PART III (Cont.)
It’s been awhile since I added on to my two part story (introduction). I have been working up the courage to sit at this computer and take a look at what has really been going on in the time since I last wrote. Can I put it into words without spilling to much pain? Does it matter? Will people look at me differently if I expose myself any more? I must take that chance. I am compelled to do this.
I’m not exactly sure where I last left off. I no doubt left off with my mental illness playing a major role in destroying some parts of my life. I can’t do this! Damn! I can’t find the words anymore to describe the madness. I can take another person’s lyrics from a poem or a song, I can share my knowledge with others in my group, but I can’t touch my own soul. I can’t free it and bare it.
Is there anything there to bear? Life has been an existence since my husband forced me to move out a year and a half ago now. It almost seems impossible that it’s been that long. Then again 3 years have passed since my sisters spoke to me. Is that possible? I live alone in the woods. I pretend every day I wake up that something will happen to make a difference. Today will not be like all the rest.... So alone and in pain.
I am an independent woman now. I am free to do as I please for the first time in my life. No one around to tell me it’s time to cook dinner. I don’t have dirty wash for someone else. I no longer have to listen to the droll conversations of a drunk. I have no children up my ass for one thing or another. They are all far removed from me now. “I am an Island, I am a rock”! At least that is what I would like all to believe.
I have not had a serious suicide attempt in the last year now. There has been no hospital for me. Why? What is it so different now? I attempted suicide 4 times, was inpatient six times and outpatient once. What the hell has so drastically changed? Am I getting well? Do you really want to know the truth? Proximity!! That is the word! I don’t have proximity to a hospital where I can go and hide out in when life gets to hard to face. I don’t have proximity to anyone who gives a shit whether I’m dead or alive anymore. There is no shock value left. It is expected that I will die one day by my own hand. That goes without saying. Keep your distance from her, she’s only going to off herself soon. After so many tries, people usually succeed sooner or later (don’t they). Will I be one of those? Oh yes, I have people in my group who care, I know in my heart they do. They are like me. I can look in a mirror and see not only myself but reflections of them, each and every one of them. There is a part of me in each person. I don’t even know if they realize that.
If we can’t talk about death, it’s to morbid, then how about life? Can we talk about something that is far more horrible than death? Death is hard on others, but life is hard on me! Is my life any great tragedy? No! Not by far. There are those who have suffered so much worse,...... horrors I can only ponder. Rape, sexual abuse, incest, rejection by parents, poverty, spouse after spouse and never finding happiness, losing children, physical ailments(horrible beyond description) for some. What about me? I am only slowing losing pieces of my mind bit by bit. You can hardly notice, especially if you don’t take a hard look. Unless you look at me very closely, you won’t even really know me. You won’t see my damaged brains seeping out of my diseased head.
Oh but the medications....... I have those! Do they help or do they hinder? Will the meds actually wind up killing me in the end? That would be so ironic. Amazing isn’t it, when you think about it. After all the times I’ve tried to kill myself, I may be taking that silent killer everyday as a muse of help. There is heart disease, liver disease, diabetes etc. Any of us can have a reaction of one or more illnesses at any time. We all know the risks we take. Let’s not even mention the horrible change in our appearances. Keep that hidden away. A stranger looks at me and says “what a fatty. Too bad...., she’d be halfway attractive if she could control herself and not eat so much.” What right have I to exist in their world? It’s ok though, because most of them just want to turn their heads and pretend I don’t live under those adverse conditions. Them with their pretense that it’s ok. “We don’t and won’t judge you by the way you look? It’s what’s inside of you that is the important thing”. Really? Fucking really??? If only for a fraction of a millisecond any of that was believable. If it were true, plastic surgeons would be out of business. The makers of beauty products for our hair, face, body, feet, nails and anything else we can do to improve our appearance. All the “loss weight in 30 day ads, would go unnoticed. No one would make any money off my appearance! We want to please others when they look at us, don’t we? We all fall for it! It’s not really that important what or who we are labeled, it’s what we project outwardly. People can’t see inside my head at first glance. That takes speaking to me, to realize the insanity! Don’t speak to me!
Do I sense some bitterness that has seeped into my life? Am I releasing every fear that I’ve come upon in the last year? No, I haven’t even begun. Can I let you all truly inside of darkness? Who will look or feel differently towards me? Certainly not my fellow mad allies. They will understand where my mind goes to in times of stress and difficulty. Will you all understand my behavior?
Do you know what I am doing as I sit here and write what I think is in my soul. I’m waiting for the phone to ring. Will that phone never ring? How can something like a telephone be such a blessing and an enemy at the same time? I met a man online. Oh yes, shame on me. We spoke on the telephone last night for about 2 ½ hours. For the first time, I got off the phone and didn’t feel raped. He left me intact. We discussed intelligent things and shared likes and dislikes. Never once did sex enter into the conversation. For any of you that have suffered trying to find a person to date through an online dating service, only you can truly appreciate that. Most men that I meet only want sex. That, to them, is modern day “romance/relationship”. I wait and I wait for the phone to ring, feeling in my gut that it will not. Unfortunately, of late, I have developed a certain distinct “intuition”. It tells me things I’d rather not know, about me and others. I can’t even share all I know or have seen. I can’t just tell people of my “instinct” and hurt them. I have to wait for their own revelation, as I do for my own. I know, but I don’t want to know. Give me my covers back!! Let me hide please. No one can see my embarrassment or shame there. I give so much of myself, too much. Where do I go wrong exactly? What do I say that is so offensive?
I was suppose to meet this man next week at a place mutual to both. He calls twice in one day. I received a lot of wonderful e-mail. Very much the gentleman. Then..... I spend my time talking until 11 pm last night and I must have said or did something that was wrong, again. Did he just sense my madness? Was it in something I said or a certain tone? How do people know? His confession was that his ex was mentally ill. She was a sleepwalker. One night while doing so she picked up a butcher knife. He found her, but after that he never really could sleep, or so his story goes. Did I tell him then and there about my own madness? No!! I hate prejudice. I wanted to crawl under something and hide. It’s so unfair. What does he know about the mind with brains that have been bruised and soiled? What does he know about the pain suffered at the hands of others like himself that are prejudice? How long did I really think I could keep this a big dark secret? I take medication for God’s sake. Sooner or later he would ask why. I was prepared to even consider stopping the medications if it meant the possibility of a relationship. Am I that fucking desperate? When did that happen? When did I become so small? What can that humeral veil do to the human mind? How many tricks can it play on us? I knew that I couldn’t even meet this man and explain why I’m so overweight. I couldn’t even use the meds as my excuse. I would be starting out with lies. How many of us start out with lies? Why does society force us to be who we are not? Why do we hide in closets with our illnesses, fears, dreams, hopes? Why? What are we so afraid of? Rejection! Loss! Stares! Nibbled fingers! Cut arms and legs! Uncomfortable empty moments! Prejudice! Intolerance! Is anyone else afraid of any of those things? I’m afraid of it all. I don’t like pauses in a conversation because I don’t want to give the other person time to think of me at all. Just keep talking, you won’t notice. We call it rambling. Why do we ramble?
It’s lightly raining tonight. I want to run out and stand under the rain and let it fall on me and cleanse my filthy thoughts. Can it cleanse me enough to erase the shame? I have loved and I’ve lost. I’ve given and people have taken. Have they taken all of me? Is there anything left at this age of 51? I’m not old, but so much is lost. What is gained? A madness I did not invite into my life. An illness I don’t want to be bitter about. Better me than a loved one! That would mean someone I love, not someone that loves me. That was in another lifetime. Or was it? Was there really ever any love? Did it come disguised as I love and I misunderstood? I don’t know anymore. People talk of love, being loved. It is the ultimate goal or achievement for all humans. When we are loved, then we are so vulnerable to the loss of that love. Does that cause anyone misery but me? Fear? Once loved, will they take it back? Yes, of course they will, don’t be silly! Anyway, it’s summertime and it’s raining. I hear it hitting the ground, the roof. It is a soothing noise. I have to think about it and take it into my soul to soothe me. It’s the end of the day. It’s the beginning of the witching hour. You all know.... that time of night that leaves us empty and not at all comforted.
I’m a success! I truly am. I have lived alone now for a year and a half and as far as anyone can see, I’m doing great. It’s been good for me to have this time of solitude, peace and quiet in my life. The city was a horrible rat race. It was “toxic” unto me. I’ve learned more about myself. Yes...... I’ve taken the time to do that. But mostly I’ve taken the time to strap myself to this fucking chair and this piece of modern technology that connects me with the outside world. It connects me with others like myself. Or does it? Are any of us really like the others?
I can’t seem to clean my house anymore. Me!!! Me who is OCD? I could not sleep a night if everything wasn’t in it’s place. I never left for an appointment without making sure every bed was made, the floor was swept or vacuumed, dishes were done. Not a sock was left lying to be discovered. A sock? What the hell did that sock have to do with any reality? Why didn’t I sense the pain then? Somehow I always did that just in case I didn’t come back to that home. I didn’t want anyone to see my disorganization. What if I get in a car accident and die? “Do you have clean underwear on”? Do I really want to leave a dirty house behind. What will that say of me? Not only is she fat and lazy, she’s also horribly disorganized. Her mind just failed her over and over. People will talk. Others will be embarrassed. Well it would have given them time to diss. Let us not miss a chance to put others down!
What can I find tonight to ease my pain? Is it in the bottom of a bag of chips, no maybe a carton of Ice Cream. A bowl of cereal then? No, an egg sandwich would be better. That would give me some protein. Then I won’t feel so guilty. I don’t drink, too bad! Should I begin to drink to ease the pain? I hear pain is often lost in the bottom of a bottle. Should I start smoking to calm my nerves? All of that is acceptable behavior. Being insane isn’t acceptable. There is nothing at the bottom of my mind to ease my pain, .... oh yes, of course I’ve looked.
Am I ready to be locked up as you are all thinking now as you read this? No!! Of course not. This is just another day in the life........... It goes in and out. As a child I remember playing London Bridge is Falling Down. Whatever the hell that meant! Who came up with these ridiculous childhood games? Or how about Ring Around the Rosie? Damn that was a good one huh? Let’s not be too morbid. Ring around the rosie a pocketful of posies. Ashes, ashes we all fall down. That is a game about death! For the God’s sake set me free from an insane world that sees itself sane! Anyway, let me not wander here. I want to stick to my thought. The light falling rain has now become a vicious thunderstorm. How did it find my thoughts and my heart? Anyway, back to London Bridges. Do you remember holding hands with a person across from you and catching another party in between your arms. London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair Ladio. Take the keys and lock her up, lock her up, lock her up, take the keys and lock her up, my fair lady. Off to prison she must go, she must go, she must go, off to prison she must go, my fair Ladio. What the hell was all of that? Did I need that shit in my childhood on top of everything else? They spoke of locking me up even then. Even the games were about death and madness. That was 1957. It’s not politically correct to have such games anymore. Politically correct? What the fuck about human? What did they do to our minds as children? Oh but then ......... when my sister was born, 9 years after I and I was so happy to have some company in my life, I would sing..... Rock-a-bye baby to her. There is another good one huh? Let’s let the baby fall!! Jesus, why the madness? Not only were these things written but they were our games and lullabies. Is it a wonder I’m mad as a hatter? Oh come on laugh at that one!
I hope the thunderstorm continues......... it gives my heart solace on a very cold cold night. No, not the temperature, my cold cold heart. The thumping of the thunder guises the thumping in my heart.
I’m doing fine now, really. This weekend I will go downstate to celebrate my son’s 30th birthday, but no one will call me back. I can’t get a return call. Do they not want me? Of course not. Last time, I made a fool of myself apparently. But.... oh yes I’m fine. Do not worry, there is another day tomorrow and it may be magic. No, not magic. There is no magic. Maybe it will be blessed. Who are you really and what were you before? Are you blessed? Share! I never expected to see you here. Then again, I didn’t expect to see me here.