This one will be long. I want to deal with many things that have come to head psychologically, and I do not have a predetermined idea of how to bring these out in a coherent manor. ( and they are emotionally loaded with deep pain of my core identity and sense of self acceptance- trigger warning yo!)
** 'Ain't nothing gonna breaka my stride' playing in the background; coffee about to be ready, pipe in hand, cigarette in the other, and you.**
You, my nonexistent reader. My hypothetical reader. My executioner.
One fact I am coming to grips with today is that .... no one is interested in me. Sure family enjoys me, friends don't mind tolerating me, strangers always feel welcome and I leave them with a joke. But, when I text my mind in paragraphs people say to me that I am incoherent. This does not mean that I am unintelligent, but it does mean that I can never get a conversation based on mutual understanding of each other's rationality.
So it is no wonder that I am not interesting enough to be a famous philosopher blogger. And it is no wonder that I am not educated enough to get the really smart people to help straighten out my vocabulary issues so that I could make more common knowledge sense to the average reader. See, I tend to describe things that might be settled with a single vocabulary word. But I don't understand this, I wish for clear validation that what I feel is what that is called. Or what I observe is how other humans experience their minds too. Or sometimes due to my invalidation at the core self I do not even know the names of complex emotions that I struggle with. Such as I didn't have a word to feeling connection for the experience of betrayal. But then we are not educated en masse about emotional and psychological intelligence. I am the fool talking nonsense and making excuses for my limitations. (so they will repeat with their un-scrutinized scripts.)
I have been told so often that I am not feeling what I am feeling, or that I should not feel the way I feel, or that I am deluded and broken for feeling the way I do...
Well my non-readers who hurt ... I am sure they understand.
**btw I have not smoked just yet... still setting up the intro, so much has happened since my last write.**
I have done good work. And this blog was triggered by my Dad's dead pan silence when I was seeking his advice to use toward dealing with my adult child who is failure to launch. I was pumping myself up a bit to knock down the child's argument that it was just too hard to get on her own. I used myself as a booster of realization that, hey I have been doing that for five years all by myself. And I joked at least say your proud of that.
Well isn't that nice? Because I do not have self care management up to his par of normal boomerhoodness, he is incapable of noticing the heavy work I do with to heal my mind?
If I could ever attract a reader who is (Jordan Peterson) erm I mean who is a real Psychologist... would they even be able to see I am so much better than I was.
(related tangent about a video that triggered an insight or two)
Last night I saw a video from someone that I knew a few years ago, and she is most probably a sociopath. She just happens to have two dead boyfriends under her belt, four kids taken by the state due to meth and has cleaned up and has so far kept the fifth daughter. Kid is 2 years old, pale, thin, and in this video that I saw.....that chilled me to the bone...the kid is in mortal danger.
But ya see; the video does not show anything at all. The comments say "oh how cute." "Oh look mommy she was getting pissed about that tickling" " hahahaha."
NOBODY paid attention to the deliberately delivered set of full side face "play slaps" and "play grabbing of the chin and squeezing the cheeks" and the "faux going for the throat threat" NOBODY noticed how the baby's eyes where steeled. NOBODY saw how the baby's protests where not respected and nobody saw the look in that baby's face when she stopped protesting, grabbed and pulled her mother's hand from her squeezed cheeks back down to invite the ticking again.
NOBODY heard the placating defeated FAKE LAUGH of the BABY.
Nobody but the schizophrenic that is.
Now some people who are trained in psychology and trained in abuse detection and prevention would be trained to see those things... but me.... me the unintelligible, uneducated, trauma victim herself... is obviously just seeing things because I forget to brush my hair, eat, and I still need to get a dentist, doctor and a retirement plan.
Give me a pill and ignore me I guess. But ya see.....
If I could get a smart and intelligent psychologist who wants to revolutionize therapy...oh wait... Didn't I promise that I was finished with that fantasy? Because all that I ever will be is some one's example of a pure nut. When if I was born two hundred years ago I would have been some one's Henry David Thoreau.
**well that was depressing.... ohh look coffee is ready.....I will BRB after a click suck blow sip ahhh**
**Lucy in the sky plays, izm relaxes into unspoken thought... reflecting upon similarities of mental mechanic between me and that possible socio-path woman. Not in motivation, not in terms of selfish needs or entitlement or dreams of what should be or not be but... in other terms. The way she talks. The way she is self critical mid sentence. These are similar to my patterns. Yet entirely different. I mean she self crits her egolectaul behavior, while I self crit my intellectual behavior. I wonder if it is cut and divided along lines of intelligence and training or divided along the lines of belief and reasoning according to the fantasy?
Like, if the Dark triad share characteristics, yet each thing does not automatically mean the worse type of person of no conscious. My mental questions are not like hers, though our brains are self critical mid sentence. I find that to be a bad habit and learn to bypass the ego and refine my meaning till it is clear enough for speaking.
Well.... can't real psycho killers do that too? So is she less intelligent than me? But actually diabolical and cunning? I am not cunning. I chicken out of diabolical plots because one must keep pumping in the delusion to keep it alive. When normally settling down with a spot of weed and a coffee shows me the error of the diabolical plot. Thank gawd for Zen Study.
Do you know what hurts? That if my dad ever read this, or heard me pontificate my theories...he only says " holy cow" under his breath. He has told me I think of things that no one cares about. He must see me as worthless and having nothing useful to say. Does he know that he has invalidated my entire experience of existence? Why is it that what I know of normal sane love...seems like convenient detachment.
I sustain my desire for my father's approval even though i have had closer recently against needed his approval. I sustain this thing by imagining that my father is a superior man of intellect. One who loves me very deeply and is a leader in the military sense, and that his hard heart is filled with pride for me and my work. But see, I still have many years of hard war ahead, and it might weaken my drive to power if he gave me the comfort of the crutch of his moral support and affectionate hug. He wills me to be a fierce warrior and secretly he cries for each of my victories with a relieved heart. It is best, he knows, that he should appear fierce before me unappeasable, that I might strive and conquer.
And upon his deathbed he will give me a great sword, tell me that he has always been proud of me and what he was proud about and I shall thereafter rest in wisdom and a bed of security that I really was loved after all.
Guess my dad would call that magical thinking and dismiss me. Does he love me? I guess so, but everything I do is broken and I never take his advice about doing responsible things, I always have excuse for failure. I don't want what he wants for me. I want to live a life of silent contemplation. I want to write. Even if I cannot hold the interest of anyone.
Does my dad love me? Not really. He loves his image of daughter and not how the illogical stuff that his living kid mismatches, he does not know me. So I don't even know if he loves me. How much of his love is the liking of my quirkiness and wit, his liking of my studiousness, or moral character? But maybe nothing at all to do with my ideas or believes and understanding? Does he love my art or is it to him yet another thing that I will fail to make profitable to my retirement plan?
Do these questions matter at all? Because they are one sided, all the feeling over or the hurt from the lack of the feeling of love for me cannot be compared to physical evidence. Is it love that he answers the phone and hopes for me to do better? is it love that he too wants to be remembered and tells me his sad life stories. But will not acknowledge any part he played in my sad life story?
Perhaps we cannot own up to our sins toward our children. Perhaps we will never be able to account for our errors. But you know what... that is no excuse not to try. I confess my sins to my children and I do not allow them to try to bring it up against me but invite them to recover and seek their health. We all re-parent ourselves. Is it quite like I can be my own kids grand parent too as they self parent?
Does my father love me? Love is a fuzzy term isn't it? He loves me that I choose well in hard life chooses, he loves me that I am responsible in keeping work, he loves me that I am funny, he loves me that I am intelligent. And he mourns me for these same things too. Is love, pain?
**'Saturday in the Park' plays...i sit back to listen.**
The other day my son was toying with the idea of, maybe when I got down there we could get a place of our own. He said his dad and sis is weirded out because he wants to express dress wearing and at least I would accept him. I said to him hey ware what you want but don't be weirded out when I stem for hours on the same song while tapping out beats. There is a reason we need to live alone. I don't want to live with my kids.
I figured something out about my particular mental illness, what ever it is going to be called by those with the trained eye to see things that the schizophrenic can't when she is making things up. My depressive symptoms, the oppressions, scattered braininess, stress yadda yaada that makes us so unmanageable...
Yeah hey fuckers.... we get like that because we are forced to suppress our expression. Because you fuckers want to pat yourself on the back that you calmed down the broken person by teaching them to ignore their own brains and you slap some blinders on them to only work within your framework. Stupid fuckers.
But well what do I know? I am the Temple Grandon of psychology, if only I could get one fucking psychologist of salt to write a fucking book about the work I have done. Weather ill or charmed they would make the fucking bucks, and I a pittance worth and possibly have a true retirement plan of the legacy of being help for someone somewhere somehow.
Erm this is my new fantasy. I don't need Jordan Peterson. But delusions of grandeur aside. I am avoiding the painful subject.
** 'she's a man eater' plays. **
I learned to cut the apron strings this last week.
(Hey, we could call the book, schizophrenic lessons on how to be normal)
Let me tell you the story of my daughter not the whole story but an episode of life. In 2010 I left my husband. Everything was amiable and kind not ugly. As i was getting out on my own for the first time and my daughter was 16 years old about to be ready to do the same, I thought it would be a fun healing retraining adventure for us to share like a game. I mean, their dad makes three times as much as I do so training in a different lifestyle was in order. Money management.
I made the game like I would show her budgeting ideas, and give her fake money the same amount as my check and let her play with the drama of it. No consequences just monopoly real life. All the freshness wore off very shortly. There was no joining they even wouldn't change the keep a clean house habit i wanted to induce in my own self. Before to long it was the same home as before.
Guess that means it was all my fault huh? She gave no cooperation without my having to yell and fight and I ended up spending years in my room watching conspiracy theories and being duped by all kinds of esoteric philosophies and stewing in my own paranoia. Always, every dish in the house dirty or "soaking". Always " I'll get to it later" or the hours of screaming lectures I would give about self improvement rah rah rah.
Then she went to spend more living time over at the Friends of my ex's home where he and my son lived. Yeah. She got to avoid doing chores but she and my son where both scapegoats for everything that was not working out. Then she moved back in with me and got a job and helped with a bill and paid her own shit. We where doing alright and i ignored the mess....and the cockroaches....**flash back of bathing and sleeping with them in my bed despite treatment. It is utterly amazing what you can ignore then you are self hating and don't feel like anyone loves you anyway.**
Then I decided I really wanted to improve myself. Gawd damn it I have a purpose for being alive. I have talents, I have always had the goal of living the spiritual life and studying god. My whole life! Even as a young wife I told my husband there would come a time when I will drop out of the world and dedicate myself to my spiritual studies.
I went to massage therapy school, and I have since utterly failed at that dream because I put no effort into self promotion and other mechanical inconveniences, though I have been afforded many nice opportunities. But I started to get discouraged when I was working on doing freelance work in my home and I needed the place kept better. It became a struggle to keep up with every dish in the house. So we started to not get along anymore. And I realized we where holding each other back. From her ages 16-23 I tried to encourage her and get her motivated and she did the minimum. I realized that my job and my home life where going to kill me. And my mental health was in shambles.
I had to leave for the benefit of both of us.
I have been gone for five years. In that time she has maintained minimum effort, and had to escape two bad boyfriends. (see earlier blogs) Her father's house has become a revolving door. Pray to gawd she does not get another bad boyfriend.
Her dad is unwilling to do anything that the advise for parents with adult children tell us to do. He has it twisted that he is helping and keeping them happy. But he is also in exact opposite frustrated and abusive because he paid this or that and because she (or my son whom ever is the scapegoat that month) is not adulting yet. But But.... but my daughter and son both called me telling of how they over spent dad's money and well dad said it was ok he don't mind getting things the kids need or buying lunch or gas. But but....but my daughter spend over 100 just for a little trip to the stores and you always slip 20's to my son for lunch and coffee ..... but the bills that you pay for them come to less than that.
My ex is a paradox. No wonder he is frustrated. And these humans think they know better than me, the broken person?
He offered me, the sometimes delusional person, to pay for my move. And he seemed natural about building a shared fantasy about the promise we have to raise the kids together. And how it would all be ok cramped in that little house stressed to the max for a little bit till I got my own place or got something together with a kid or two. Then suddenly the kids where calling more and I felt loved and wanted and I yearned to.....**record screech**
That slick mother fucking narcissist! There is a reason I left you and trained!
And so I began to imponderate on how to make moving down there work out and how could I buffer the stupidity and balance all the things going on in each person's head and plan my own moving into a place, or maybe an RV. I really do want the RV life. Oh how should I accommodate my literal medicinal need to be alone, I mean I could regulate my daily need to be alone but I would have to reward it with days alone. How How... how would I be when I get irritated and nasty when I have been bothered by petty conversation for too long?
Or the constant barrage of what should I be doing and how to go about it?
Or the blame of who screwed up our kids and why, which always leaves out himself and myself when he wants me on his side of the argument.
ER MA GRRR!
Look at it like this... He was asking me to give up my freedom to go play grandbaby sitter or perhaps help him get the kids out of the nest? Or maybe he was just following his fantasy of being the heroic provider by not even trying to speak logical pros and con questions to me. For crying outloud I was delusional.
That is why I need a support group of trusted intelligent friends who will not make me feel stupid because I have to figure things out like a five year old and need a Socratic method and ask stupid obvious questions in my process. AND I get quite joyfully ecstatic about it when I DO figure out the obvious. (I even do happy dances)
go away dudes, I LOVE ME.
Perhaps my core wound was at 5 yo. I have half an anecdote that might support it. But that is another tear jerk-er of a time. Stay tuned.
Anyhoo. I figured out that going down there is really just enabling more of the same. So I found a solid footing in this... I have no advice for you, only tools.
And I became calm ... i am only half lie-ing... it was fucking agonizing to let the kids go. To realize I can't save them. I can't protect them from life. And that protection was the reason I did not raise them right. I was afraid to let them have uncomfortable consequences, and they only got extreme negative treatment via words and projections and emotional unavailability...and all the sins I did against them.
HELLS BELLS I am not equipped to show them wisdom.
Ah...
Wisdom. You can't make one wise because wisdom is born of personal experience and suffering.
Wisdom. Though the words of the wise are in agreement with many lessons learned and spoke of, the act of obedience to wisdom only comes by being contrite over your mistakes. Then the word you speak about it is wisdom hard earned that another will ignore.
Well that is all. Good night reader.
Post edit script.
It was interesting for some but helpful to none.
I thought I was a voice for truth, but I am no one.
I thought I could share some keys.
I thought a lot more seeking would appease.
So many thinks now do weary me.
This blog was meant to argue for god
All it is are sandals trod.
The road becomes the shoe.
There is not much else I have to tell you.
The End
Be excellent to each other. Happy Valentine's Day.
**This song is over. By The Who.
Exit stage right.
Slow fade to black, roll credits.**
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dv-jHvv2WzM
......
......
Whispering Dreams...(the easter egg... what good production doesn't have one?)
Come step into my mind,dance the riddle of time.
And put on the shelf what you fear of yourself.
For the lies only kill, and the truth just a thrill.
Ask she who smiles precariously aware
meaning, intent, her eyes barely there
and with her meaningful intent
she cries until her soul is spent.
And never to be
before she seems
comes and goes
her whispering dreams.
Ps. yeah that means "The Life And Times of the Snail is a baby put to bed."
Let's do Lunch!
**she feeds them all dinner and puts them to bed**
Encore...Encore.....
OK...(march 11 2023) one more really great poem. (as if i got readers.)
Sitting by a pond in a pretty wood.
Watching rings and flies and any that could.
Sometime, when hungry I will sit and wait.
Foods present themselves without bait.
Sometimes a bit of mud will stir clouds and rumbles.
Obscuring the turmoil beneath as fishes grumble.
Sometimes, when tired I will reach in there to pluck
a piece of food from the jaws of fates that suck.
But only to watch them slide down my throat
And feel me smile, ah now, does settle my moat.
Please enjoy this work of spiritual fiction I spent 16 years writing it, and I will never be famous.
I am such a human, that is why I wrote it for you.
The end, again. For real this time.
