there is a difference between blaming someone to their face and just feeling occasionally, knowing it is not true or honest that there valid blame, and deciding to be silent rather than trying to manipulate people with guilt for their help.


I can't guarantee the respect of anyone, but I want to be able to respect myself. I think I fear blurting out what I repress because I have no control of what I say. I can be inaccurate, and I have been.


My family found out I was molested because I was having a discussion with my youngest brother Rich about Bill Clinton and the intern relationship with Monica. He kept saying, Clinton was a molester and rapist. I and I argued that they were two adult and our government had no business prying into their relation which was engaged in freely by both parties. He kept repeating he was rapist and such over and over again. And he was inadvertently pushing buttons I did not know were being pushed. I told him he had no idea what rape was and he wouldn't back down. Even though I agreed it was a scummy behavior of Clinton's part. And I finally exploded saying something like,"You have idea what rape is, Raimond raped me when I was 11." I honestly didn't mean to say rape. I was caught in feeling of it truly felt like he raped my soul. He completely invaded me, even though my clothes stayed on. I shouted at him and my son was in hearing distance. I don't know which year this happened. Rich still lived with Bob and he was not yet married. My face was hot. I knew the error of what I said, but I didn't know how to fix it in that moment. I said nothing more. Later Rich called Rai and Rai called me.


I was in the wrong because I used the wrong word in the heat of the moment, and I apologized to Raid for that pointed out what the correct word was. I appeased him because he was concerned about what I might say to his children. I assured him I would never harm his children and that it was an accident that I blurted out to Rich "rape" verses "molested." The varied conversations that followed were all about making Rai comfortable with me. I am not the kind of person who is mean and would intentionally harm young children. So I got to feel violated and bullied all over again. And the only way to take a stand was to stick the truth in the faces of the family I loved who did not want to know it and I couldn't do it. To this day I never have.


I digressed a bit here. but the point is that I hold everything back because I am not a mean and evil person and I refuse to act that way even if the outcome would be in my best interest. 


In my heart, I do not blame my children. Not in my heart. My children are adults but they are young. I had a friend in college who was suicidal. And she burdened me with her pain and I tried to listen but became too much and I pulled back. I was more than I could handle. I lacked the skills and I was depressed as well. I understand being too much for people.


In the April 17, 2008 entry, I wrote about Christmas with Christie. This was when David Fotland illegally canceled our agreement and I needed to respond. I wanted to ask Christie for help. I tried to convince her to stay, but I couldn't get the words out of my throat. They were stuck.  The was the harm Rai did to  me. She never knew how pivotal she could have been, and I had hoped that I rise above my inability to act before it was too late. I thought I could, but I never did.I had plenty of time when she visited but I let the months slip away. David owes me at least $50,000 probably more $75,000 by now. That's enough not only to pay off my tax bill, but also to pay off my mortgage and car. I can't fight. I imagine it but I don't.

I keep repeating this. But I do hope, that my children read this understanding that they are not to blame for how I am. And while their actions at times do make a difference or their inactions could have at times made a difference, they would never fix how I am. I don't think anything could do that. It is not their fault for how I am. They are not to blame and their involvement in my life has only brought out the best in me and given me the opportunity to rise above how I am for their benefit, because they matter to me. I am so grateful for that.

On April 9th and 17th I wrote:

04-09-08 7:00 pm 

What is real? Is depression a disease? Legitimate. Not a weakness of character? If so, then how come we praise optimism? As though it is a choice? Isn’t it simply an outcome of the way you are built?

I am not suggesting it is wrong to value and appreciate and admire people who are happy, optimistic, or capable of rising above difficult circumstances outside their control. We tell people to surround themselves with people who are good for them – and I surely recommend discarding mean people. But who enjoys someone who is depressed. And don’t we also say it a good thing to reach out to depressed people? There’s a real contradiction in these two messages.

I find it odd that people prefer mean to depressed. Depressed is more difficult to be with for a lot of people. So much so that depressed are shunned. Mean and brutal people will choose for years, some their lifetime.

I understand the pain Christie, Kian, and my parents feel around me. But I don’t understand the choice to avoid it. It breaks my heart that I am not worth the time for a phone call or a visit. How can I truly believe I matter to anyone. Conceptually I matter to them. But not in reality – not in the actuality of actions. I am a good, kind person and I cannot understand why that is not enough. My head gets why. My heart does not comprehend it.

I also have compassion – I understand why pain is avoided. I live it. Depression is avoidance of the pain of living. I understand and feel for the difficulty, and I still wish it was different. I wish I was called, visited, and helped. I wish even more that I could lived better without it.

04-17-08 10:15 am

More than 2 weeks ago I realized that suicide wasn’t a viable option. It will never be a better option for Christie or Kian.

Since then I went though the clear thoughts of how last July 1st Christie’s choice to not come home with me to help out for one evening or even let me drive them to the airport in Boston really broke me, and it was worsened when she wouldn’t even stay two days at Christmas even for just her company. I fetl so stupid that I couldn’t put together a simple bill and response. I couldn’t get the words out of my throat so she never knew. And I am angry at my father especially for his role in orchestrating it and disappointed with everyone else involved and devastatingly hurt by it all.

But the truth is I never would have broke if I wasn’t already on the edge – if I already wasn’t barely trading water, fighting hard to live. I have always been broken, as far back as I can remember.

Christie didn’t help but she didn’t cause it either. I suppose sometimes it is a burden to have the opportunity to help someone.

My father has been consistent all my life and yet I never stop hoping he will different – like that tall man in a crowd of midgets eyes glued shut so as to be unnoticed.

All my life my father has loved me and wanted me to be different and he is proud he has never visited my home and never will. 

So in the end it can only be true that my daughter didn’t break me, she was only there when it happen. My choice was to use her as a last thread, and that was so selfish and is so extremely unfair. To ask anyone to be your lifeline to life is so unfair, and the burden can only be unbearable. 

April 3, 2008 ...

This post was address a conversation. You can see that I only allude it and find myself without words. There is a blatant reoccurring theme. Then I was aggressively trying to find a way out of giving up and dying. Then I wanted to also find a way to die. I was Forsaking Free, cutting strings, hoping to float free.


I was warring with how I could die and not cause intense ramifications to my children. I wanted to find a way I could be sure that my children could see how their lives were better without me and I was better off too.


I like the quote I heard on TV about Suicide and how I saw it as a sign of hope that I would live:

Suicide is for cowards. [to live is] brave. Suicide – it’s a screw you to the world. “I never really loved any of you.” It proves defective thinking. Narcissism. And that your so called loved ones have failed.

and I like the clarity in what I said and I still don't know the answer to the questions I ask:

When I ask to be accepted for who I am. I am not asking to be tolerated and allowed to harm your life. I am asking for a place to fit in, to be allowed in your life. I am kind and nice. I love and care. I don’t have a mean bone in my body. How can it be so hard to tolerate me.

I know some of what I ask seems that it should be impossibly easy for me. But it isn’t. Even if it really was, why is it so hard to give it? Why am I abhorred. Why is it so repulsive to help with things that seem so easy and doable to you?

This was a night of poetry writing. Here is the full journal entry. I put the time I start writing in the title. As though it mattered.

4/3/08 12:17 am

Today I write for you Christie. I am sorry I said what I said. It wasn’t untrue. None of it. Not even the part about not being your fault.

How can it ever be your fault for how I am?

You can’t imagine what it is like to always want from others exactly what they cannot give – so they cut you out of their life.

How do I zero in on the thing someone cannot offer? It’s a hell of a talent. It’s unbearable. The only people who stay in my life are far away and have intermittent contact. It’s a façade. It’s a semblance of involvement – not the real thing. I don’t know how to connect with people. I am kind. I like people. I accept them for who they are, flaws and all, but I am a drain on them – everyone, not just you.

I know I am writing this to find a way out. It hurts people to love, to live, and it hurts them to die. I don’t want to hurt people I love, but it is so hard to live. Every day is an effort to be alive. Why? I have nothing that is enough to offer anyone. Nothing that is worth wanting me more than not wanting me in their life.

Do you see why I cling to my animals? They are better off with me alive than dead. They would rather live and be with me than not – as I am – flawed and all.

I don’t call this an obituary for nothing. I need to find a way to live or a way to die and I haven’t found either.

Mute

my voice rides the wind like blue

in the sky

like the surface of a stream.

visible, clear, intangible

it catches in my throat

when it’s on my side.

impossibly doable, undeniably

real, impenetrable rock

truly untrue

I say what I mean

yet I remain unseen.

unheard, screaming

I understand the plight of knowing me and the inevitable choice not to. I am flawed and I empathize with the flaws of those I love, even those I just like. I respect and appreciate the humanness of them and of me still wishing. I want the impossible. I want it to be different.

I am begging you. I need my animals to live – so I won’t die on you.

I don’t want to hurt you. And yet I do.

Hopelessly Free

I want truth to be untrue
I want to swim with dolphins


I want to live and to breathe
I want to be untethered


I am an oxymoron, moronically
I want to be and not to be

Can you see, Christie, why I am so very sorry. You want me to rise above my limits and I want you to rise above yours. We both want the impossible. I love you. Can you forgive me for who I am and for failure to want you only as you are, to accept as enough what you offer? See, I still want the impossible.


I first wrote Confession in 2003. I have honed it since.


My life story is cyclic and boring and very very wearing. I am weary. Forgive me.


I want to leave you and Kian a legacy. I want to be known and understood and forgiven. I apologize for this brutality. It’s impossible to tell the truth and not be brutal. I believe if I don’t make it, then it will have been the better choice for both of you — I must believe it. Better still that it be true.


Chris, I know you are brilliant. Anything I tell you about us must already be known to you. So I want to be clear and give it all a voice so you can’t ever believe it is your fault. It can never be. People are not responsible for other people’s choices and you cannot be responsible for mine.


I am blessed to have both you and Kian as children, and I will ever be grateful that you both were born to me. I have loved being able to foster your passions, and have delighted in seeing who you are flourish.

...


I was taking a break, thinking I was done writing for the night and this was said about suicide: Suicide is for cowards. [to live is] brave. Suicide – it’s a screw you to the world. “I never really loved any of you.” It proves defective thinking. Narcissism. And that your so called loved ones have failed.


Good news / Bad news for Christie and Kian if that is the only reason to die – to vent anger and pain. I can't die to vent anger. I heard once, though, that suicide could be about something else. I think the motivation was complete hopelessness. An inability to bear the pain of living anymore. Still cowardly, but not anger or spiteful. Definitely narcissistic. But I already told you I don’t know how to connect to people. I don’t understand them.


I understand people's strengths, beauty, and flaws. I do not understand their contradictions, how they prevail even in the light of knowing (exposure). I do not understand why I am inevitably toxic, though in every case I can understand why I am. Ironic...


When I ask to be accepted for who I am. I am not asking to be tolerated and allowed to harm your life. I am asking for a place to fit in, to be allowed in your life. I am kind and nice. I love and care. I don’t have a mean bone in my body. How can it be so hard to tolerate me.


I know some of what I ask seems that it should be impossibly easy for me. But it isn’t. Even if it really was, why is it so hard to give it? Why am I abhorred. Why is it so repulsive to help with things that seem so easy and doable to you?


I am really sorry if I can’t make it. And I am really sorry if I can and had to let you know. I am sorry for the brutality of this either way.

being public...

I know this is a public journal that I am humiliating myself by writing it. I exposing my self to ridicule. I also know that it is so unlikely that even those who can find this journal with a little ,,, 2 links away from my FaceBook page,  accessible to anyone who has friended me, that no one likely will.

Of course they might and then just pretend they didn't. That is harsher than being ridiculed.

Irony of Public

But actually, I think I realized after my children visited, and after they did not contact me, and today when I admit to myself that they will likely only rarely contact me and only briefly, that if I hope to survive, and if it is really true that I cannot pull this off on my own, then I need to expose myself and hope someone hears me.

I just went through my journal ... "My Obituary" which I started on April 1, 2008. I will incorporate all my entries into this blog, minimally editing for clarity and for typos. Some will be added to past posts as they are redundant or relate.

On April 1, 2008, I wrote:

It’s April 1st. I’m a joke. A fool. Hopeless. So, it’s fitting to start today. 

It’s too hard to live. I lack the courage to die. I can’t abandon my animals. I am too tired and it hurts so much. My only positive attribute is I am kind and that is not nearly enough.

It hurts to breathe.

I write this to find courage to live, to die, either would be better than this suffocating limbo of simply existing.

I suppose if I die, I want Kian and Christie to know I still love them and it has to be better with me dead than living with how I am.

I am so sorry for being how I am, for lacking the character to live.

Rewind 

Yes, this is the day I wrote Rewind. I don't often have the ability to place events accurately in time. I have no sense of time, no sense of direction, no ability to recall faces or names of people I know or just met. I suppose I enjoy abstraction so much because I feel at home.

On April 2nd I wrote very briefly.

4/2/08 2:22 am 

I am so sorry. I love you Kian. I love you Christie. 

I love my dogs my cat even my parents. I am so tired. I am weak, repugnant, where does kindness fit in there? 

thoughts...

A lot of people like and have been touched by me in a positive way. All my children's friends felt loved by me. I liked them for who they were as they were, and I saw the best in them.

I have a gift of being empathetic, being able to see what matters to people and I love easily and freely. My children have never had to be any thing but who they are. I instilled my value of kindness. I am proud of how kind my children are.

Obese people think that are not the cause of their children's obesity. They are. They have full control over the in take and the exercise their children get. My children are not obese because I did not raise them that way.

There was a movie about a strict Christian family whose 16 year old daughter had her boyfriend slaughter her brother, mother, and father and burn their house. The father survived. This girl sang in the church choir, and was loved by her family. This was an evil thing she did and there is no excuse, but there is an explanation. No one understand how come she changed. She didn't really, not at her core. The point is that she was never instilled with the values of her church or for human life. She was self-centered and spoiled. She did not ever learn and embrace the fundamental value of love. The first clue was how the sheltered and isolated her and restricted her. You can't just preach values successfully. The telling comment though was when they laid down the law and prevented this teen from seeing her boyfriend anymore. No one seems to understand how her upbringing was a causal factor. Her parents did not see her for who she was, but rather as what they thought she should be...that angel singing. I wonder how much rage she held inside and for how long. You can harm a soul with good intentions. The parents had good intentions, they were not evil. The story is tragic.

thriving on breadcrumbs...

Jocelyn Ronda said "Funny... you have been on my mind today :) I send you love and a hug." on FaceBook today. She liked my quote to Kian. I don't think she has any idea how much she impacts me.

I answered: "You always make my heart light and warm my soul"

Albert Camus...

How delightful to have googled and found so many cool quotes of his...

"A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession." How interesting. Kind of explains the lure of writing poetry and why I hone my work as way of living.


"To be happy we must not be too concerned with others." That explains a lot. On the other hand there is an boundless quiet joy that fills you as you act freely with kindness and love.


"Ah, mon cher, for anyone who is alone, without God and without a master, the weight of days is dreadful." Now this is interesting. Explains why I find it so hard to live. I would believe in God if I could, I did as a child. I clung to my belief as a refuge and family found that disturbing when I started to be polite and say "pardon me." It worried them. Eventually, logic won out. That should have upset them more. Thing is, you can't know if there is God, you can only have faith (refer to my poem Is It Ever Just). Faith is blind, it is all about trust, and I lost that by the time I became an adult ... somewhere between 11 and 17 to 21. I think faith requires giving up control and I needed control more than faith to live. I envy and understand people who believe in God. I admire the people who crafted the constitution for having the wisdom of separating God from government. I admire them for understanding the power of simple words and how these words can evolve our understanding far beyond what would ever have been intended had most people then understood where they would lead. I understand the purpose of believing, I envy those who do. I remember fondly the time when I did.


"An intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself." That's a compliment if true. I have looked at my self-focus as a flaw. I love arguing. I want to test my beliefs to see if I agree and will change my mind if convinced. I am opinionated and stubborn and open-minded. It is ok with me to argue with people who disagree with me. I don't argue to convince anyone of anything. I don't mind trying, but in the end, there are fundamental beliefs that are accepted by each of us, and I am more interested in proving my ideas to me. Nothing seems stupider than being blind to how you think and what core truths you accept.


"But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads?" I don't know what happiness really is. But given how I hate how I live, this does not surprise me. Happiness takes a love for who you are and peace with how you are. I am at war with how I am. Peace would be nice.


"Charm is a way of getting the answer yes without asking a clear question." Ha! That makes laugh. I just passed on this to Kian and to all who friended me on facebook. I am in awe of my son's natural ability to charm. I love it. I love being taken in by it. It is an admirable ability. I hope he hears, "I love you and I love who you are" because that is what I am saying.


"For centuries the death penalty, often accompanied by barbarous refinements, has been trying to hold crime in check; yet crime persists. Why? Because the instincts that are warring in man are not, as the law claims, constant forces in a state of equilibrium." I am against the death penalty and cannot understand how any Christian could be for it. It a barbaric practice. I understand killing. At times killing is justifiable. But to cold-bloodedly, execute anyone who is completely contained and separated from society is evil. Pure and simple. I don't have any ambiguity about this and no one has ever presented an argument that changed my mind. At best execution is about vengeance (getting even). It is also about attempting to prevent crime, even though it is applied unfairly to the poor, and even though it is biased to a mob mentality, and even though it is clearly not a deterrent. At worse it is about being unwilling to bear the cost of incarceration, simple greed. I wrote Vengeance Is Mine to express my frustration with this barbaric practice. I recently edited this significantly. I am pleased where it is today. Finally.... Until some tomorrow in the future ... as usual.


"For if there is a sin against life, it consists perhaps not so much in despairing of life as in hoping for another life and in eluding the implacable grandeur of this life." Hence the guilt. Hence the sincere apology for how I am. I do despair of life. I hope for life. I see the grandeur through a looking glass, where it resides on the outside and I reside within. Now there is a snippet for a poem. I and so I write Eluding Life...

Eluding Life

I see grandeur through a looking glass
where it resides on the outside
and I reside within, fused in avoid
in between. I am original sin. An Abomination
to be reviled, my despair is fated to forever
din. Wishing both to be me and not to be,
not only the outside, but throughout within.

That's how I write a poem. This is my first draft. It exudes out of me. I think it is complete. If it is, I won't have added a link to a honed version.

"He who despairs of the human condition is a coward, but he who has hope for it is a fool." I suppose I am both. I hate what it means to be human in many ways. It is not the sociopath or evil person that disturbs me most. It is good people, with decent values, who abandon these values at a whim, and who act in direct and blatant contradiction, and who righteously have no remorse about it. I understand the behavior as being human. I don't get the lack of remorse. (I understand why my father hates that I live in Vermont, and why he never has visited. I do not understand that once the meaning of how he acts and what he said about not visiting was pointed out, that he proclaimed how proud he was of his behavior and that he never will visit.) This quotation fascinates me. It has the feel of a misleading question. Like asking someone whether they beat their wife with the question, "How many times a week do you beat your wife?" This quote has a no-win quality. The way I thrive on acting with kindness and loving people and I avoid everyone.


"I know of only one duty, and that is to love." Completely agree. Though I would not call it a duty. I think it is the real choice we have, which is about who you are. I think of who I am as the love I bring to who I am with other people. I wrote about love in Is Love Haiku? and I think who you are is about how you love, When In Is Out. I spent half my senior year in high school collecting everyone's idea of what love is (many thought I was odd — I was). Before now, I thought I was after feeling loved and being cared for, but today I realize that I was looking to know who I am. (I grew up among family that chided me for who I was. Some folks decide to please people and become what others want you to be to be accepted. That never occurred to me. I looked at the truth in what they said, and I was not perfect. I was flawed, selfish (after all I was a child) and I saw behavior which I agreed with them about. I do not regret my flawed reasoning which assumed that if I were who I valued and respected, that they would also value and respect me. I learned about true generosity in college when found I myself expecting something in return for what I gave, and I realized that was not generosity, that was a trade. And if it was not a mutual trade, then expecting to be owed back something was not at all being generous, and nothing was owed to me. I learned to aim to give only what I wanted to freely. Whenever I make the mistake of wishing I hadn't given what I had, I realize that it my mistake and my error, and I let it go. I am not owed for my generous acts. I disagree with people who think there children owe them, because it is a one-sided bargain and unfair to expect anything in return. My children owe me nothing. It isn't that I don't want from them, they just don't owe me. I am human. I will always want to be loved for who I am. What living is about is loving. What I do. I live alone because I cannot see how else to love.


"I would rather live my life as if there is a God and die to find out there isn't, than live my life as if there isn't and die to find out there is." Here I think Camus was short-sided and naive. I thought through this a long time ago. I think of what so many humans do in the name of God, and I am appalled.  I am horrified by what good God-fearing people do. I think that any God that would shun me for not blindly worshiping him/her is one I can live without. I think that if God exists, and God is love, then God would want me to live by loving and with kindness. I chose to be who I am, not for God or because of some promised afterlife, but because I believe sincerely that is a good way to live. A life where I can like who I am. I figure if I am not enough, I did my best. If more than that is expected or other people's ideas about God are real, and I am shunned for non-compliance because I don't believe or worship properly, that is ok with me. All I am certain of is now and even that can be questioned. Living out of fear or for a carrot is selling yourself short. I would be selling myself short if I did. On the other hand, given how humanity is, sometimes it seems better that people believe in God and live their life that way. Other times, it is horrific, as I wrote in Profoundly Flagrant. What many people do in the name of God is scary.

"The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding."  Profoundly Flagrant. I would have liked to know Camus.

"The modern mind is in complete disarray. Knowledge has stretched itself to the point where neither the world nor our intelligence can find any foot-hold. It is a fact that we are suffering from nihilism." I think man is a futile being. I don't know for sure though. But that is just about faith and I lack it. We assume we have choice. Snowflakes expresses my ambiguity about what we are able to choose. We make up purpose. I don't think that is a bad thing. I repeatedly talk about my children understanding and forgiving me. That's about kindness and loving them. I think understanding myself is important to me as well. Without understanding love and kindness can fall short of their mark. I grew up Catholic and went catholic camp. Every year from the age of 5 I was given the courtesy and cooperation award for junior campers (through grade 6). You don't need God to understand good and love.

"Man is the only creature that refuses to be what he is." How ironic. Well, at least I have company.

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal." There is an understatement. I find being with people exhausting.

"The need to be right is the sign of a vulgar mind." Nicely said... I really like Camus.

"The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor." and

"The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy." I am Sisyphus. I have been thinking about living as existing, not dying. I am happy loving and being kind. In the now of it, I am happy. I don't think I understood this before. When Christie came this summer and I went the pool and help her swim and massaged her back to free it up. I know it mattered to her and I made a difference because I understood and saw how to be kind to her. How could I not once I saw the opportunity for Kindness. I didn't consider any other option. I never do. Who I am would not. I want to be cremated and I want my ashes to be spread in the ocean in Hawaii where dolphins swim. Make something in memory of me and on it put this Sisyphus quote. I want my children to know that in knowing them I only know happiness. They are a blessing, a gift to me.