Where do I live, what is my pride,
What is this tickle that burrows inside?
The howling at night when the loneliness calls,
the whisper that screams down behind the white walls?
How do I find it, the place I belong,
do I follow my heart,
do I follow a song?
Do I search for a scrap of rhyme scrawled by a cloud,
or something my heart begins screaming out loud?
I’m lost in the maelstrom of “present” and “now”,
in time rushing past, can I stop it somehow?
Can I hold the years still, though the waters are strong, and finally return to the place I belong?
Lost in the whirlwind,
staring back through the years,
do I answer my heart song or follow my fears?
(Edit: I truly apologize to anyone who was subjected to that “unidentifed individual”s rant this morning. It took me a bit to get past the hurt and once again, privacy invasion…and remember that I have control over my own comment section. So, problem solved, and my last bastion of privacy and self-expression defended. *sighs* On the bright side, I went from 6 vph (views per hour) to 21, so in the long run, she actually did me a favor! *g*)
I’ve been told that I intimidate people. My 8 yr. old nephew is so afraid of me that his psychiatrist has forbidden him to be around me. What?? I want to be a 5yr. old, or a little pup or kitten….no matter what I do, in situations where my body can’t be seen, I get called cute, adorable, etc. How does that intimidate?
Easy. Because out here, I weigh over 300 lbs., and my family, 4 step-siblings, inherited my dads slight, short, size. I was 3 months old when my mom married my father. My real father? Well, there are three or four choices, but the one that is the most logical, both from ethnic similarities and from time and availability options, is pure Hawaiian. So, my size is genetically logical, and since I helped nature along at the age of 14 or so after a particularly bad thing happened…
So…now I intimidate people. Like I needed another reason for physical people to dislike me. I mean, I thought disgust, I thought disdain, I thought simple amplitude resentment…(I understand that one…two seats on the bus, too big for amusement park rides, etc.) But I am so…timid. I’m -very- afraid of authority figures…and to me, that means everyone down to the cashier at the checkout window…anyone…well, normal. Anyone who has been able to be normal long enough to have a real job, in a real place, has so much more real life, so much power over the world, that I am petrified of dealing with them. And don’t get me started on anyone who’s had children…the power there…*shudders*
If it’s my size…how do I stop intimidating people? Never go around anyone? Stay locked in my windowless room, tapping away at my real world? I don’t know what to do. I can’t stand the thought that my physical presence -scares- people. That people are -afraid- of me. I’ve never dealt with that…ever.
My family fought…I mean physically fought…a lot. My dad has what I like to call “Little Man Syndrome” or LMS for short. This generally reveals itself in overdoing of substances…in my dad’s case alcohol and now cigarets…and a horrendous temper. Unfortunately, my step-siblings inherited that rage, and they like to express it…a lot. Now that we’re older (43 – 32?) it tends to come out more in words than fists, but when we were younger…whew. Not a window, screen, wall or door was safe from the kicking squalling ball of fury that was my siblings and I (in absence of parents, obviously).
But although they were so much “smaller” than I, and skinny to my already burgeoning thick…they beat the crap out of me, because I was afraid to hurt someone. I feel it, whenever I hurt someone. You know that stupid saying about “This is going to hurt me more than you.”? Well, unfortunately, for me, it’s true. And so now…I’m hearing that I scare people. I’m so confused…. *sighs*
This is the letter I just emailed to my caseworker to explain how I feel about my little Kia Soul, Firefly. She is my life…and with all the haps recently, she is my biggest burden. So, read if you want…I just wanted to get it down and saving it didn’t seem like enough.
I just want to try to help you understand what I feel about my car. I know you can’t fully understand, because to you, it’s just a thing. Like your phone, or your house, a thing you can (and recently did) get rid of, if it becomes inconvenient, or you just want/need a new one. I get that. I’ve never been there. Ever.
As a kid, oldest of 6 with a low-grade military salary to live on, if we got something it was something we’d better count as permanent until it broke or wore down so badly it wasn’t worth keeping. TV, car, toys…anything.
Then as an adult…first with only a fast-food worker/minimum wage salary that wasn’t enough to let me do more than sleep on my parents couch in their house full of bugs and so many rats I could listen to them war and mate in the walls all around me all night…no AC, in Florida, just a huge box fan with so little motor I had to have it in bed with me to get any relief from the heat…years of that.
Then on 4 yrs. of $25 a week welfare, living on -other- peoples couches, or in shelters (thank you YWCA) and going through disability applications and denials over and over and over again. Finally won, and bought my fondest dream…a little RV, for $7,000. I thought I could have a home and a vehicle in one, travel all over the country, sell things…live the freedom/nomad life I dreamed about. Only problem is, 7 miles to the gallon. Cost to park. Cost of utilities…including dumping the toilet. Ended up back at my parents, parked illegally in their driveway, sucking up their electricity and using their bathroom, until I managed to sell it, luckily for exactly what I paid for it. Minus the upkeep, obviously. (Gentleman that bought it paid in cash. $7,000 worth. In a baggie. >.<)
From there count 10 yrs. or so of living on less than minimum wage disability, in housing units or shelters, back and forth from across the country to “home” with my parents.
Then I met my one and only love, Sam, and moved to live with him and my best friend Becky in Sacramento for two of the best years of my life. Also two of the worst, as I was diagnosed with severe rheumatoid arthritis soon after meeting Sam, and went mostly untreated all through that time. I drove regularly during that time. Neither Sam nor Becky drove. Sam owned a 10 yr. old Suburban, huge clunky black thing, that I needed a step-stool to climb into, and had almost no power steering…lots of fun with RA swollen hands and shoulders.
Then I became insane enough that neither of them wanted me around anymore, and I ended up back with my parents…in the back room of their (manufactured home) trailer, half filled with my moms fabric collection and file cabinets and shelves.
And then I got my car. And alright, I was stupid to want/get a new car. I just thought that for once I wanted something new. Something mine. Something that I didn’t have to worry about it breaking every time I got in it, and worry what was going to fall off next. I thought I deserved this…and since I could have it…I got it. I was so insistent on getting it that I let them talk me into paying more than half of my disability paycheck every month for a payment. But I paid it. All but a very few times, for a year.
And then all the new stuff happened…and it’s all gone pear-shaped, and I have no idea how it’s all going to work out…but it is. It has to. Because stupid or not, it’s my car. And everytime I hear you say “You are going to have sell the car!” I hear “Wow, shame you had that kid when you couldn’t afford it…well, you better sell it, and get a dog or something that costs less.” Ummm…no.
So all that is to say that she, Firefly, my car…is my freedom. I know everyone says that…but everyone hasn’t been deprived of that freedom their whole lives. Everyone hasn’t been dependent on someone or something else, tied to someone or something, powerless and broken, for all their life. I have. And now I have my freedom. I have my other half. I feel whole and safe and yes, sane, when I’m behind that wheel. I feel like a real person, not some fake adult, but me. Just me. My music, my decorations, my life is in that car. (Now if only she had a bathroom, she’d be perfect…;p)
I know you’re worried. It’s your job to be, and you do a very good job. You’re a great caseworker, and I can tell you I’ve had many. *hugs* All I can say is I’m worried too…but I am apparently not going to let this break me. It’s going to be a -long-, -long- year…but I can do it. With help, I can do it. And yes, I’m depressed…and stressed…and all the physical mess that goes with the above…but I’m handling it. I promise. No more talk about pills or other self-destructive things. Apparently those won’t work for me anymore. Not sure why not…maybe it’s just that I finally hit my worst nightmare, Authority Figures hostile toward me for nothing I did and nothing I can do to fix it…and now that I’m here, I find that it’s only horrible…not world-ending. I guess that’s it. So yeah, that’s what I wanted to say. *hugs again* Oh, and thanks.
sighing, settling, breathing out old ghosts and new, scent of resin seeping from ancient boards, new blood from the long dead.
here is a sound…sigh of a contented waking yawn. a childs soft wail in the deep of night. the quiet squeak of a stairstep under stealthy foot.
here a feeling…the deep frightened love of a new mother. the soft velvet of a summer midnight. a shiver of window frost melting beneath tiny fingertips.
there an odor…surprise french-toast for mothers day. the sharpness of a dandelion freshly picked by clumsy but loving fingers. the dry sharp smell of laundry day.
even tastes…attic explorations, a cough of dust and cardboard. icy slice of winter morning through a quickly opened door. holiday dinners, layered one over the other in a pastiche of family.
and the sights…thin black-and-white bars of shadow on a pretty pastel wall. a trail of colorful boots, wet backpack, half inside-out jacket, across a clean kitchen floor. and a moment of sleepy fright and confusion, eyes meeting mirrored eyes across a dusky hallway.
all these and more seep and stew, melding present to future, phantoms of possibility and past. the house dreams…
My love is fair and tall and fine,
with eyes of angel blue,
His smile as bright as sunlight,
and his skin like morning dew.
I love him through the daylight,
and when the sun has gone,
I stay with him and watch him,
till with morning comes the dawn.
I know he’s thinking of me,
when a smile enters those eyes,
And when they flip to sadness,
as grey as stormy skies.
I walk with him out to the fields,
and to our special place,
And when he cries I wipe his eyes,
caress his loving face.
I tell him life is just a stage,
and now my part is done,
But I will always be with him,
from moonlight into sun.
I say that he will find a home,
with someone soft and true,
I whisper softly in the wind,
my darling, I love you.
Cold glass eyes to sleep glazed eyes,
I meet my own gaze.
Is that sympathy I see,
or just acknowledgement?
my garden has walls of vines
with thorns, but only on the outside
my garden has deep, dark pools
that hold the starlight in their depths
my garden has cold stone benches
that warm to my touch like skin.
I thought I love you
meant forever…not until.