One of my closest friends passed away a few months ago. Two days after Thanksgiving, as a matter of fact. He had contracted cancer and died soon after. Mark was part of my core group of friends. There were, at the time, four of us that all went to school together and all lived locally. At least one of us was with another of us, at minimum, five days or nights a week for the last seven years or so. This, without a doubt, is the hardest hit I've ever felt. That child inside of me has buried himself so deep that there are many days when I wonder if he's gone and left me. Fortunately, he shows his face often enough to allow me to feel he, and I, just need more time.
The loss I feel with Mark is a loss I feel every single day. There hasn't been a day, since he's gone, that a tear doesn't roll down my cheek as he enters my thoughts. I am baffled by how much I miss him. Wait, that's not the right word, but I am surprised, in a way. I had a couple months to prepare, I had been trying to set myself up since the day Connie, his wife, told us the horrible news. When he died I handled it ok for a few weeks, I'm finding, however, as time goes on, it's getting harder instead of easier. I can only assume that it will get better. I really hope so. I spoke to Shrink about it, and though I was surprised she could understand me through my tears, said I had actually started to grieve. She said I had always talked about how I was always telling her how important it was to me to make sure I could help others that were going through this with me. That may be so, she is a pro after all.
The now three of us that remain of the core are all really trying to keep things as close as possible to the way things were. We each realize that all three of us have our own way of dealing with it, along with all the other things that happen in life. We don't see each other as often as we did before and that's ok, I guess. We, myself included, have all been really busy, though, at least in my case, some of that busyness may be self imposed. I can't help feeling, and I know it's normal, that something's missing. As a group, we were complete. Well, we're not a group anymore, ok, maybe we are, just a different group. I, as well as the other two, feel as if we're missing a major piece of the whole that we were. This may be the way things are meant to be and, if so, we'll all just have to deal with it the best we can.
I had a few private conversations with Mark in the weeks before he died and I made some promises that he insisted on. One, I've just been terrible at. I promised I'd be checking on Connie on a regular basis and I've failed miserably at it. I was texting every day or two at first but it's slacked off big time. I did send a text apologizing and Connie, as is her way, assured me that it was ok. I'll work on it, I really will.
Mark, I miss you more than I ever thought I could miss anything in my life. I'm gonna steal a quote from a post on Facebook I saw the other day. It perfectly describes what it's like. " My memory misses you, it asks about you every day". Trust me my brother, every single day.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Silly Old Man
In the past, I written a few things about my grandfather on my father side. I've told of how he favored me over his other grandchildren and how it was accepted by everyone involved. I've also written about how all his grandkids, both siblings and cousins, were absolutely crazy about the man. One thing I've never spoken about is if he ever gave me any life lessons while spoiling me throughout my childhood.
I guess the reason for that is i never really felt he did. See, as a child, I never really gave much thought to the way he would talk to complete strangers and tell, what I believed, we're stupid jokes by an old man that really just wanted to embarrass me by also telling these unknowns how much he loved me and how special I was to him. His favorite joke, that he would tell anyone that would listen, was,again, what I believed, just another stupid joke about where he lived in Ecorse, Michigan. He would say, again to complete strangers, " What do they do in Ecorse when it rains. They let it rain. This was always followed by him laughing himself almost to tears.
A few weeks ago, while sitting in Shrink's office, something hit me like a ton of bricks. What DO they do in Ecorse when it rains? Of course they let it rain. What else can you do? After the storm, they let it go. Something that I've been trying to get better at every day over the last few years. I think he was, in his own way, trying to give me a life lesson.
Silly old man...
I guess the reason for that is i never really felt he did. See, as a child, I never really gave much thought to the way he would talk to complete strangers and tell, what I believed, we're stupid jokes by an old man that really just wanted to embarrass me by also telling these unknowns how much he loved me and how special I was to him. His favorite joke, that he would tell anyone that would listen, was,again, what I believed, just another stupid joke about where he lived in Ecorse, Michigan. He would say, again to complete strangers, " What do they do in Ecorse when it rains. They let it rain. This was always followed by him laughing himself almost to tears.
A few weeks ago, while sitting in Shrink's office, something hit me like a ton of bricks. What DO they do in Ecorse when it rains? Of course they let it rain. What else can you do? After the storm, they let it go. Something that I've been trying to get better at every day over the last few years. I think he was, in his own way, trying to give me a life lesson.
Silly old man...
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
The Circle Of Life
My father is moving to East Lansing after living in the
Chicago area for the last 39 years. He was born and raised in Ecorse, a suburb
of Detroit, married, had kids and got divorced, all in the same metro area. The
only time he lived away from Detroit, up to the age of 42, was while he was in
the army back in the 50’s. Detroit is my fathers’ hometown.
He
moved to the Chicago area in ’74, started a new career and did relatively well
while working towards retirement. During the years in Illinois, he lived in
some very nice places, made a number of friends, ate in the finest restaurants
and traveled the world. All in all, not a bad gig for a guy with no formal
education in an industry that, though flourishing at the time, was rather
frowned on by society. Honestly, he was afforded to live a life far beyond his,
or anyone’s with his background, expectations.
So
now Dad’s moving home. I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head.
He’s 81 years old and not in the best of health. He’s coming back to a place
where professional success eluded him, a place, he said a number of times, that
he never wanted to return to. He’s also returning to a place that three of his
four children, three of his grandchildren and a great granddaughter live. Even
though he never really paid much attention to any of them over the years, it’s
still gotta give him some level of comfort just having them around.
I
really believe, in his head, he knows he’s basically coming home to die. He
started it here, he’ll finish it here. It kinda makes sense for the kind of guy
he is. Never allowing anyone to get too close and incredibly unattached
emotionally to all around him. Coming home, I think he realizes that even
though he wasn’t around for the family he desperately needs now; we’ll rally
around and make sure he isn’t alone in his final years. I don’t believe any of
us will be there because we’re crazy about the guy, that’s a whole other story,
it’s just another example of doing the right thing. I can’t help that whenever
I think about this I hear the song, “The Circle Of Life” in my head. He’s
coming full circle, he’s allowed that journey. How could it possibly be a bad
thing to help him along to the finish line?
Thursday, December 27, 2012
The Angst Of It All
I live my life in fear. It's unbelievable, when I sit down and think about it, how many things I've convinced myself I shouldn't attempt or can't do for fear of failure. I can remember things from as far back as Kindergarten where, if I had just spoken up, things would have been different. At that age I would think not speaking up in adult situations would be normal. I'm not talking about a kid that's stubborn. I'm talking about someone that fears what others may think or say.
I'll give you an example of something I remember; On my first day of school the teacher was naming the months so she could write down our birthdays. She said my month and I wasn't listening. I heard her say the following month and I, knowing she had already said my month, stood up for the new month. I told her the date and let her write down February 24 as my special day. As the date got closer I couldn't gather the nerve to tell her of my mistake. So, for my Kindergarten year, the class celebrated my birthday on the wrong date. I know, it's no big deal, but the point is how easily I could have corrected the mistake if I had just spoken up.
I've been diagnosed with what they call Social Anxiety. For me, as I've written about in the past, it's a little different from what others that have this condition deal with. In most cases, when I'm out and about, I'm fine. It's getting there that almost kills me. As soon as someone asks me to go somewhere or I'm invited to some place, my mind immediately starts gathering thoughts of how to get out of going. It can be as simple as getting a call and told to come over a friends house. I'll give the quick response of, I'm on my way and hang up the phone. Immediately I'm getting thoughts in my head about finding a way to get out of going. The more people that are wherever I'm supposed to go, the more nervous, if that's even the right word, I am.
When something is planned in advance, and I'm invited early, I'm just a wreck. The entire period of time between invite and event is pure torture. All I can think about is how people will look at me or what they'll say about me. Ludicrous? Of course. Real? More real than you can imagine.
I've found that if I'm early enough to anything I can stake my claim, as it were, and be prepared when others arrive. I just need to get the lay of the land, if you will, and I'm fine for whatever comes up. I just need to have some semblance of control over the situation no matter how little it actually is, and I can pretty much run the room. I'll easily lead conversation, make some jokes and actually be rather gregarious. I love when I'm in that moment and I know how ridiculous it makes all the fears seem. It doesn't change the fact that the fears are there and have a hold on me.
It was getting better for a couple of years, thanks to most of you guys. Recently though, It's returned with a vengeance. I missed the holidays this year simply because I couldn't get myself over to families places. I feel so empty on those days, it's incredibly lonesome. I've taken the proper steps to try to deal with the issue. Seeing Drs. and doing new meds, I'm sure it'll all help.
Even with the help though, the fear is always there. I think that's the part that bothers me most. I can't stop thinking about it while it's happening. I become almost intrigued by the fear. Its like I need to figure it out, to understand it. Ugh! Shrinks right, it's exhausting being me.
I'll give you an example of something I remember; On my first day of school the teacher was naming the months so she could write down our birthdays. She said my month and I wasn't listening. I heard her say the following month and I, knowing she had already said my month, stood up for the new month. I told her the date and let her write down February 24 as my special day. As the date got closer I couldn't gather the nerve to tell her of my mistake. So, for my Kindergarten year, the class celebrated my birthday on the wrong date. I know, it's no big deal, but the point is how easily I could have corrected the mistake if I had just spoken up.
I've been diagnosed with what they call Social Anxiety. For me, as I've written about in the past, it's a little different from what others that have this condition deal with. In most cases, when I'm out and about, I'm fine. It's getting there that almost kills me. As soon as someone asks me to go somewhere or I'm invited to some place, my mind immediately starts gathering thoughts of how to get out of going. It can be as simple as getting a call and told to come over a friends house. I'll give the quick response of, I'm on my way and hang up the phone. Immediately I'm getting thoughts in my head about finding a way to get out of going. The more people that are wherever I'm supposed to go, the more nervous, if that's even the right word, I am.
When something is planned in advance, and I'm invited early, I'm just a wreck. The entire period of time between invite and event is pure torture. All I can think about is how people will look at me or what they'll say about me. Ludicrous? Of course. Real? More real than you can imagine.
I've found that if I'm early enough to anything I can stake my claim, as it were, and be prepared when others arrive. I just need to get the lay of the land, if you will, and I'm fine for whatever comes up. I just need to have some semblance of control over the situation no matter how little it actually is, and I can pretty much run the room. I'll easily lead conversation, make some jokes and actually be rather gregarious. I love when I'm in that moment and I know how ridiculous it makes all the fears seem. It doesn't change the fact that the fears are there and have a hold on me.
It was getting better for a couple of years, thanks to most of you guys. Recently though, It's returned with a vengeance. I missed the holidays this year simply because I couldn't get myself over to families places. I feel so empty on those days, it's incredibly lonesome. I've taken the proper steps to try to deal with the issue. Seeing Drs. and doing new meds, I'm sure it'll all help.
Even with the help though, the fear is always there. I think that's the part that bothers me most. I can't stop thinking about it while it's happening. I become almost intrigued by the fear. Its like I need to figure it out, to understand it. Ugh! Shrinks right, it's exhausting being me.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Years End.
As another year comes to an end I, like many others, take time to reflect on the days gone by. 2012 is a year I'd just as soon like to forget. Yes, there were many people and things that were very kind but the bad easily outweighed the good.
I've had the scratched cornea, detached retina, my car blew up, this whole blacking out thing and to top it all off, I was robbed while working in the city. Not a year to celebrate indeed. I gotta figure I got all the garbage behind me and I'm kinda due for a good year. If not, oh well, I'll still have my dog and my chair.
I'd be remiss if I didn't say there were many good times in 2012. There were times of great happiness. I happen to have some of the greatest friends anyone could ask for. The patience and kindness they've afforded me can never be paid back though I'll go to my grave trying.
I've made many new friends this year and I'm always thankful for that. I've also lost some along the way and, though some I'll easily get over, there are others that I'll feel the hurt for many a day. Either way, life goes on. I'll still go to bed each night and wake in the morning and try it all again. Sometimes it'll work for everyone and sometimes it won't.
I'll still be the emotional wreck I've always been and I'll always share way more than I should and, though it may make others a tad uncomfortable, it's who I am. I will say, as I have many times over the years, I'm working on it.
I wish each and every one of you a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year. May your every wish come to fruition. As I have each year, I do ask one thing from all of you. Please be nice to each other. Imagine all the smiles you can create just by doing that.
I've had the scratched cornea, detached retina, my car blew up, this whole blacking out thing and to top it all off, I was robbed while working in the city. Not a year to celebrate indeed. I gotta figure I got all the garbage behind me and I'm kinda due for a good year. If not, oh well, I'll still have my dog and my chair.
I'd be remiss if I didn't say there were many good times in 2012. There were times of great happiness. I happen to have some of the greatest friends anyone could ask for. The patience and kindness they've afforded me can never be paid back though I'll go to my grave trying.
I've made many new friends this year and I'm always thankful for that. I've also lost some along the way and, though some I'll easily get over, there are others that I'll feel the hurt for many a day. Either way, life goes on. I'll still go to bed each night and wake in the morning and try it all again. Sometimes it'll work for everyone and sometimes it won't.
I'll still be the emotional wreck I've always been and I'll always share way more than I should and, though it may make others a tad uncomfortable, it's who I am. I will say, as I have many times over the years, I'm working on it.
I wish each and every one of you a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year. May your every wish come to fruition. As I have each year, I do ask one thing from all of you. Please be nice to each other. Imagine all the smiles you can create just by doing that.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Where Did He Go?
Back in 2007 I wrote a post about my uncle that had passed away. His wife, my aunt, passed away yesterday. She was my Father's sister and, when we were small, we would see them on a regular basis. They lived in Detroit and we were still in Trenton. After we moved to Oak Park, and my parents got divorced, the family occasions became fewer and fewer. We'd see each other at family events but, as time passed, these events simply disappeared. The last time I saw her, I believe, was when her husband died.
I truly believe, under normal circumstances, this would, as it should, bother me. Right now, with all the issues going around in my head, both real and imagined, it's hitting me harder than it should. I feel like that child inside all of us, that I've written about in the past, is just getting his ass kicked. I feel like I'm losing complete touch with him and I can't imagine living without him.
I've always said that the guy people see out in public is completely different from the guy who writes this blog. Lately, the public me has become more and more infected, if you will, by the blog me. I was always so good at separating the two but it's actually become an effort and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to take on that kind of fight by myself right now.
I've got to find a way to find that child again. I need to laugh, I mean genuinely laugh. I've always been able to find humor in literally anything. I need to get back to that place and it can't be soon enough. I don't like where I am in my head. Well, I've never liked where I am up there, but now is much worse than it's ever been. I need a break from whatever this is, at least for a while, and start playing in the immature way I was always able to do. I'm seeing the Dr.'s who I believe can help and I have to at least try to do my part.
I need to find me again. I am the child I'm looking for. That child inside is, and always has been, the very best part of me. I can't do this without him. Sometimes I feel he's all I've got left and I've been letting him accept all the blows of life. He needs to come out and play. Hell, I need to come out and play.
My aunts funeral is Friday and I've been asked to be a pall bearer. I know I shouldn't be looking at this in this way but, I'm hoping I can bury some of the garbage in my head at the same time. I don't care where it goes, whether it has an afterlife or just squirms into oblivion. I need to find me again and maybe, if I can dump enough trash, perhaps a glimmer of the kid will show himself and maybe I'll be able to help him come out and play. I really wanna come out and play. You wouldn't believe how bad I wanna come out and play.
I truly believe, under normal circumstances, this would, as it should, bother me. Right now, with all the issues going around in my head, both real and imagined, it's hitting me harder than it should. I feel like that child inside all of us, that I've written about in the past, is just getting his ass kicked. I feel like I'm losing complete touch with him and I can't imagine living without him.
I've always said that the guy people see out in public is completely different from the guy who writes this blog. Lately, the public me has become more and more infected, if you will, by the blog me. I was always so good at separating the two but it's actually become an effort and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to take on that kind of fight by myself right now.
I've got to find a way to find that child again. I need to laugh, I mean genuinely laugh. I've always been able to find humor in literally anything. I need to get back to that place and it can't be soon enough. I don't like where I am in my head. Well, I've never liked where I am up there, but now is much worse than it's ever been. I need a break from whatever this is, at least for a while, and start playing in the immature way I was always able to do. I'm seeing the Dr.'s who I believe can help and I have to at least try to do my part.
I need to find me again. I am the child I'm looking for. That child inside is, and always has been, the very best part of me. I can't do this without him. Sometimes I feel he's all I've got left and I've been letting him accept all the blows of life. He needs to come out and play. Hell, I need to come out and play.
My aunts funeral is Friday and I've been asked to be a pall bearer. I know I shouldn't be looking at this in this way but, I'm hoping I can bury some of the garbage in my head at the same time. I don't care where it goes, whether it has an afterlife or just squirms into oblivion. I need to find me again and maybe, if I can dump enough trash, perhaps a glimmer of the kid will show himself and maybe I'll be able to help him come out and play. I really wanna come out and play. You wouldn't believe how bad I wanna come out and play.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Even The Losers Get Lucky Sometimes
It's funny how many levels of loss there is in our lives. From the most inconsequential things to our greatest loves. You lose your keys or wallet. A little closer to home, in the "really doesn't matter" category, I seem to have misplaced my hair. We all know these things, in the grand scheme, truly mean little.
We lose things just by living. The innocence of a child is something we all admire. As the child gets older, through no fault of their own, that innocence slowly hardens as the bumps on the road of life take away a little of that incorruptibility, if you will. It's kind of an automatic process. Parents throughout history have called it growing up. Some accomplish it a little better than others, yet with a few exceptions, we all get there.
Unquestionably, the greatest loss is that of a loved one. The permanence of death brings an emptiness I've never understood how to fill. I miss my Grandfather, who died when I was 15, more and more each day and there are times I feel as if he passed away yesterday. Many have lost much more than I throughout their lives and I truly marvel at their ability to move on with their lives. Yes, I know, they have no choice, still, it's way above my ability to comprehend. It does make sense though. By that, I mean we all are destined to die. Nobody lives forever.
A type of loss that I've been subjected to over the last month or so is the loss of friends. Some close, some, I hardly knew. These losses are sometimes just as painful, to me, as losing someone close that had died. I understand I'm not the easiest guy to be around. I realize the effort it takes to be around someone as emotionally crippled as I am. Knowing these things doesn't make it any easier to someone like me. I always say to people how I know they think they have it bad, when dealing with me. I tell them they're fortunate that they can always go away. Me? I have to deal with me 24 hours a day. It sounds much funnier when stated out loud.
The bottom line is that I am who I am. My thoughts and emotions are the same as they've always been. I'm always being told that we choose who we are and we are the only ones that can change ourselves. Well, that may work for many of you but, try as I might, it doesn't for me. All I can really say is, if one is tired of my public whining, my constant anxiety over things that others find so difficult to understand or anything else I have always been so open about, well, I'm sorry. I have always been the first to admit that I'm way too honest about myself than I should be. If I knew how to turn that off, I would have as a child. If my writing is something you have found to wear thin, then stop reading. There really are very few out there that have had to deal with me in that state in person. I'm always amazed they have stuck around for so long.
I mourn the loss of these folks, truly. I will miss each and every one of them. I will also always cherish the time we spent as friends. I'd also like to let any of them know that I'll always be here. The yoyo of emotions will too. I guess, if we feel the worthiness, we have to accept the good with the bad. I will also say, as I've said before, I've always felt so fortunate to have you all in my life. However long you choose to stay.
We lose things just by living. The innocence of a child is something we all admire. As the child gets older, through no fault of their own, that innocence slowly hardens as the bumps on the road of life take away a little of that incorruptibility, if you will. It's kind of an automatic process. Parents throughout history have called it growing up. Some accomplish it a little better than others, yet with a few exceptions, we all get there.
Unquestionably, the greatest loss is that of a loved one. The permanence of death brings an emptiness I've never understood how to fill. I miss my Grandfather, who died when I was 15, more and more each day and there are times I feel as if he passed away yesterday. Many have lost much more than I throughout their lives and I truly marvel at their ability to move on with their lives. Yes, I know, they have no choice, still, it's way above my ability to comprehend. It does make sense though. By that, I mean we all are destined to die. Nobody lives forever.
A type of loss that I've been subjected to over the last month or so is the loss of friends. Some close, some, I hardly knew. These losses are sometimes just as painful, to me, as losing someone close that had died. I understand I'm not the easiest guy to be around. I realize the effort it takes to be around someone as emotionally crippled as I am. Knowing these things doesn't make it any easier to someone like me. I always say to people how I know they think they have it bad, when dealing with me. I tell them they're fortunate that they can always go away. Me? I have to deal with me 24 hours a day. It sounds much funnier when stated out loud.
The bottom line is that I am who I am. My thoughts and emotions are the same as they've always been. I'm always being told that we choose who we are and we are the only ones that can change ourselves. Well, that may work for many of you but, try as I might, it doesn't for me. All I can really say is, if one is tired of my public whining, my constant anxiety over things that others find so difficult to understand or anything else I have always been so open about, well, I'm sorry. I have always been the first to admit that I'm way too honest about myself than I should be. If I knew how to turn that off, I would have as a child. If my writing is something you have found to wear thin, then stop reading. There really are very few out there that have had to deal with me in that state in person. I'm always amazed they have stuck around for so long.
I mourn the loss of these folks, truly. I will miss each and every one of them. I will also always cherish the time we spent as friends. I'd also like to let any of them know that I'll always be here. The yoyo of emotions will too. I guess, if we feel the worthiness, we have to accept the good with the bad. I will also say, as I've said before, I've always felt so fortunate to have you all in my life. However long you choose to stay.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
It's Just The Way It Is
I got into a rather long argument with an out of town friend last night. This is a friend that considers herself, "spiritual" and has a deep seeded belief in God. I, on the other hand, have never believed in anything other than what I can see, feel or touch. Anyway, what really set her off was when I told her that I wasn't into the idea that life is this amazing gift we've all been given. I told her that in all honesty, I'd like to return it and not get a refund. Well, if you know me at all, you know that once I find something that really bothers someone, I'm all over it. So, I did my thing of making her upset, just because I could, and we finished the conversation with her in a rather foul mood.
Here's the thing though: I believe those things I stated above. I don't believe that life is some gift to be cherished. This isn't something new, I've been telling shrinks and friends I didn't want to be alive since I was 12 years old. That isn't to say that I'm going to commit suicide, not gonna happen. As I've stated several times, I'm way to big a wimp to ever do anything to hurt myself. I do, however, go to bed each night with the hope that I won't wake up. When I talk to anyone about this I always get this sad look or, if on the phone, words of comfort about how loved I am and things of that nature.
This is where folks have a hard time understanding me. I appreciate each and every one of you and the feelings are more than mutual. I do love you all and you're one of the many reasons I have never attempted to hurt myself. That being said, If given a choice at birth, I would have chosen not to be born. I have always believed that there are certain people that "life" just isn't for. I've also always believed I'm one of those people. I don't believe it's sad to feel this way. I've spent my entire, and I do mean entire, life not wanting to be alive.I've also spent my whole life being sad and depressed. I look at it as just the way it is. I truly believe that this is nothing to feel sorry for me about. It's just the way it is, the way I am.
I was talking to Shrink about the issue I've had with passing out lately. I told her that I felt I blew my chance to be done with life. We talked about how there is no pain or knowledge of my passing out and, therefore, no pain or knowledge involved if I never woke up. She understands that I'm not walking on a cliff looking for a place to jump so it puts her in the category of those that really understand what it is I'm trying to say here.
I've written before about those folks I know that have recently died or are ill with things that could very well cause their death. These situations truly break my heart. I also believe that I feel a twinge of jealousy simply because they want to live and if I were the one that got sick, I'd be alright with it. Please don't write or call telling me about this journey I'm on or tell me how God loves me. As much as most of you believe in this higher power, I'm just as convinced it doesn't exist. I don't look at this as something to be sad about, I just see it as the way it is.
Here's the thing though: I believe those things I stated above. I don't believe that life is some gift to be cherished. This isn't something new, I've been telling shrinks and friends I didn't want to be alive since I was 12 years old. That isn't to say that I'm going to commit suicide, not gonna happen. As I've stated several times, I'm way to big a wimp to ever do anything to hurt myself. I do, however, go to bed each night with the hope that I won't wake up. When I talk to anyone about this I always get this sad look or, if on the phone, words of comfort about how loved I am and things of that nature.
This is where folks have a hard time understanding me. I appreciate each and every one of you and the feelings are more than mutual. I do love you all and you're one of the many reasons I have never attempted to hurt myself. That being said, If given a choice at birth, I would have chosen not to be born. I have always believed that there are certain people that "life" just isn't for. I've also always believed I'm one of those people. I don't believe it's sad to feel this way. I've spent my entire, and I do mean entire, life not wanting to be alive.I've also spent my whole life being sad and depressed. I look at it as just the way it is. I truly believe that this is nothing to feel sorry for me about. It's just the way it is, the way I am.
I was talking to Shrink about the issue I've had with passing out lately. I told her that I felt I blew my chance to be done with life. We talked about how there is no pain or knowledge of my passing out and, therefore, no pain or knowledge involved if I never woke up. She understands that I'm not walking on a cliff looking for a place to jump so it puts her in the category of those that really understand what it is I'm trying to say here.
I've written before about those folks I know that have recently died or are ill with things that could very well cause their death. These situations truly break my heart. I also believe that I feel a twinge of jealousy simply because they want to live and if I were the one that got sick, I'd be alright with it. Please don't write or call telling me about this journey I'm on or tell me how God loves me. As much as most of you believe in this higher power, I'm just as convinced it doesn't exist. I don't look at this as something to be sad about, I just see it as the way it is.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
I'm No King Of The Forest
I have fallen so far in the last couple of months; I’m truly at a loss. All the thoughts in my head are strictly “anti-me”. Getting to despise, once again, who and what I am is so draining. I constantly just want to plow under the covers and sleep forever.
I know, we all have these down times and, as readers already know, I’ve had my share. Lately though, it’s gotten really bad. I look at the things I do, or don’t do, and can’t help but feel that I’m just a shit. My son and I haven’t spoken in almost four years. Why? Oh, a million reasons. Any of them valid? Of course not.
So, the question becomes, why don’t I just call him? It’s a very simple reason. I’m a coward. I can’t stand the thought of any type of confrontation. The fear that he, or any of the numerous people I’ve lost over the years, would say the things to me that I feel I deserve truly encompasses me.
I’ve lost touch with someone that was very important to me for, pretty much, the same reasons. We had a wonderful email/ chat relationship for a couple years and I stopped writing for a bit. When that happened, I started to fear the repercussions of what she would say when I did write. Once again, there is no logical reason why I just wouldn’t send her a note and just apologize. I simply couldn’t find the strength or courage to do just that.
I can look back on so many instances of my profound cowardice throughout my life. It started as a kid and only became more and more defined, as I’ve gotten older. I guess it also plays into my famous anxiety issues. I mean, it seems to me they’re one and the same.
I’ve been on meds to help with the anxiety and, against orders, I’ve stopped taking them. I just wanted to try to feel normal. Be a regular person. All it’s done is allow me to see who I am once again. That same person that’s afraid of my own shadow and is more than willing to run and hide, rather than face the folks that care about me most.
I’m really not liking me very much right now.
I know, we all have these down times and, as readers already know, I’ve had my share. Lately though, it’s gotten really bad. I look at the things I do, or don’t do, and can’t help but feel that I’m just a shit. My son and I haven’t spoken in almost four years. Why? Oh, a million reasons. Any of them valid? Of course not.
So, the question becomes, why don’t I just call him? It’s a very simple reason. I’m a coward. I can’t stand the thought of any type of confrontation. The fear that he, or any of the numerous people I’ve lost over the years, would say the things to me that I feel I deserve truly encompasses me.
I’ve lost touch with someone that was very important to me for, pretty much, the same reasons. We had a wonderful email/ chat relationship for a couple years and I stopped writing for a bit. When that happened, I started to fear the repercussions of what she would say when I did write. Once again, there is no logical reason why I just wouldn’t send her a note and just apologize. I simply couldn’t find the strength or courage to do just that.
I can look back on so many instances of my profound cowardice throughout my life. It started as a kid and only became more and more defined, as I’ve gotten older. I guess it also plays into my famous anxiety issues. I mean, it seems to me they’re one and the same.
I’ve been on meds to help with the anxiety and, against orders, I’ve stopped taking them. I just wanted to try to feel normal. Be a regular person. All it’s done is allow me to see who I am once again. That same person that’s afraid of my own shadow and is more than willing to run and hide, rather than face the folks that care about me most.
I’m really not liking me very much right now.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
The Power Of The Pen
Throwing the blog out into public domain, as I have, has
brought some interesting things into my little world. As far as the Internet
reaches, it’s not uncommon for me to get comments, complaints and letters from
people all over the world. I’ve written about some of the letters and people
I’ve been in contact with. There are, not surprisingly, notes that I haven’t
shared for privacy reasons. I’ve always made it clear that anyone’s secrets are
safe with me when it comes to the blog and, I’m proud to say, that’s a promise
I’ve held sacred.
About
a year ago I got a note from someone that, until now, I couldn’t imagine
talking about to anyone except those with the need to know. The letter was from
a young man, 17 years old, that was going through some major issues in his life
and thought writing to this anonymous “Blogger”, as he called me, was a way to
not only explain himself and what his plans were, but to also be hidden enough
that hurting himself, if it came to that, couldn’t be interfered with.
When
the notes first started, I really didn’t think much of it. I get these kinds of
notes all the time from people I don’t know. What started as simple notes of
teenage angst however, soon became much more serious. The more I read from him,
the more concerned I became. I had no idea who he was or where he lived and I
didn’t even know where to begin to find out.
His
notes, which were now coming on an almost daily basis, were becoming more and
more disconcerting. Though I kept replying with letters of support I was always
trying to find out where he lived, as I wanted to get ahold of the authorities
in his town to get this kid the help he so needed. It finally came to the point
of either I get this kid some help or, I’m afraid, he would truly hurt himself.
I
ended up contacting “Google” because they host the blog and voiced my concerns.
Some folks contacted me and I shared what info I had. At the time, I could only
assume that they had found him as I stopped receiving notes and, as hard as I
tried, couldn’t get any info from the people I had been in contact with. I sent
him notes asking of he was ok, but he wouldn’t reply. I could only assume what
might have happened and I decided to just wait and see if I heard anything
again.
Around
three months later I started getting emails from him again with a much harsher
tone. He said I had violated our trust and friendship, that I was nothing short
of an absolute ass because I had contacted the authorities. He called me a
fraud, among other things and said he was sorry he’d ever written me. He was
sending me about three notes a week, each harsher than the previous. To say I
had mixed feelings would be a major understatement. On the one hand I was happy
to find that he hadn’t killed himself yet, on the other, I was crushed.
Was
he right? Did I violate our trust? Didn’t I have a duty here to alert the
powers that be? It really threw me. I couldn’t write about it, wasn’t that the
only part of the bargain that should be concerned about? I had such mixed
feelings. I really had to question what my responsibilities were, in regard to
the Blog. Did I owe anything to anyone simply because they connected to
something I had written? I finally decided that this was much deeper than I
ever planned. My only intention with the Blog was to allow myself to blow off
steam. I decided I should no longer write in the same manner I always had.
Granted, I couldn’t be held responsible for some messed up kid but I couldn’t
live with myself if I thought I was the catalyst for someone ending his or her
life.
Without
the ability to share my feelings on the Blog, I found that I began losing a
major part of myself. A part that, over the years, I had actually become proud
of. Missing this piece of the puzzle that is me, became something that really weighed
on me. I felt muzzled. Something had been taken away from me that had helped me
in so many ways and it wasn’t fair. I started getting angry and I sent this kid
a note, not even sure if he’d receive it, letting him know how I felt. This was
in February of this year and that, until last week, was the last I heard of the
entire thing.
Trent
(he said I could now use his name) sent me a note and actually apologized to
me. He lives in a small town near Ottawa in Canada and had, indeed, attempted
suicide. He had sent the angry notes from the hospital and had been in rehab
now for a number of months. He said a number of very nice things and told me
that, for a while, he felt I was the only friend he had. When the Authorities
found who he was he felt betrayed. I can understand that. He was now feeling
much better and was disappointed to see that I haven’t written in a while.
It
was very special to find that note in my in box. We’ve written each other, back
and forth, a few times in the last week and Trent, now 18, is looking forward
to starting college soon. That’s way cool and I’m so pleased to get the news. I
hope to stay in contact with him for years to come.
I
don’t pretend to think that I had some major life changing words that was
helping him over the time of our correspondence, nor that those words somehow
pushed him closer to his attempted suicide. What I do know is that I did my
best in a situation that was totally unfamiliar to me. I made changes to my
life because of this situation and I don’t think I’d do anything differently.
I’m very happy that Trent’s doing well. I’m also feeling like I got a little
relief in my head because of all this.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Way Overdue
I was 15 years old the first time I heard the band Rush’s first live album, “All The World’s A Stage”. I didn’t know much about the band at the time, I knew of their song, “Fly By Night”, but apart from that, I truly knew nothing about them. Anyway, A guy I worked with at a Gas Station was crazy about the band and while giving me a ride home he played a tape of the live album. I remember thinking how clean the guitars sounded and how odd the lead singers voice was.
The next day at school, I found I couldn’t get the sounds I’d heard the night before out of my head. It wasn’t anything like the music I normally listened to. This was loud, noisy and heavy rock. Still, there was something in it that just, I don’t know, gave me energy. It made me feel like I wanted to scream, jump up and down, anything to release this new feeling of sound from my insides. Over the next three years I became a fanatic. I saw them in concert a number of times and simply couldn’t get enough of this sound. I, along with thousands of guys my age just loved this band. There really were not very many girls who “got” them but the boys; well we just couldn’t get enough.
I eventually grew tired of them as my taste in music changed. That didn’t stop the band at all. They started releasing records that brought them great popularity, not only in the Midwest, where they were already rock n roll kings, but worldwide. I would hear the familiar sound of Alex Lifeson’s guitar, Geddy Lee’s distinctive voice or Neil Peart’s drumming and remember the madness I once held for them.
The band has been together now for almost 40 years. They’ve sold millions upon millions of records. They are an automatic sellout wherever they play. Somehow, after all these years, the critics have never given them their due. I find it amazing that this band is not in the Rock n Roll Hall Of Fame. I don’t listen to any of their stuff anymore except for the couple CD’s that I have of the albums I had when I was a kid. That doesn’t stop me from appreciating what they have done. This is three guys that, in concert, sound like a thirty piece band. Drummer Neil Peart is widely known as one of the great drummers of the rock era.
I think the time is long overdue for these guys to get the critical recognition they so well deserve. The Rock Hall has certainly missed the boat on this one. Rush is so deserving of the honor, it’s actually kind of shocking when I think about them not being in. C’mon, Hall, do the right thing. Make us proud and put these guys where they belong. Right alongside all the greats of Rock n Roll.
The next day at school, I found I couldn’t get the sounds I’d heard the night before out of my head. It wasn’t anything like the music I normally listened to. This was loud, noisy and heavy rock. Still, there was something in it that just, I don’t know, gave me energy. It made me feel like I wanted to scream, jump up and down, anything to release this new feeling of sound from my insides. Over the next three years I became a fanatic. I saw them in concert a number of times and simply couldn’t get enough of this sound. I, along with thousands of guys my age just loved this band. There really were not very many girls who “got” them but the boys; well we just couldn’t get enough.
I eventually grew tired of them as my taste in music changed. That didn’t stop the band at all. They started releasing records that brought them great popularity, not only in the Midwest, where they were already rock n roll kings, but worldwide. I would hear the familiar sound of Alex Lifeson’s guitar, Geddy Lee’s distinctive voice or Neil Peart’s drumming and remember the madness I once held for them.
The band has been together now for almost 40 years. They’ve sold millions upon millions of records. They are an automatic sellout wherever they play. Somehow, after all these years, the critics have never given them their due. I find it amazing that this band is not in the Rock n Roll Hall Of Fame. I don’t listen to any of their stuff anymore except for the couple CD’s that I have of the albums I had when I was a kid. That doesn’t stop me from appreciating what they have done. This is three guys that, in concert, sound like a thirty piece band. Drummer Neil Peart is widely known as one of the great drummers of the rock era.
I think the time is long overdue for these guys to get the critical recognition they so well deserve. The Rock Hall has certainly missed the boat on this one. Rush is so deserving of the honor, it’s actually kind of shocking when I think about them not being in. C’mon, Hall, do the right thing. Make us proud and put these guys where they belong. Right alongside all the greats of Rock n Roll.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Tell Everybody You Know
Those of you that grew up with me, probably remember my house as one that always had people in it. It really didn’t matter if Mom was home or not. Our friends had the run of the place and, all in all, things went pretty well. David and I each had numerous people that might be over at any given time and whether either of us was home, it was no big deal. I’d come home after work and the only folks there would be a couple friends of either David or I. One of David’s friends that was there more than most was Steve Liebow. He was a couple years older than me and, up until he started hanging around the house, I’d never heard of him.
Steve was one of David’s friends that I truly didn’t mind being around. It wasn’t like we would be great friends but he understood my humor and always “got the joke” without taking offense. We could go off on some abstract subject and he’d get just as crude and disgusting as I would and, odd as it sounds, we kind of formed a bond doing stuff like that.
One night, for reasons neither of us would ever remember, we started talking about gross words. I mentioned that the way the letter g was printed made the word egg the most disgusting looking word in the English language. We used the word egg in every possible way; laughing like fools the entire time. We must have stayed at that Kitchen table until three in the morning laughing ourselves to tears with the stuff we came up with.
I had a room in the Basement at the time and eventually went to bed. Steve decided to go to the store, buy a few dozen eggs and proceeded to put large Paper towels around my room all held up with all these eggs. He had written, on the paper towel, in large letters of Magic Marker, “ TOP OF THE MORNING TO YOU EGG”. We both laughed for days and have called each other by the name “Egg” ever since.
Steve died this morning and, as usual, these kinds of things make us all remember. I wasn’t that close to Steve. I never even set foot in the famous Van. He was one of the guys at the house. I think those that remember being there throughout the years will agree when I say we were all like a big family. Not a very close family but we all cared for each other, never had fights there and just plain felt a comfort being there. Well, I guess that makes Steve kinda like a Brother. The more I think of it, I think we all felt that way. We had a certain comfort there, all of us. It was a place where friends came by and just relaxed. You couldn’t really do that at too many of our houses back then.
Steve used to walk around the house in his unmentionables, playing his bass guitar and making up lyrics as he went. Those that knew him will surely smile thinking of him singing the song “Rock n Roll Soul, playing the bass line to the "Tell everybody you know" part" and substituting the words "Tell everybody you know, you know STEVE LIEBOW".
Go ahead, tell everybody you know, I know I will.
Steve was one of David’s friends that I truly didn’t mind being around. It wasn’t like we would be great friends but he understood my humor and always “got the joke” without taking offense. We could go off on some abstract subject and he’d get just as crude and disgusting as I would and, odd as it sounds, we kind of formed a bond doing stuff like that.
One night, for reasons neither of us would ever remember, we started talking about gross words. I mentioned that the way the letter g was printed made the word egg the most disgusting looking word in the English language. We used the word egg in every possible way; laughing like fools the entire time. We must have stayed at that Kitchen table until three in the morning laughing ourselves to tears with the stuff we came up with.
I had a room in the Basement at the time and eventually went to bed. Steve decided to go to the store, buy a few dozen eggs and proceeded to put large Paper towels around my room all held up with all these eggs. He had written, on the paper towel, in large letters of Magic Marker, “ TOP OF THE MORNING TO YOU EGG”. We both laughed for days and have called each other by the name “Egg” ever since.
Steve died this morning and, as usual, these kinds of things make us all remember. I wasn’t that close to Steve. I never even set foot in the famous Van. He was one of the guys at the house. I think those that remember being there throughout the years will agree when I say we were all like a big family. Not a very close family but we all cared for each other, never had fights there and just plain felt a comfort being there. Well, I guess that makes Steve kinda like a Brother. The more I think of it, I think we all felt that way. We had a certain comfort there, all of us. It was a place where friends came by and just relaxed. You couldn’t really do that at too many of our houses back then.
Steve used to walk around the house in his unmentionables, playing his bass guitar and making up lyrics as he went. Those that knew him will surely smile thinking of him singing the song “Rock n Roll Soul, playing the bass line to the "Tell everybody you know" part" and substituting the words "Tell everybody you know, you know STEVE LIEBOW".
Go ahead, tell everybody you know, I know I will.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Funkiest Band In The Land Part 2
Went to a concert a few weeks ago, J. Geils at Pine Knob. A couple years ago I saw them at a theater in Detroit and wrote a piece about the show. This is not your typical rock n roll band. I can honestly say there are no other groups that do what they do, play the type of music they play and have a relationship with Detroit like they have.
This is, what can be described as, a White, Funk, Rock Band. The music is, how can I describe it, funky, energetic and most of all, just plain fun. They first started something like 40 years ago and, with a few breaks in between, have been together ever since.
I’ve seen the band, in concert, a number of times and have always enjoyed the show. Seeing them in Detroit is completely different than when I saw them in San Diego. The last time I wrote about them I spoke of how Detroit is like a second home to them. It’s not just me saying it; the band has made it clear on numerous occasions that Detroit literally fed the band in their salad days. A two or three night sellout was not uncommon while they couldn’t even sell out one day in most parts of the country.
So, I went to the show and, as expected, the place was jammed. Yes, they played all their hits and yes, the crowd loved them. I, on the other hand, felt a little sad. I knew that this would be the last time I would ever see them live. I say that because, and I know this sounds weird, besides the fact that the members of the band are all in there 60’s; I noticed something that night that made me think this way. I couldn’t help but feel, that on many of the songs they played, they were just “mailing it in”.
Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here, they were fun and everyone was on there feet cheering like mad. It’s just that they didn’t seem to be working as hard as they normally do. On numerous songs, Peter Wolf, the lead singer, basically just spoke the words instead of actually singing them. The music was just as powerful as usual but Wolf, normally the highlight of any of their concerts, seemed tired. The show itself was still good and, like I said earlier, the crowd loved it. It just wasn’t what I expected.
I did notice something that made me happy though. I saw the real power of music and what it can do to someone.
I’ve written about how much Peter Wolf means to the band and what an incredible front man he is. On this night I really saw what he feels. Let me explain. I truly saw the music move the man. There is no way that he could plan some of the moves he does. I could actually see the music running through the man and how his body moved in these strange ways, simply moved by the music coursing through his veins. Even though he wasn’t as dynamic as he normally is, I saw what could be called a love affair happening right before my eyes. It was so obvious how much he loved this music. Just the same can be said about the music loving him. The two seemed to be meant for each other and watching the music and Wolf interact with each other was truly a treat.
So, for me, the concert wasn’t the great show I was hoping for. I did however, once again, appreciate rock n roll for, not only what it is, but also what it does to the soul. Peter Wolf embodies what it does; he is almost its messenger, if you will. That’s something I’ll always remember and hope those that were there remember too.
This is, what can be described as, a White, Funk, Rock Band. The music is, how can I describe it, funky, energetic and most of all, just plain fun. They first started something like 40 years ago and, with a few breaks in between, have been together ever since.
I’ve seen the band, in concert, a number of times and have always enjoyed the show. Seeing them in Detroit is completely different than when I saw them in San Diego. The last time I wrote about them I spoke of how Detroit is like a second home to them. It’s not just me saying it; the band has made it clear on numerous occasions that Detroit literally fed the band in their salad days. A two or three night sellout was not uncommon while they couldn’t even sell out one day in most parts of the country.
So, I went to the show and, as expected, the place was jammed. Yes, they played all their hits and yes, the crowd loved them. I, on the other hand, felt a little sad. I knew that this would be the last time I would ever see them live. I say that because, and I know this sounds weird, besides the fact that the members of the band are all in there 60’s; I noticed something that night that made me think this way. I couldn’t help but feel, that on many of the songs they played, they were just “mailing it in”.
Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here, they were fun and everyone was on there feet cheering like mad. It’s just that they didn’t seem to be working as hard as they normally do. On numerous songs, Peter Wolf, the lead singer, basically just spoke the words instead of actually singing them. The music was just as powerful as usual but Wolf, normally the highlight of any of their concerts, seemed tired. The show itself was still good and, like I said earlier, the crowd loved it. It just wasn’t what I expected.
I did notice something that made me happy though. I saw the real power of music and what it can do to someone.
I’ve written about how much Peter Wolf means to the band and what an incredible front man he is. On this night I really saw what he feels. Let me explain. I truly saw the music move the man. There is no way that he could plan some of the moves he does. I could actually see the music running through the man and how his body moved in these strange ways, simply moved by the music coursing through his veins. Even though he wasn’t as dynamic as he normally is, I saw what could be called a love affair happening right before my eyes. It was so obvious how much he loved this music. Just the same can be said about the music loving him. The two seemed to be meant for each other and watching the music and Wolf interact with each other was truly a treat.
So, for me, the concert wasn’t the great show I was hoping for. I did however, once again, appreciate rock n roll for, not only what it is, but also what it does to the soul. Peter Wolf embodies what it does; he is almost its messenger, if you will. That’s something I’ll always remember and hope those that were there remember too.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
The Luckster
Just got back from the Vet’s, had to put Lucky down. There is no question that the time had come and I did what was right for her. The Vet said that she’d probably had a stroke and it had paralyzed the back half of her body. I had known for a month or so that she wasn’t going to be around much longer and when I heard her crying while just laying on the floor, well, the decision was made for me. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel any pain. She was my friend and I’d never want to see my friend in pain.
I was fortunate to have her in my life for over 12 years. She was already over a year old when she came to live with us so you have to figure she was near 14 when her time came. 12 years is a long time and memories are many.
I remember when we caught her laying down on her stomach with her entire face in her food dish eating her dinner. It was then that we all knew she was a true member of the family. There was also the time that Shelly put a dog door into the sliding glass door out to the backyard. Lucky was so confused; she didn’t have a clue what it was. Shelly had to crawl through it while calling her name in order for Lucky to understand that through that door was the backyard. There are so many more great memories, as we all have about our furry friends, that it would take another 12 years to repeat them all.
She was such a gentle soul and I think that was her greatest trait. She never barked, never had a problem with any other animal and absolutely adored people. All she ever wanted out of life was to be loved and everyone that knew her would comment on how sweet she was. It was always a pleasure having people meet her. She wasn’t a jumper and would just want to be near anyone new. This was truly a case of, just knowing her was to love her.
I will miss her terribly, as I already do. I’ll miss her crying to me every time I would start to peel myself a Banana and me ending up just giving it to her. I’ll miss telling her to put her “Kepi” (sp) down and her coming from wherever in the house she was to put her face on my lap. I’ll miss the way she would lay down by putting her head on the floor and letting her body just drop behind it. Oh, I’ll miss so many things about her but most of all I just miss her being here.
I used to ask her if we were good friends and she would always give a little yelp to let me know we were. We really were. She was my friend and she was my family. I am so grateful for the years we spent together. I have been talking to friends about her and have said that it seemed everyone knew her. Even if you hadn’t met her, you knew her by how much a part of my life she was. I feel a little odd still carrying on about her after a few days but, honestly, I really don’t care. She was my Dog and, as cliché’ as this sounds, my best friend. I can’t imagine what I would have done after the divorce if she hadn’t been with me.
I keep looking up for her and expecting her to walk into the room to ask for something. I feel a little sad when that happens. On the other hand, I hope I feel her presence for years to come.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Hmm...
So, doing all this over analyzing that I continually do to myself, I find all kinds of things to beat myself up about. On the other hand, especially lately, there have been a few things that make me wonder if there might be a thing or two about me that that I should look into. My friends have always made me feel liked but that, and I don’t mean to downplay these relationships in any way, is what friends are for. Granted, I’ve attained a whole bunch more friends than I ever thought I’d have, and it’s wonderful just knowing they’re around.
The thing that’s been messing with my constant attempts at self-loathing is coming from total strangers. I work with the public. I see and speak to, on average, 200 people or so a day. Many of these are customers that come in to the store two or three times a week and when you see someone that often, well, you develop a relationship with them. I’ve been doing the customer service thing for years and, dare I say this, I’m really, really good at it. I’ll put my ability to deal with people up against anyone. Wait a minute, did I just admit to something good about me? Hmmm, feels a little odd. Anyway…
The other day, as I was running a register, a couple women came through and I just started playing with them. We were all three making comments about being up so early and how much we’d rather be on a beach somewhere. I said a few things that made them laugh, nothing unusual as I usually can make customers smile and laugh in a situation that doesn’t normally foster that kind of behavior. Anyway, as they were leaving and I was thanking them for their business and the two of them were laughing about something I said, one of them turned back towards me and said, “ Thanks for making our day”. I gave my standard response of, “I’m here all week, try the Veal” and they laughed some more and went along their way as I started playing with the next in line. On my way home I started thinking about what she said and other instances came to mind of total strangers, usually customers, saying that kind of thing to me. It turns out, it happens quite a bit.
Thinking about it has made me think that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been mistaken about myself. I might be a little more likable and worthwhile than I’ve ever given myself credit for. Boy, that’s kinda scary isn’t it? I’ve never paid attention to the comments from customers before. I mean, I’m just playing with them, they know that, surely they’re just playing with me too. They most certainly couldn’t be serious when they say things that are complimentary towards me, could they? Well, could they? I’m constantly being asked, by these total strangers, if I’m up to being fixed up with a friend of theirs. I, of course, just laugh it off to them and get past the question as quickly as possible. I had a woman I slightly recognized come in the store the other day with a few of her friends. As she saw me she told the group, “This is the guy I was telling you about”. I made that kind of impression on this person? That’s pretty cool. Again, maybe I’ve been wrong.
I’ve actually been feeling kind of good about myself for the last few days. Actually having a little self-confidence. I still have my demons but, seriously, the last few days I’ve been actually contemplating accepting one of these offers of being fixed up with someone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not foolish enough to think I’ll be jumping into this overnight, it’ll take a little time, but I actually feel a little closer to breaking down a wall that’s been around for almost five decades than I’ve ever felt.
Maybe I’ve been wrong, that’s something to think about.
The thing that’s been messing with my constant attempts at self-loathing is coming from total strangers. I work with the public. I see and speak to, on average, 200 people or so a day. Many of these are customers that come in to the store two or three times a week and when you see someone that often, well, you develop a relationship with them. I’ve been doing the customer service thing for years and, dare I say this, I’m really, really good at it. I’ll put my ability to deal with people up against anyone. Wait a minute, did I just admit to something good about me? Hmmm, feels a little odd. Anyway…
The other day, as I was running a register, a couple women came through and I just started playing with them. We were all three making comments about being up so early and how much we’d rather be on a beach somewhere. I said a few things that made them laugh, nothing unusual as I usually can make customers smile and laugh in a situation that doesn’t normally foster that kind of behavior. Anyway, as they were leaving and I was thanking them for their business and the two of them were laughing about something I said, one of them turned back towards me and said, “ Thanks for making our day”. I gave my standard response of, “I’m here all week, try the Veal” and they laughed some more and went along their way as I started playing with the next in line. On my way home I started thinking about what she said and other instances came to mind of total strangers, usually customers, saying that kind of thing to me. It turns out, it happens quite a bit.
Thinking about it has made me think that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been mistaken about myself. I might be a little more likable and worthwhile than I’ve ever given myself credit for. Boy, that’s kinda scary isn’t it? I’ve never paid attention to the comments from customers before. I mean, I’m just playing with them, they know that, surely they’re just playing with me too. They most certainly couldn’t be serious when they say things that are complimentary towards me, could they? Well, could they? I’m constantly being asked, by these total strangers, if I’m up to being fixed up with a friend of theirs. I, of course, just laugh it off to them and get past the question as quickly as possible. I had a woman I slightly recognized come in the store the other day with a few of her friends. As she saw me she told the group, “This is the guy I was telling you about”. I made that kind of impression on this person? That’s pretty cool. Again, maybe I’ve been wrong.
I’ve actually been feeling kind of good about myself for the last few days. Actually having a little self-confidence. I still have my demons but, seriously, the last few days I’ve been actually contemplating accepting one of these offers of being fixed up with someone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not foolish enough to think I’ll be jumping into this overnight, it’ll take a little time, but I actually feel a little closer to breaking down a wall that’s been around for almost five decades than I’ve ever felt.
Maybe I’ve been wrong, that’s something to think about.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Trying To Deal
Since my last post, I’ve kind of found myself in an almost funk, if that’s the right way to say it. I’ve always known the story but have always set it up as just an incident in my life that really didn’t matter. Something like a schoolyard fight that would be forgotten or placed so far back in my memories that I’d only cruise by it in my thoughts every once in a while.
I’m not sure what, in the last few months, has brought it back into the forefront of my thoughts. Sometime before Christmas I started hearing his voice. I’ve heard it a number of times over the years but this was different. It was much louder, much closer and much more consistent. I started waking up in the morning hearing it. I’d hear it throughout the day. I was always able to shove it aside in the past but this time, I just couldn’t shake it. I knew that he couldn’t harm me, or anyone else for that matter, yet still felt a fear. I keep finding myself right back where I was all those years ago.
Writing about it had to happen. It’s how I deal with everything in my life and this was quickly becoming something major. I’ve talked to a few people about the feelings that enveloped me while writing it and how I was able to finally admit to myself how much of an impact on my life this incident had. This is the first time I can remember placing blame on someone else for something so wrong with me. What I’m finding a bit difficult is that I actually find myself feeling guilty about pushing the blame onto someone else. Questioning how I’ve been unable to “get over” something that took place almost four decades ago. I know that there are so many others that have been through much worse and I truly marvel at their abilities to have gotten past it. They are much stronger than I, that’s for sure.
The problem I’m having now is the fight within myself over whether I was right in bringing it up at all. Since bringing it out into the open, I’m finding myself much closer to it than I’ve been in years. It’s a major topic of conversation in my head. I’m finding the smallest things in my everyday life have a way of reminding me of it. I just hear the voice on a regular basis lately. I know I’ll be seeing someone to talk to about it soon, my benefits just came through from work, and hopefully that’ll help me keep things in perspective. Until then though, all I can do is do all I can, if you know what I mean.
I’m not sure what, in the last few months, has brought it back into the forefront of my thoughts. Sometime before Christmas I started hearing his voice. I’ve heard it a number of times over the years but this was different. It was much louder, much closer and much more consistent. I started waking up in the morning hearing it. I’d hear it throughout the day. I was always able to shove it aside in the past but this time, I just couldn’t shake it. I knew that he couldn’t harm me, or anyone else for that matter, yet still felt a fear. I keep finding myself right back where I was all those years ago.
Writing about it had to happen. It’s how I deal with everything in my life and this was quickly becoming something major. I’ve talked to a few people about the feelings that enveloped me while writing it and how I was able to finally admit to myself how much of an impact on my life this incident had. This is the first time I can remember placing blame on someone else for something so wrong with me. What I’m finding a bit difficult is that I actually find myself feeling guilty about pushing the blame onto someone else. Questioning how I’ve been unable to “get over” something that took place almost four decades ago. I know that there are so many others that have been through much worse and I truly marvel at their abilities to have gotten past it. They are much stronger than I, that’s for sure.
The problem I’m having now is the fight within myself over whether I was right in bringing it up at all. Since bringing it out into the open, I’m finding myself much closer to it than I’ve been in years. It’s a major topic of conversation in my head. I’m finding the smallest things in my everyday life have a way of reminding me of it. I just hear the voice on a regular basis lately. I know I’ll be seeing someone to talk to about it soon, my benefits just came through from work, and hopefully that’ll help me keep things in perspective. Until then though, all I can do is do all I can, if you know what I mean.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
I Was 12
A 12 year old boy is put on a Greyhound bus to go visit a relative less than 100 miles away. While on this bus, events happen that, looking back some 38 years, seem to have had a major influence on this boys life. What happened on that bus has happened to thousands upon thousands of kids throughout time. The issue with this particular time is that this boy is me.
To say a sexual molestation took place would, to most people, be an untruth. To a 12-year-old child, it certainly wasn’t something he’d admit to even if it were. To a 50-year-old adult, looking back over all that time, I still have trouble figuring out how to label it. Nothing physically happened, aside from a hand consistently being placed on my knee. It was the words being spoken that still echo inside my head to this very day. If there’s such a thing as verbal molestation, well, I guess this might be the definition.
Being asked if I’d like this done to me, or how about that? Me, in a voice weakened by fear and drowning in tears, saying no to each query. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d say, over and over again. “Why don’t you let me just…?” Me, again unable to get the words out, for a complete lack of air in my lungs. I was 12 years old, you Bastard, 12 years old.
Over the years I’ve told a few people this story and I’m always reassured that it wasn’t my fault. Logically I know that. I also know that I didn’t have to sit in the window seat on a nearly empty bus, but that’s what 12 year olds do. I could have screamed and yelled. Maybe not. I don’t think my voice could have been heard by anyone, outside of my head.
I remember his face. I remember every line, every bump. I remember how his mustache had a bit more color on one side than the other. I remember how one eyelid was a little more closed than the other. I remember his dirty fingernails as his hand kept finding my knee as the verbal assault went on for what seemed like months to a 12 year old child.
I was chatting with a friend the other day about this and she asked if I still look for him. I couldn’t really answer. I’m absolutely convinced, even after all these years, that I’d recognize him. I’d like to think that I’d find him and hurt him somehow but we all know that I wouldn’t confront him in any way. He scared me like nothing has ever scared me before or since. After 38 years, he still has a hold on me on some level. He won. I fear intimacy. Every Shrink I’ve talked to about this has put a direct link to the two. Is it any wonder that holding hands is probably my favorite thing in the world? That’s what 12 year olds do. I was 12 years old once and because of this man, in many parts of my life, I still am. I was only 12 years old.
To say a sexual molestation took place would, to most people, be an untruth. To a 12-year-old child, it certainly wasn’t something he’d admit to even if it were. To a 50-year-old adult, looking back over all that time, I still have trouble figuring out how to label it. Nothing physically happened, aside from a hand consistently being placed on my knee. It was the words being spoken that still echo inside my head to this very day. If there’s such a thing as verbal molestation, well, I guess this might be the definition.
Being asked if I’d like this done to me, or how about that? Me, in a voice weakened by fear and drowning in tears, saying no to each query. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d say, over and over again. “Why don’t you let me just…?” Me, again unable to get the words out, for a complete lack of air in my lungs. I was 12 years old, you Bastard, 12 years old.
Over the years I’ve told a few people this story and I’m always reassured that it wasn’t my fault. Logically I know that. I also know that I didn’t have to sit in the window seat on a nearly empty bus, but that’s what 12 year olds do. I could have screamed and yelled. Maybe not. I don’t think my voice could have been heard by anyone, outside of my head.
I remember his face. I remember every line, every bump. I remember how his mustache had a bit more color on one side than the other. I remember how one eyelid was a little more closed than the other. I remember his dirty fingernails as his hand kept finding my knee as the verbal assault went on for what seemed like months to a 12 year old child.
I was chatting with a friend the other day about this and she asked if I still look for him. I couldn’t really answer. I’m absolutely convinced, even after all these years, that I’d recognize him. I’d like to think that I’d find him and hurt him somehow but we all know that I wouldn’t confront him in any way. He scared me like nothing has ever scared me before or since. After 38 years, he still has a hold on me on some level. He won. I fear intimacy. Every Shrink I’ve talked to about this has put a direct link to the two. Is it any wonder that holding hands is probably my favorite thing in the world? That’s what 12 year olds do. I was 12 years old once and because of this man, in many parts of my life, I still am. I was only 12 years old.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
I Get Letters
Doing this writing thing has, to say the least, allowed both friends and total strangers to see a part of me that they would never show others. In writing I’m not afraid to show the face we all hide from others. It also helps me while out in public. I can be alone in my thoughts and most people know that I’m fine. In most instances folks are concerned when someone is very quiet or detached in a group. There was a time in my life when I was always being asked if I was “ok” or if everything was alright. If there was something wrong, those that knew me best would know what was going on and I always found that remarkably comforting.
Another positive side of my writing is the allowance of trust that friends along with total strangers have bestowed upon me. This side effect is probably the one thing I’m most proud of when it comes to this. I couldn’t even count the number of emails I receive, mostly from people I don’t know, telling me their deepest, darkest secrets mostly relating to whatever my latest post was. I sometimes feel as though my email box has become some type of a confessional to many. I almost feel like a voyeur while reading these notes admitting the darkest secrets of ones life.
The subject matter ranges from petty crimes to things much more serious. I’ve had notes telling me of a transgression against a sibling over 30 years in the past. Most of these are just a way for the writer to get something off their chest. I never respond to these notes, I have no intention of becoming a “Dear Abby” or anything like that. I have, in some instances, sent a note asking if I could include their tale in a blog and if they agree, I sometimes have.
I will say this though: I have never written anything about anyone’s issues told to me in confidence. I think most of the writers of these notes understand that and that’s a good feeling to have. It’s one thing to be believed in by those that know me, and I value that dearly. It’s something totally different to have that same trust placed by total strangers. Total strangers to me at least. I sometimes get the feeling that these strangers know me a little better than I’m willing to admit.
Another positive side of my writing is the allowance of trust that friends along with total strangers have bestowed upon me. This side effect is probably the one thing I’m most proud of when it comes to this. I couldn’t even count the number of emails I receive, mostly from people I don’t know, telling me their deepest, darkest secrets mostly relating to whatever my latest post was. I sometimes feel as though my email box has become some type of a confessional to many. I almost feel like a voyeur while reading these notes admitting the darkest secrets of ones life.
The subject matter ranges from petty crimes to things much more serious. I’ve had notes telling me of a transgression against a sibling over 30 years in the past. Most of these are just a way for the writer to get something off their chest. I never respond to these notes, I have no intention of becoming a “Dear Abby” or anything like that. I have, in some instances, sent a note asking if I could include their tale in a blog and if they agree, I sometimes have.
I will say this though: I have never written anything about anyone’s issues told to me in confidence. I think most of the writers of these notes understand that and that’s a good feeling to have. It’s one thing to be believed in by those that know me, and I value that dearly. It’s something totally different to have that same trust placed by total strangers. Total strangers to me at least. I sometimes get the feeling that these strangers know me a little better than I’m willing to admit.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Hey Nineteen
I went to a local haircutting place to get the old noggin shaved. Seriously, I must be the easiest haircut they get in a day. I just walk in and ask for a number one blade all the way around. Anyway, I go in and some little Pixie that couldn’t have weighed more than 17 lbs. with 13 shades of hair has me sit in her chair and starts to wrap my neck with that tissue they use.
It’s at this point that I’m always asked if I really want to use a number one blade. They ask if I realize how tight to the scalp it’ll make my hair. Have you seen my hair? Do I look like I worry about how tight to the scalp it is?
Once the buzzing begins, for reasons I’ve never understood, whoever is doing the buzzing starts doing their “get personal with the customer” gig. I prefer the no questions cut but I understand that they want to give me that personal experience. Every once in a while there may be a decent conversation that ensues but yesterday I was in the chair while someone who may, on a good day, pass for 18 tried to converse with me.
This is the part that got to me. Truly, there was nothing that this young woman and I could have talked about, in the time allotted that would interest either of us. It occurred to me that I’m fully one generation older than this girl. Talking politics didn’t seem to be something that would get us anywhere and I didn’t care enough to ask her about who she was dating. We each made a feeble attempt at conversation as I just waited for the cut to end.
Something that I’m well conversed in is music. As I was sitting there I thought about bringing up the subject. How could this young woman know about the music I listened to? How could I know anything about the bands she enjoyed? I had to giggle inside as a song started playing in my head. “Hey Nineteen” by Steely Dan started ringing very true to me. I’m getting old.
“Hey nineteen, that’s Aretha Franklin.
She don’t remember the Queen of Soul”
Ahhh, to be young again…
It’s at this point that I’m always asked if I really want to use a number one blade. They ask if I realize how tight to the scalp it’ll make my hair. Have you seen my hair? Do I look like I worry about how tight to the scalp it is?
Once the buzzing begins, for reasons I’ve never understood, whoever is doing the buzzing starts doing their “get personal with the customer” gig. I prefer the no questions cut but I understand that they want to give me that personal experience. Every once in a while there may be a decent conversation that ensues but yesterday I was in the chair while someone who may, on a good day, pass for 18 tried to converse with me.
This is the part that got to me. Truly, there was nothing that this young woman and I could have talked about, in the time allotted that would interest either of us. It occurred to me that I’m fully one generation older than this girl. Talking politics didn’t seem to be something that would get us anywhere and I didn’t care enough to ask her about who she was dating. We each made a feeble attempt at conversation as I just waited for the cut to end.
Something that I’m well conversed in is music. As I was sitting there I thought about bringing up the subject. How could this young woman know about the music I listened to? How could I know anything about the bands she enjoyed? I had to giggle inside as a song started playing in my head. “Hey Nineteen” by Steely Dan started ringing very true to me. I’m getting old.
“Hey nineteen, that’s Aretha Franklin.
She don’t remember the Queen of Soul”
Ahhh, to be young again…
Monday, February 28, 2011
Part Two
I feel like I need to explain myself a bit after my last post. Not because I owe anyone an explanation but I just feel I need to clarify, you know, make things I said a little clearer.
When I say I’m afraid of being like my Father I’m only trying to compare Apples to Apples. I know there are many differences between us. Believe me, I thank my stars every day for that. What I see as so similar is our emotional retardation. His inability to accept others’ love and affection is something I don’t think anyone can say isn’t something I also suffer from. The difference is, and this is something I kind of admire about him, is his ability to at least fake it. Actually, he would know exactly what I’m talking about.
Something I’ve truly strived for and, I believe I’ve succeeded at, is in most of my relationships with people I try to let them know how important they are to me. You guys know what you mean to me. I’ve written ad-nauseum about that very subject on so many occasions that I sometimes get the feeling you’ve got to be kinda sick of it. That’s something he’s never even attempted.
Where I feel I’ve failed miserably is in allowing the reciprocation of those feelings to enter my reality. I’ve always written about how much I want to feel love and though so many of you are constantly trying to reassure me of said love, I just, I don’t know, find it hard to fathom. Yeah, I know, that all comes back to one loving themselves and that’s the real thing that I need to work on.
See, there’s another similarity between us. And, once again, I admire his ability to fake it. That’s really the one and only trait I wish I could carry on from him. I know, deep inside, that I’m not the fraud I fear so much and I truly believe you all when you tell me the same. For that, I will always be grateful to each and every one of you.
When I say I’m afraid of being like my Father I’m only trying to compare Apples to Apples. I know there are many differences between us. Believe me, I thank my stars every day for that. What I see as so similar is our emotional retardation. His inability to accept others’ love and affection is something I don’t think anyone can say isn’t something I also suffer from. The difference is, and this is something I kind of admire about him, is his ability to at least fake it. Actually, he would know exactly what I’m talking about.
Something I’ve truly strived for and, I believe I’ve succeeded at, is in most of my relationships with people I try to let them know how important they are to me. You guys know what you mean to me. I’ve written ad-nauseum about that very subject on so many occasions that I sometimes get the feeling you’ve got to be kinda sick of it. That’s something he’s never even attempted.
Where I feel I’ve failed miserably is in allowing the reciprocation of those feelings to enter my reality. I’ve always written about how much I want to feel love and though so many of you are constantly trying to reassure me of said love, I just, I don’t know, find it hard to fathom. Yeah, I know, that all comes back to one loving themselves and that’s the real thing that I need to work on.
See, there’s another similarity between us. And, once again, I admire his ability to fake it. That’s really the one and only trait I wish I could carry on from him. I know, deep inside, that I’m not the fraud I fear so much and I truly believe you all when you tell me the same. For that, I will always be grateful to each and every one of you.
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