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{confessional} Men....

This is a ranty rant. Parts may be generalized, fictionalized, archetyped, whatever for shorthand. If you don't understand something, ask.

This is going to be long....

I was born on a Wednesday, November 7th, year of the Christian Lord 1973. Wednesday's child is full of woe. (Which is why the character from the Addam's family was named Wednesday.)

{I will digress a lot. get used to it.}

I was a breech birth. Induced labor. Feet or ass first, I don't know and I get conflicting stories from my family. (I always get conflicting stories from my family, but that's how I reshape my past into who I want to be.) {EMDR reparenting theory}. Either way, I didn't want to come out yet and they forced me. But that's always the way it was suposed to happen, one way or another. I didn't want to come back to this life, this world, this hell that we create for one another. I've done it enough times! I was in RETIREMENT.

And then came the call.
And I showed. {And I threw a temper tantrum to fit a 2-yr-old}
And here I am.

And here I am now.... on this date, writing this post.

I am broken. Have no doubt. But broken doesn't mean *helpless*. It just means that I recognize, more than most of you, how it is to thrive in a hostile environment. How to have vertigo and save yourself from the fall by remembering to relax and let your dancing instincts take over.

It's learning that, no... folks around you may express alarm, but never enough {all though too much is also your doom}. SO you plan. Always. Know why I can't think as well as I used to? Because I have to think about more than most all the time. Yes, it makes my ADD worse. I'm * always* robbing Peter to pay Paul.

But Paul always gets paid

I will try to drive you away because experience has taught me that the people who can handle even pieces of me can't handle all of me. Not even my parents. Not even me.

I lie to me all the time. It's called denial. It helps me function so that instead of just having a crisis, I really *don't* die.

No, I'm not fucking being melodramatic. They don't spend $50,000 on a patient for a fucking hallucination or self-induced, drug-seeking game....

Just because I watch House and my grandmother introduced me to the movie: "The Baron Münchhausen" does not mean that I think I have the DISEASE Münchhausen or Münchhausen's by proxy. I'M JUST CLEVER SOMETIMES! {Although anyone who knows me knows I'm really fucking stupid sometimes. But then, the Buddha said: "Even now I am making a mistake."

There's no avoiding pain, responsibility, heartache, complications, &ct. That's LIFE baby!

When he asked me to stay in the same house as Doctor Susan, he was telling me that he was okay leaving me in a position whereby I would have to stoop lower than her tactics to win. He couldn't just fucking trust me.

I'm a Shadow Lord Kinfolk. I'm not proud of it. I know what power, money, talent, fame and all those other things "people" "crave" for and I know what it does to people. To families. It was done to me.

Queen Margot. That's a good example of what happens when you get too much of a good thing. You start to think that it's okay to hurt people on a whim just because you're you. *That* is corruption. *That* is evil on the edge of the event horizon.

And he had the audacity to ask me to go there willingly. And then turns around and does the exact same thing to me.

Now the BIG question is.... what do I do with this cluster fuck?


( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
Jan. 28th, 2010 06:56 pm (UTC)
Do you think your soul was "done," or merely on hiatus when you got pushed awkwardly into this lifetime? I mean, obviously there's a reason you're here and a reason you have a lot of crap piled on you. Finding the answers to those 2 major questions could have you stymied until you come back again.

I remember the circumstances by which you moved in with your father and step-mother. Is there *anywhere* else you can live nowadays? She seems to be crazy-making for you.

And, hey, denial can be every bit as useful as cleverness sometimes, you know. ;)

Either I am a bit too dense today to understand what's going on, or you're being too vague. Mostly what I get from this is that you feel pushed into a lifetime you didn't want, you surely don't want to be around your step-mother much, you are having a difficult time with your father, and you are being blamed for things and/or people are suspicious of you. Is that it?
Jan. 28th, 2010 08:57 pm (UTC)
Oh, I got to choose. I didn't have to come back. But the Lady, she's a bitch sometimes. I was sitting with my teacher, frustrated as hell with life, the universe and everything when I whined how I didn't *have* to come back. But she showed me what the world would be like if I didn't, and I didn't really have a choice.

He looked me right in the eye with that little twinkle of his and said, "She got you with that one too, huh?"

And I had to laugh. She/He/It/Them... whatever you want to call god, obviously knows me as my creator and most likely knew that to ask was fait accompli.

I was suckered, and here I was whining about being suckered, when it's all a fucking set up. No one gets out of this life alive. Everyone is fighting a terrible battle. It could be inner demons, it could be exterior demons, it could be real-life-thought-that-only-happened-in-the-movies demons... doesn't matter really. We're *each* fighting them.

Yeah, I got a shitty load. Who doesn't?! That's the thing that pisses me off most about my step mom and her threading me like I'm a fucking nigger. (Not nigga.... nigga isn't derogatory. I mean she's treating me like a nigger.) "Fetch & tote...." She's tried to have me thrown out of the house (which 6 months later my Dad finally said he'd never throw me out... but with a Mom like mine who DID throw me out with less than 8 hours notice... how was I supposed to read his fucking mind that he just meant leave the room when he was yelling at me and not "leave" as in move out?). SH'es trying to make my life as miserable as possible.


But that means I'm going to have to get selfish and reclusive and become That Which Lives Under The Stairs(TM).

Now... I'm not a child. I'm adult. I can handle these situations better than when I was a teen dealing with the DMZ of my parent's divorce. I have freedoms that allow me to do things like get blotto for a little while if I need to blow off steam (that way I hopefully don't blow it in anyone's direction).

Am I perfect? No. Whas the Buddha? No. Is the Dalai Lama? No.

So it really doesn't matter whether this is my last life time or whether I have lessons to learn. That's not the point. There's always shit to be learned. New tech, new ways of glorious and horrible things. It all boils down to the same stuff.............

People and their interactions.

Is there anywhere else I can live right now? Not and give up what I need to survive, like the ability to pay for medications. Nope... I gotta stick by my dad, the only fucking person who's doing right by me [who also just happened to marry a fucking harpy. Again.)

You're getting this, but don't read too much into it. I'm not unconsciously doing some Freudian slippage. I'm doing Freudian slippage on purpose. And throwing in some Jung, Nietzsche and Sartre to boot.

Does that help?
Jan. 29th, 2010 04:10 pm (UTC)
Actually, it's now crystal clear, believe it or not. :) I wish I had more to say to your very well-written response, but I don't. You rather tidied it up for me.
Jan. 30th, 2010 06:13 pm (UTC)
You are one smart cookie, you know that?
( 4 comments — Leave a comment )

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