I am feeling good these days. I am the happiest I have been in recent memory. Despite me being sick I have friends that love and support a sister that worries more about me than I do and makes sure I am okay. I have a house to lay my pretty head to rest in. By far and away my best divorce ever! I believe I will have a friendship with my most recent ex-wife for the foreseeable future.
My life is starting fresh. It is like having someone deliver a brand new six-yard dumpster for my personal use and all I have to do is avoid a dumpster fire.
I know what causes dumpster fires, I have set many a dumpster fire in my life, one might even say I could have gone pro.
For the past two weeks I have been filling my brand new dumpster with used oily rags and now that I have filled up the dumpster to the top I have decided to throw lit matches into the dumpster.
I possess the intellect that I am able to take a step outside myself and look around and I say to myself, self what the fuck are you doing? That is going to cause a dumpster fire!
I immediately stop throwing matches into the dumpster but I leave it full of the oily rags and then a couple of days pass and I find myself throwing matches into the dumpster.
In case you don't know me and the analogy is lost on you, the oily rags are people with "issues", and the matches are bad decisions. Truth time, the oil rags are women with "issues" and feel l some kind of heretofore unheard of force of attraction. I was going to leave it vague but there are two groups of people that read this blog, the first are people that know me and know I have an issue chasing the "wrong" women and the second group are people that may not know about dumpster fire analogies.
I think I need to go on vacation and put some distance between me and my dumpster and maybe avoid a fire.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
My Wife Left
My wife left.
She gave me Del Taco before she left.
It was the day after I told everyone I had been abused as a child.
Time ticks slowly, no slower than before, slowly.
I have not written anything since she left.
Writing now.
There are demons and angels that escape when I write.
I held the demons and angels close since she left.
I needed the company.
Voices of the dark and the light kept me warm company.
Love should be unconditional.
There were two wives before.
Conditions of love.
Past holds their conditions of love.
I love my wife without conditions.
It watched her leave out the door.
Love can hold, fortify, comfort, warm....
Love won't chase the fleeing, flying, leaving.
Maybe it could chase but it won't.
Ten years together, not alone.
Two months alone reveals the truth.
I am less alone today than I have been for years.
She gave me Del Taco before she left.
It was the day after I told everyone I had been abused as a child.
Time ticks slowly, no slower than before, slowly.
I have not written anything since she left.
Writing now.
There are demons and angels that escape when I write.
I held the demons and angels close since she left.
I needed the company.
Voices of the dark and the light kept me warm company.
Love should be unconditional.
There were two wives before.
Conditions of love.
Past holds their conditions of love.
I love my wife without conditions.
It watched her leave out the door.
Love can hold, fortify, comfort, warm....
Love won't chase the fleeing, flying, leaving.
Maybe it could chase but it won't.
Ten years together, not alone.
Two months alone reveals the truth.
I am less alone today than I have been for years.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Family Secrets, Well One Secret
The family tree, which is the ultimate pyramid scheme, and like all pyramid schemes how well you do is dependent on how early you get in on the deal. The family tree, if watered correctly, is immortality for the atheist. Parts of the tree will thrive in the light, some in the dark and some will die on the vine.
I like to mix metaphors.
Every lie a family tells provides a little shade for darkness to grow.
In my mother's family, there is some shade, enough for a circus.
This is the second draft.
I have shaved the bitterness down with my mental block plane.
I hope that the telling of my secrets will help people.
There will be consequences, natural consequences, they will fall where they may.
I was raped as a child. There won't be accusations or incriminations. I want to help people and accusations and incriminations rarely help. Child rape winds its way through my family tree but it is rarely spoken of and never more than whispers in small groups. The whispers from small groups spread through the family, one private conversation that is not to be shared to another private conversation that is not to be shared.
Family members have raped other family members; the family members that have been raped will not rape their own children, most of the time.
No one talks about the children of abuse that let their children be abused. I frequent a website 1in6.org and they address this issue; the pressures and the reasons people do not report or stop abuse, even of their own family members. Even in my forties, I find it hard to empathize or sympathize with anyone that would stand by and do nothing while a child is abused.
I am aware of the irony, I don't imagine my troubled past make anyone I have hurt feel better. I ask for understanding and forgiveness and I strive to give those who have hurt me - by action or inaction - understanding and forgiveness. I am still striving. Life is a journey, becoming Catholic was a step towards me forgiving but I fall short.
This will be the last paragraph, it will keep me focused, my mind wanders.
To everyone that has been abused or knows of abuse, you should not be silent. You can be quiet just not silent. It does not matter who will be embarrassed, or hurt. Silence causes embarrassment and hurt. Truth be told things may be worse after you speak. There is more at stake than the pain you felt in the past or the pain you will feel in future. Silence is the medium that lets abuse move from generation to generation. Speaking out may not stop it, but unless the abuse has turned you into a sociopath you should be willing to speak out for the chance that others will not be hurt.
I like to mix metaphors.
Every lie a family tells provides a little shade for darkness to grow.
In my mother's family, there is some shade, enough for a circus.
This is the second draft.
I have shaved the bitterness down with my mental block plane.
I hope that the telling of my secrets will help people.
There will be consequences, natural consequences, they will fall where they may.
I was raped as a child. There won't be accusations or incriminations. I want to help people and accusations and incriminations rarely help. Child rape winds its way through my family tree but it is rarely spoken of and never more than whispers in small groups. The whispers from small groups spread through the family, one private conversation that is not to be shared to another private conversation that is not to be shared.
Family members have raped other family members; the family members that have been raped will not rape their own children, most of the time.
No one talks about the children of abuse that let their children be abused. I frequent a website 1in6.org and they address this issue; the pressures and the reasons people do not report or stop abuse, even of their own family members. Even in my forties, I find it hard to empathize or sympathize with anyone that would stand by and do nothing while a child is abused.
I am aware of the irony, I don't imagine my troubled past make anyone I have hurt feel better. I ask for understanding and forgiveness and I strive to give those who have hurt me - by action or inaction - understanding and forgiveness. I am still striving. Life is a journey, becoming Catholic was a step towards me forgiving but I fall short.
This will be the last paragraph, it will keep me focused, my mind wanders.
To everyone that has been abused or knows of abuse, you should not be silent. You can be quiet just not silent. It does not matter who will be embarrassed, or hurt. Silence causes embarrassment and hurt. Truth be told things may be worse after you speak. There is more at stake than the pain you felt in the past or the pain you will feel in future. Silence is the medium that lets abuse move from generation to generation. Speaking out may not stop it, but unless the abuse has turned you into a sociopath you should be willing to speak out for the chance that others will not be hurt.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
I Love Mass and It Is Easy To Write About
I went to Mass today. It was the first time I had been to Mass in a few months. I missed going to Mass.
The music starts and the priest makes his way to the altar what you missed becomes palpable.
Five or six years has passed since sarcoidosis became a daily part of my life, I suppose that the years muddling together is not a good sign. I have kept this blog on an irregular basis and I look back upon the spurts of activities that this blog contains and they are snapshots of me describing how I am still the same. Looking back I have changed so much since this all started and whether it is good or ill is above my pay grade.
Snapshot today:
Sick, barely able to walk, on oxygen 24/7, tired, sore, pained.
Tried a new drug, I anticipated nothing, hopes for drugs to work stopped a couple of years ago. I got a new lung doctor and doctors want to doctor people and he said there is a new experimental drug do you want to try it? Sure I will try it and although I had not hopes I did not anticipate the side effects to be so gnarly as we said in the 80's. After six weeks of injections of the new drug I was weak, I could hardly walk, I could hardly breathe.
My diaphragm was weak and would not push my lungs and on a few occasions, I began to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. I have been out of breath on many o time but seeing the darkness creep upon you from the periphery of your eyes, from the periphery of your mind, now that is a horse of a different color.
This will disappoint the people that read this blog for the schadenfreude of it but I won't be listing the sums and totals of my complaints or at least the ones caused by sarcoidosis. As time clicks by the individual goings on of my illness interest me less and less and hence even during a writing spurt, I find that I am bored by the list of what ails me.
Never say never and despite this, I never thought I would write about religion much less my own. Regardless of these past facts, I find myself spitting out incomplete philosophical thoughts surrounding my conversion to and continued living of Catholicism.
I love being Catholic, it has kept me going through the darkest nights that I spent deep inside the cave of despair watching the people chained down there staring at the wall after the world had become known to them. Having said that I don't want to spit out religious posts, in the end when you have faith it is easy to write about faith and I write about being Catholic because it is easy and I do not want to write about the hard things.
As the steamroller of life runs down the road I will write about things that are hard, and maybe publish them and let the world read the hard things, I have that to offer and I hold it back. In the days forward I will try to let my finger out of the dyke and let it flood.
The music starts and the priest makes his way to the altar what you missed becomes palpable.
Five or six years has passed since sarcoidosis became a daily part of my life, I suppose that the years muddling together is not a good sign. I have kept this blog on an irregular basis and I look back upon the spurts of activities that this blog contains and they are snapshots of me describing how I am still the same. Looking back I have changed so much since this all started and whether it is good or ill is above my pay grade.
Snapshot today:
Sick, barely able to walk, on oxygen 24/7, tired, sore, pained.
Tried a new drug, I anticipated nothing, hopes for drugs to work stopped a couple of years ago. I got a new lung doctor and doctors want to doctor people and he said there is a new experimental drug do you want to try it? Sure I will try it and although I had not hopes I did not anticipate the side effects to be so gnarly as we said in the 80's. After six weeks of injections of the new drug I was weak, I could hardly walk, I could hardly breathe.
My diaphragm was weak and would not push my lungs and on a few occasions, I began to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. I have been out of breath on many o time but seeing the darkness creep upon you from the periphery of your eyes, from the periphery of your mind, now that is a horse of a different color.
This will disappoint the people that read this blog for the schadenfreude of it but I won't be listing the sums and totals of my complaints or at least the ones caused by sarcoidosis. As time clicks by the individual goings on of my illness interest me less and less and hence even during a writing spurt, I find that I am bored by the list of what ails me.
Never say never and despite this, I never thought I would write about religion much less my own. Regardless of these past facts, I find myself spitting out incomplete philosophical thoughts surrounding my conversion to and continued living of Catholicism.
I love being Catholic, it has kept me going through the darkest nights that I spent deep inside the cave of despair watching the people chained down there staring at the wall after the world had become known to them. Having said that I don't want to spit out religious posts, in the end when you have faith it is easy to write about faith and I write about being Catholic because it is easy and I do not want to write about the hard things.
As the steamroller of life runs down the road I will write about things that are hard, and maybe publish them and let the world read the hard things, I have that to offer and I hold it back. In the days forward I will try to let my finger out of the dyke and let it flood.
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