Friends?

Why is it that when you're in that downward spiral, the people who claim to care for you and be your friends fade away. They used to ask "How are you doing?" but too many answers of "Not so good" means they stop asking. Harsh words and cruelty are easy to forgive, Lord knows, I've been guilty of more then my fair share. But the sharp silence of neglect and the humiliation of having to ask to be loved...that is soul destroying. At this time, I'm not sure how much soul I have left to wound.

Family

There are certain things that a preacher should never screw up, weddings and funerals. The preacher, who knew my grandmother for 15 years, that she specifically asked for, screwed it up. The only time he talked about my grandmother was when he listed family. He got her birthday wrong, her sister's name wrong (both of them) her brother's name wrong, my brother's name wrong and my nephew's. He then went on to preach a Sunday morning sermon about God's love and the afterlife, how comforting the bible is...etc. On top of all that it rained. If it were any other cemetary, I don't think it would've mattered. But this one has calachi gravel rodes. However, I don't begrudge the rain, that was...comforting, actually. My mother says it was raining when I was born. Between that and having a father who was a weather man in the Navy, I've always liked storms. This was the slow steady kind, where the thunder rumbled long and low, and the rain was a steady downpour. You could tell all the people who live down here thought it was cold, but it was warmer then anything we get further up north. I wanted to play in the rain, like I did when I was little. Then have my grandmother yell at me for getting all muddy. My grandfather used to think it was funny, but he passed away about 20 years ago.

My grandmother used to say that rain was angels crying. I wondered if they cried for her today or the ones she left behind. A truly unkind part of me wondered of God was weeping because he to put up with her now. There are things about her I envy though. She played kanasta with her brother and sisters every saturday, unless she was truly ill. Her best friend, since high school, helped us out feeding all the people that came over. There is such history in this family. The quilt that I am using on my bed here was made by her grandmother. Everyone called her Mammie. There is furniture in this house that has been in the family for seven generations...and the pictures. She has pictures that are a hundred years old, of our family. I may not like them...or even know them all, but dear, holy, God, do I have family. I had cousins of my mother come up to me who hadn't seen me since I was a child. I nearly cried, when a great Aunt, who was like a grandmother to me, didn't know who I was, her mind is going. My roots here are strong and deep, albeit a bit twisted and rotted in places.

Idily, I wonder if my grandfather would've liked my husband. I think so. He may not have approved of some of my other choices, but he would've loved me anyways. He spoiled me rotten. Everyone always wondered how he could stand to babysit me as a infant, because I would cry all the time for anyone else. He would, “Taking care of her is easy...just give whatever she wants.” He would come home from the oil fields in the middle of the night and pick me up out of my crib. My mother would get upset at him for waking me, but he never did, I was already awake. An insomniac and a night owl from the start. He taught me how to fish and clean them, how to spit watermelon seeds, and let me comb his hair. He had great, thick, wavy hair, that he always kept oiled down. He'd sit in his big chair and let me do whatever I wanted. He and my grandmother had a garden, at their old house, I remember tomato plants taller then me. I also remember my grandmother being an incredible seamstress. She would sew me Barbie clothes, with out a pattern, out of bits of material she had left over. She taught me how to iron, I used to practice on Barbie clothes and tea towels. My first experience at baking and cooking was from her. All this so I would be able to take care of my future husband and children. I don't think I ever truly paid attention to her 'lessons' I just enjoyed spending time with her. While she would make me go to church every Sunday (my parents did'nt go) we would spend the entire service playing tic-tac-toe. Or I'd have a small doll to play with quietly. I would always be hugged by people who knew me and I didn't know. Especially the preacher, who called me Widget, just like he called my mother. She couldn't say 'Richard' and said Widget instead. I inherited the name. No one has called me Widget since he died.

I miss them.

Doubts

One of the things being at home makes me question is: when does asking for help and support from your friends cross the line into being a total drama queen. My family has taught that asking for anything is crossing that line. Life has taught me that sometimes you just need help. What is reasonable and what is just wanting attention? At this point, I can't even answer that in any reasonable fashion. I'm inclined to think that even mentioning that I'm having problems crosses that line. Hopefully, my friends will smack me upside the head and tell me. Especially if I'm being a spoiled 'poor me' drama queen.

Feels like Home

One my friends made the statement that I was the most self-aware person she knew. It was an incredible compliment. However, being self-aware is a double-edged sword. What do you do when you mental state resembles a car wreck in slow motion? I can see the break down happening, but I can't stop it. I suppose when the tough truly lose it the tough seek professional help. What caused so many problems is my Grandmother died. She had been ill for a while, so this was not unexpected, just sad. Coming home is...complicated. There are things I love, yet other things I can't stand. Most of which is my family. It's brought to light an interesting dichotomy. I wish to be 'seen' yet this is the family that taught me to hide. Growing up with these people taught me that you should never let people know if you're upset, disturbed or in anyway anything other then mildly irritated. They also taught me that you should never be a burden or need anything from other people, especially family. For they will judge you the harshest. These were the people who taught me that home wasn't a haven, it was a stage, and you always had to be concerned with that the rest of the family would think. I don't even like these people...however, they are the only family I have. I still love them and want there love in return. Perhaps this childhood is part of the reason I find myself in the situation I am with unrequited love.

I am in no way contemplating suicide at the moment. I am, however, pondering just how many sleeping pills it would take to make me sleep for a few months. I hate coming home...and I'll always miss it when I leave.

Haunt

You'll awaken
Someday when it's too late
You'll suddenly find me gone.
Will my memory haunt you long?
Will you wake up at nights to my song?

A strange sensation
My thoughts circle 'round you.
Ignoring your cue you're near.
All through the workday I hear
If you'd treated me right I'd be here.
If you'd taken the time to be near
If your love was so right why the fear?
If you'd treated me right I'd be here.
If you'd taken the time to be near
If your love was so right why the fear?

©1997 Terry Moore

I see you.

Language is an interesting thing. The three words most people consider to be the upmost importance is “I love you.” But love is a slippery thing. The three words I most want to hear, and only if they are true, is “I see you.” Though love is a wonderful and beautiful thing, to be truly seen by someone as the person you really are, all your faults, all your virtues, and all your complexities, that is something truly life changing. I’m not sure if it’s even something that is possible, but I want it anyways. Beyond that, I want to be able to give it. I want to see people for what and who they really are, both good and bad. It is the combination of light and dark that creates beauty, and I want to see all of it. It’s rather esoteric and clichéd but perhaps in learning to see, one day, I will be seen.

This Mask I Wear

Sometimes your own words are inadequate. So today I'll use Terry Moore's.

This Mask I Wear

This mask I wear, you gave to me
One winter night beneath the trees,
Its black and blue enshrouds my life,
Surrounds my eyes and blinds my sight.

This mask I wear pretends I'm here,
and hides me from the awful fear
That you might find the heart of me
and take that too, beneath the trees.

This mask I wear to hide the pain.
It's all I have to keep me sane.
I just fell down, I'm told to tell.
There are no words to stop this hell.

This mask I pray to God for why
He hates me so to watch me die
A little more with every night
This man comes in and rapes my life.

But little girls grow up, my friend
And learn the wicked ways of men.
And this mask I wear comes off the day

This mask I wear lays on your grave.