It never ceases to amaze me, some people...
You would think, that going through so much pain, both physically and emotionally would change a person. For me, it has. I have become humble, calmer, and more reserved. Of course, right now, a good bit of that is because physically, I don't have the energy, what fighting this kidney infection/stone, spleen issues, and elevated enzymes. But for some people, at least 10 years my senior, and who have gone through much less "pain", in both senses, it still isn't enough to change them. Rather, they seem to have become worse.
I witnessed today someone making a complete ass of themselves in front of the legal system. After I'm sure much mental preparation and having a Tony award winning speech prepared, he was shot down. "We are not here for your doubts. They are unnecessary." Rather than gloat, I just sat there. In awe of how immature and juvenile this person really was. And also saw my former self in him. I was greatly disheartened that the whole experience hasn't humbled him, nor has he seen how it has metamorphosed me. He has blinders on, no longer rose coloured, seeing himself as the only victim in the world. Even if he's the perpetrator. And even before, when I was the actual victim of the crime, he would act as if it was him that was violated, and would take it upon himself to act as he saw appropriate. I see now that not all of those actions were. That they really weren't for me to benefit, but to temporarily make himself look better and more interesting.
The only time in the past I was ever able to get this person to listen was after he had rapidly consumed 2 pitchers or more of beer, and in a public forum. That was the only time he was ever humble. And then, in the morning, after the mere buzz wore off, he was back to arguing and putting up the wall he has built so many times. I almost invested in buying him Legos to make the process easier. And the same night that our last big argument occurred, he was online that night, instantly tried to find a shoulder to cry on, and succeeded in finding a transvestite who love their cats, a move that was not unexpected. The online bashing continued, on various Facebook walls, through my own family members, and directly. When he violated his own order, and I called the authorities to inform him, the immaturity appeared right in front of them and myself. And then his friends would chime in, "defending" him, but not really at the same time. The same friends that I'm sure will read this, and report back. Hopefully, they'll report back the truth, not another ego stroking debriefing. A real friend would read a report like this and maybe tell them, "You know, she has a point. Time to grow up!" But, if they're on the same level as him, I doubt I will have such a kind and gentle response. That's one thing I have Faith in...
But even after all this, I do not hate him. I rarely use that word. In fact, I still love him. The person behind the wall. Not the one holding the trowel and bricks, sucking his thumb and Foster's. Deep inside, he is a good person. Wonderful even. Kind, loving, funny, intelligent, witty, etc. But once I stood up for what was right (i.e. that receiving sexually explicit photos on his phone from another woman, and thinking that was inappropriate), I saw the other person inside. The same little boy I heard about that was made fun of in school, "tortured" by his older brother, hurt and unloved by the world. The same person who relocates every year or so because the same thing seems to happen to them, no matter where they go. Funny, that used to happen to me too. But I realized this time around that the only one thing in common with that, was me. As with him, the same drama seems to ensue after the same amount of time, no matter the location, and the partied involved. But at least, I'm starting to see this, and am going to work on fixing it, one way or another. I have yet to see ANY effort in him like that at all, and today just put severe doubts in my mine that I ever will. Which is sad. Like he's proclaimed to me, I miss the old him. The kind, loving him, not the monster he has become. I looked in the mirror with him, and saw two of me. What he seems to see, is only himself, but sad and alone. No matter who is there looking back at him. I wish I could have shown him I was there, I tried so hard. But, it's only up to him to open his eyes and see.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
My ears are bleeding... But I love your work babe!
We all know love is a crazy emotion. It makes us do a variety of things from carving our initials into a tree that will in no doubt be cut down in the next 40 years to make room for a new Starbucks, to spending all our rent money on a dinner to the latest and greatest "fad" restaurant that won't pass the next health inspection. We do these things to impress our potential significant other. The one where I have been pondering drawing the line is when we say we LOVE something they have done, typically "artistically", even though it is absolute shit.
I am currently working on finishing my love's book, and helping him e-publish. It's a novel about a young man who is finding himself, mainly through relationships, and becomes the victim of the common practice of everyone jumping on board with the accuser, rather than listen to the real victim. I began talking to him about what to do for a cover, and the book itself, and how I was the one person who believed in his work. It's sad, but true. But, when he told me about what others thought, I recalled many a friend and boyfriend that wanted me to support them in there endeavors, and how the majority of them were crap. Don't get me wrong, Will's book is great. I just had a TV style flashback to those who's ideas weren't so great.
First example: I studied music and still dabble in my singing (I wish it was more, but getting a classical gig is hard now-a-days). A lot of my friends took composition, and others just wrote their own songs for guitar (the folk style, not screaming, biting heads of bats kind). One guy I was hormonally longing for tried his own career at pop/folk music. He had money from mommy and daddy and started his own "label". He recorded his songs, and took any gig he could get. Paid or not. So, I finally had the time to make it to one of his performances and sat in amazement. His music was about as invigorating as an hour long ride in an elevator with Kenny G playing on the speaker. I soon saw why practically everyone left before intermission. It was not just bad, but Sarah Palin knowing her American history bad. I'm sure I couldn't hide all the cringe from my face. But, when he asked me what I thought, I (of course) said it was great! I didn't want to break his heart. This was all he really had. He spent the past several months working his heart out to do this. But, honestly, it would be enough to turn someone to one-up Van Gogh and go for the left ear too...
Another example: In high school, poetry was a requirement for a term in English. One of my friends, Wendy (name changed to save embarrassment), thought she had found her calling. She had found her medium, and wrote page after page of poems about a subject she knew rather well. Herself. At first, everyone, including myself, thought they weren't bad. But then, when the poetry section was done and over with and we had moved onto Jane Eyre, she kept writing. When a new one was complete, she chauvinistically showed her spiral notebook in our faces. Mainly mine. I would read them, think to myself how horrible they were, and say "That's great", then some up with some disease I would claim to have and say I have to go to the bathroom. It's amazing how someone with Navaho Pseudo-Encephalopathy is still alive today. She wrote about everything from her beauty, hair and looks to her sexual escapades with the drug dealer down the street. All she needed in the end was a shot of testosterone so she could grow a black goatee to match her bongos.
After remembering all this, I asked the obvious: Why do we do this? These people shouldn't be reproducing, let alone in the art world! We feel like we're protecting them from the putrid creation they make, but once someone from outside their support system gives them reality goggles, they will come crashing down like the homes too close to the ocean on Nantucket. We, they're best friends, should just tell them (as gently as possible, depending on the level of shit it is) that it blows like a hooker in Vegas, and not to pursue it ever EVER again. Try nicely at first, but you are more often then not still full of it. Just, grow a pair and tell them. They my cry into their pillow, and cuddle up with their blue blanky that is nothing but a few threads let, but they'll get over it. If not, oh well. Let Sony Records or Scholastic break it to them. And then afterwards, you can send them the bill for the psychiatrist, along with his card. They'll need it.
I am currently working on finishing my love's book, and helping him e-publish. It's a novel about a young man who is finding himself, mainly through relationships, and becomes the victim of the common practice of everyone jumping on board with the accuser, rather than listen to the real victim. I began talking to him about what to do for a cover, and the book itself, and how I was the one person who believed in his work. It's sad, but true. But, when he told me about what others thought, I recalled many a friend and boyfriend that wanted me to support them in there endeavors, and how the majority of them were crap. Don't get me wrong, Will's book is great. I just had a TV style flashback to those who's ideas weren't so great.
First example: I studied music and still dabble in my singing (I wish it was more, but getting a classical gig is hard now-a-days). A lot of my friends took composition, and others just wrote their own songs for guitar (the folk style, not screaming, biting heads of bats kind). One guy I was hormonally longing for tried his own career at pop/folk music. He had money from mommy and daddy and started his own "label". He recorded his songs, and took any gig he could get. Paid or not. So, I finally had the time to make it to one of his performances and sat in amazement. His music was about as invigorating as an hour long ride in an elevator with Kenny G playing on the speaker. I soon saw why practically everyone left before intermission. It was not just bad, but Sarah Palin knowing her American history bad. I'm sure I couldn't hide all the cringe from my face. But, when he asked me what I thought, I (of course) said it was great! I didn't want to break his heart. This was all he really had. He spent the past several months working his heart out to do this. But, honestly, it would be enough to turn someone to one-up Van Gogh and go for the left ear too...
Another example: In high school, poetry was a requirement for a term in English. One of my friends, Wendy (name changed to save embarrassment), thought she had found her calling. She had found her medium, and wrote page after page of poems about a subject she knew rather well. Herself. At first, everyone, including myself, thought they weren't bad. But then, when the poetry section was done and over with and we had moved onto Jane Eyre, she kept writing. When a new one was complete, she chauvinistically showed her spiral notebook in our faces. Mainly mine. I would read them, think to myself how horrible they were, and say "That's great", then some up with some disease I would claim to have and say I have to go to the bathroom. It's amazing how someone with Navaho Pseudo-Encephalopathy is still alive today. She wrote about everything from her beauty, hair and looks to her sexual escapades with the drug dealer down the street. All she needed in the end was a shot of testosterone so she could grow a black goatee to match her bongos.
After remembering all this, I asked the obvious: Why do we do this? These people shouldn't be reproducing, let alone in the art world! We feel like we're protecting them from the putrid creation they make, but once someone from outside their support system gives them reality goggles, they will come crashing down like the homes too close to the ocean on Nantucket. We, they're best friends, should just tell them (as gently as possible, depending on the level of shit it is) that it blows like a hooker in Vegas, and not to pursue it ever EVER again. Try nicely at first, but you are more often then not still full of it. Just, grow a pair and tell them. They my cry into their pillow, and cuddle up with their blue blanky that is nothing but a few threads let, but they'll get over it. If not, oh well. Let Sony Records or Scholastic break it to them. And then afterwards, you can send them the bill for the psychiatrist, along with his card. They'll need it.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Folding Chairs and Douglas Adams ~ A VERY Short Play
Will: So, I'm wondering if you would like me to pick up a couple of folding chairs in a carry pouch. Home Depot has them on sale for $6.
Me: What would we use them for?
Will: Sitting
Me: I got that bit. But in reality, when?
Will: Video games, outside activities, socializing in the living room, etc.
Me: The living room... I always thought Douglas Adams said to always remember your towel, not a collapsible chair?
Will: Well, you can't sleep under a collapsible chair while drinking Pangalactic Gargleblasters, but at least you can make sure certain aliens can't see you.
Me: Yes dear...
Me: What would we use them for?
Will: Sitting
Me: I got that bit. But in reality, when?
Will: Video games, outside activities, socializing in the living room, etc.
Me: The living room... I always thought Douglas Adams said to always remember your towel, not a collapsible chair?
Will: Well, you can't sleep under a collapsible chair while drinking Pangalactic Gargleblasters, but at least you can make sure certain aliens can't see you.
Me: Yes dear...
Thursday, April 28, 2011
True Romance... By Halmark
Our relationship has never followed the rules.
We've never been the fairy-tale couple you see in the movies.
It seems like we're either head over heels in love or crazy with frustration.
We're not perfect, and neither is our relationship.
But you know what?
It's ours. All ours - the little jokes that only we understand (bwargle),
the way our hands naturally find each others,
and the memories that seem so wonderful now that we look back.
Our relationship will never be perfect, but it will always be an important part of me.
I don't know what's in store for us.
But I know I want you in my life.
I know I love you.
And I know that I'd rather be "real" with you than "fairy tale" with anyone else.
We've never been the fairy-tale couple you see in the movies.
It seems like we're either head over heels in love or crazy with frustration.
We're not perfect, and neither is our relationship.
But you know what?
It's ours. All ours - the little jokes that only we understand (bwargle),
the way our hands naturally find each others,
and the memories that seem so wonderful now that we look back.
Our relationship will never be perfect, but it will always be an important part of me.
I don't know what's in store for us.
But I know I want you in my life.
I know I love you.
And I know that I'd rather be "real" with you than "fairy tale" with anyone else.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The End...
Yes, it is the end. The end of my punishing myself by withholding my emotions inside. The end of anxiety induced pain, tears without substance, and living in a life of fear. I am tired of being afraid of man, myself, and my peers. It's time to step up to the soap box and be heard.
I promise to not loiter the internet and your e-mails with fluff. No videos of cute little kittens who have no grammar and spell check under their adorable little paws. No chain mail about how Jebus will save us all if you forward it to 15 people. I hate that stuff just as much as you do. I might add a link or two to news stories or the like that make me laugh, or irate. But no fluff.
For those not "in the know", I've been through a lot. I've met a new boyfriend who I believe is the one (he's me with a penis pretty much), have lost a significant amount of weight, and have had a falling out of sorts with some family. Then, I was sexually assaulted by my church choir director, only to have no justice yet by the incompetent Keystone Cops and "Elders" of the Presbyterian Church. Good times...
I hope that I will not only entertain, but also inform those of the hidden truths in the world. At least here in Frederick. I'm at my boiling point and have decided to no longer hold back. Keeping the anger and agitation has killed me, not to mention given me chest pains that someone my age shouldn't experience. With the love and encouragement of my Love, I will use this venue to release my frustration, anxiety, love, laughter and fear.
Hell, everyone else has one, why not?
I promise to not loiter the internet and your e-mails with fluff. No videos of cute little kittens who have no grammar and spell check under their adorable little paws. No chain mail about how Jebus will save us all if you forward it to 15 people. I hate that stuff just as much as you do. I might add a link or two to news stories or the like that make me laugh, or irate. But no fluff.
For those not "in the know", I've been through a lot. I've met a new boyfriend who I believe is the one (he's me with a penis pretty much), have lost a significant amount of weight, and have had a falling out of sorts with some family. Then, I was sexually assaulted by my church choir director, only to have no justice yet by the incompetent Keystone Cops and "Elders" of the Presbyterian Church. Good times...
I hope that I will not only entertain, but also inform those of the hidden truths in the world. At least here in Frederick. I'm at my boiling point and have decided to no longer hold back. Keeping the anger and agitation has killed me, not to mention given me chest pains that someone my age shouldn't experience. With the love and encouragement of my Love, I will use this venue to release my frustration, anxiety, love, laughter and fear.
Hell, everyone else has one, why not?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)