Dream a Little Dream ...and Make it a Big Dream

This is the story that was printed in the newspaper...along with a second part after the "waiting begins". Hope you all like it. Tell me what you think. Don't worry, I can take it. I might add that originally the story was complete with the "waiting begins" part but the editor wanted a second part, or continuation, in order to have a follow up printing. Like a series I guess. Which means I had to rethink another ending beyond the first ending. Wasn't easy and I'm not sure the second ending really fits the story as a whole plus I wrote it about two years ago so the groove I was in at the time just isn't here now. At any rate, here it is. You all (if you are still here) might remember the first part of this story from few years ago. 

Dream a Little Dream
Lee Ann Fleetwood
As the last page slips into the tray she gathers the pile up, straightens them up, and lays them down on her desk. She sits awhile just looking at them and not thinking a whole lot about anything much. For the moment the "what if" game is being silent and her thoughts are wispy things that have no substance.

She reaches over and takes the single white envelope from the edge of the desk and writes an address on it and then her own. She picks up the papers and starts to slide them inside but hesitates. After a moment she sits back with the papers and once again begins to read what she has written though she has read it many times already. It has been a long time in coming making the journey from the darkest recesses of her mind to the white pristine papers in her printer.
As each word of each line skims across her vision her mind instantly plays out the scenes of her life; the good, the not so good, and the ones she wishes she could forget, but of course, that will never happen. Some things are with you forever.

She reaches the end and once again straightens the pages into an orderly pile and slips them into the waiting envelope. Along with the papers she inserts her hopes and dreams that within these pages her future lies. That the events of her life will finally have meaning because to believe it had none is more than she can bear.

She lays the envelope down while she dresses but can't help looking over now and then and realizes the power that is contained within those pages. The power to change her life the thought frightens her nearly as much as it sparks a bright light of hope within her heart.

She slips on her jacket and collects her keys then walks over and stands in front of her desk looking down. The sudden urge to just chuck the whole thing in the garbage can at her feet is so strong she realizes her hand is already reaching out to do just that before she can stop it. She snatches it back and takes a deep breath. A small pep talk was in order and she gives it and listens patiently to it before grabbing the envelope quickly and heads for the door.

As she sits in her car she tosses it carelessly into the passenger seat almost as an afterthought. If she dwells too long on its importance she feels she will lose herself in the enormity of what she is about to do and, of course, back out while she still can. Backing out is NOT an option. Just start the car and get moving.

Traffic is sufficient to require concentration but she still manages to steal a glance or two at the seat next to her. The closer she gets to her destination the harder her heart pounds until eventually she can hear neither the sounds of traffic nor the negative voice in her head that has been her constant companion these long lonely years.
She pulls up into the parking lot, snatches the envelope, and quickly enters the building as if the hounds of hell are on her heels. She can't help but glance over her shoulder just to make sure it IS just her imagination.

She arrives at the counter and thrusts the envelope that contains her life at the surprised employee. Almost instantly she starts to grab it back as if discovering her child in the arms of a stranger. She catches herself, steps back from the counter and plasters a smile on her face to put the cautious employee at ease, or so she hopes.

“Uhm, can I help you,” he asks?

“Yes, I would like to send that by registered mail,” she answers quickly. She is pretty sure she sounds normal, at least to her ears, though they are full of the sound of her beating heart.

“Ok. Fill out this paperwork and that will be $6.80 and it should be there by Thursday,” he says as he places a sticker on her life and sets it behind him on the outgoing mail shelf. She looks at it sitting there and can't help but imagine the little adventure it is about to embark on. Once again the analogy of a child comes to mind. Her child is venturing out into the world and she won't be there to keep it safe. Her heart not only pounds but squeezes too with pain and trepidation.

She quickly looks away before the tears that threaten start to fall. You would think she had just laid baby Moses in a basket preparing to push him off into the unknown waters the way she felt.

She fills out the paper work and pays the fee then turns to walk away. She can't help but look one more time at her hope for the future lying there so innocently on the shelf. Such power in that envelope, she is amazed there isn't some sign, almost biblical in nature that would indicate the essence of what those pages contain.

She gets back in her car and starts the engine. Buckles her seat belt then turns the radio on. Checks her mirrors before pulling out and heads for home and it is only then that she allows herself to dream a little dream.

And the waiting begins...

Once she reaches home the real waiting begins. Even though she is aware that it could be days, weeks, even months before her intense pangs of labor bear fruit, she cannot help but count every moment of that unknowable future. She will ignore for the moment the possibility that she will never hear a single word about the package containing her dreams for her future and that it could end its short unassuming life lying forgotten and collecting dust in some storage room somewhere. Hardly worth thinking about so has shut that train of thought down instantly whenever it rears its ugly head.  

She gets on with the business of living her life as best she can. Working a dead end job that does nothing to satisfy her desires but pays her bills, what more could one ask for? Days filled with numerous trips to her local bookstore and library to fill her restless need to live an exciting full filling life even if it’s vicariously through someone else’s version of it. She wakes in the morning and falls seamlessly, if not contentedly, into sleep every night having managed to not let her gaze rest too long on the passing days as noted by the kitty calendar hanging in her kitchen.

She keeps busy doing lots of seemingly important things mixed with utterly pointless things. Rinse and repeat, and the days pass. Then weeks pass and slowly weeks turn into months. Turning the page of the calendar from one month to the next has become a ritual that is accomplished with a deep cleansing sigh and a mental kick in the pants to not give up, not just yet. Patience got her through her childhood of fear filled days and terrifying nights and patience saw her through a very long marriage to a very unkind man. Patience was her best friend and soul companion when all others had walked away or simply forgotten she existed. Patience had not let her down so far and she was more than thankful for that small spark of optimism in her life.

If you asked her later about the day she received the call she had been waiting for all her life, a call that started its process of reaching out to her way back in her childhood when every step she took and every action for or against her lead her through her life for better or worse up to that very moment she was meant to answer an unrecognized number, she would say it was among one of the best and worst days of her life. A life filled with a great many worst days but very few best ones.

She was on the side of the road staring down at a flat tire, already very late for a work related meeting, Her dress, torn from a grasping needy edge on the car door and a newly minted speeding ticket tossed angrily onto the passenger seat were just the latest in a day full of “should of stayed in bed” moments. By the time she answered her mobile with an exasperated frustrated sigh hissed through clenched teeth, she was already mentally preparing herself to do battle with whatever new foe was bringing even more bad news; however, the proverbial straw for this particular camel’s back was not in her cards for today. Oh no, not today. Today that camel was about to lighten its straw filled load considerably if she had only known.

“Hello,” she nearly yelled into the phone.

“Hello,” replied a somewhat hesitant voice. “Is this Renee Miller?’

She realized she needed to calm down and not take her escalating bad mood out on the poor stranger who chose to call her at the worst possible moment. “Yes,” she replied in a calm even voice. “Who is this?”

“Hello, Mrs. Miller. This is William Conner calling from Blue Moon Publishing Company. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?” he answered with no hesitation at all in his voice now.

At the exact moment that he uttered the words Blue Moon Publishing it would seem the world came to a sudden and quiet end for it simply ceased to exist for her. She heard nothing, saw nothing, was aware of absolutely nothing other than the crashing thundering sound of a heartbeat that appeared to have forgotten how to function like a heartbeat should. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing at all came out. She closed her mouth and continued to live in a world that no longer existed for a few more crashing thundering heartbeat filled moments.

“Yes,” she replied again but gone was the calm even voice. This yes was little more than a breath filled release.

He rapidly started speaking but she only heard the odd word here and there accompanied by an odd tapping in the back ground. Somewhere in her mind she pictured this unknown William Conner tapping a pen against the edge of his desk, possibly with his feet propped up somewhere along its smooth surface. Words that did manage to pierce her fog filled mind included, “wonderfully written “emotionally powerful”, and “best seller”. Those two words evaporated the fog instantly and the world came crashing back into focus.

“What did you just say? Could you repeat that please?” she asked with a voice full of fear, incomprehension, and yes, hope. Hope that she hadn’t just miss heard him in the absolutely worst way possible and that this small flame of hope was going to quickly be stamped out before the much needed oxygen of life was breathed into it.  She pressed the phone painfully against her ear to drown out every other sound, including her own still thundering heartbeat. “Could you repeat that please,” she asked with as calm a voice as she could muster.

“No problem. I said that we received your manuscript and we are very excited about it. We at Blue Moon don’t usually say this to potential clients on the phone during a first contact call but Mrs. Miller, you just may have a best seller on your hands,” he answered with a touch of laughter in his voice. “We would very much like you to meet with us and discuss the publishing of your book.”+

“Really? You want to meet with me?” she asked tremulously. Not daring to believe that her dream was about to become reality. Possibly. Maybe.  “About publishing my book?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked. “It’s a beautifully written book, at least the chapters we have are so let’s assume the rest will follow suit. Could you come see me next Monday at our offices at 9:00 a.m...? Will that be fine?”

“Yes,” she nearly shouted once again but this time from within a bubble of exploding happiness. “Yes, that would be perfect.” Was it possible that all the pain she had suffered in her life, the loneliness and oceans of tears, the dark days that accumulated into dark years occasionally brightened with lightning strikes of happiness was about to finally mean something beyond she just had been dealt a bad hand? Were the hours and days and months spent pouring her grief and pain into her computer while keeping a box of tissues nearby that constantly needed replacing at last going to MEAN something beyond her life just sucked? She was beginning to think maybe it did. If it meant nothing more than her story might affect others in some way that benefited them to some degree than her life did mean something, at least to her, and that was a feeling she had needed to know all her life. The smile beginning on her face felt strange and out of place but also very good.

“Great,” he said. Monday at 9:00 it is. See you then.” He hung up and several moments passed before she closed her phone as well. The flat tire, the torn dress, the late appointment all seemed to fade away as she contemplated Monday at 9:00 a.m. and the impossible possibilities. Several cars passed by and the amused drivers were treated to the vision of a woman in her 40’s with long red hair in a blue flowery dress twirling happily with arms stretched out and her face raised up to the sun. A very odd reaction indeed for someone with a flat tire who looked like she needed to be somewhere important.

The scars of our memories.

When I was around 7 years old my father hit me on the head with a wire hanger. My "crime" was that I had scuffed the toes of my new school shoes. He checked them just before I was ready to head out the door to school and his reaction was rather extreme...if I say so myself. 

Grabbing the first thing available, one of those wire hangers that had a cardboard cylinder for a base, he smacked me on the head with it several times. He then kicked my butt, literally, and sent me out the door crying and with abusive words and threats ringing in my ears. Unknown to me, but I would shortly find out, was that he had actually managed to hit me hard enough that the wire had entered my skull...thus I was bleeding quite profusely as I stumbled shaking and crying down the street on the way to the bus stop.

 It was one of those moments where you don't realize you are injured until someone points it out to you. In this case, it was one of our neighbors that happened to be out in her yard and who quickly let me know something was wrong with me by her piercing screams and bug eyed look as she rushed towards me. 

She actually scared the cry right out of me as I saw her come rushing at me and I wanted to turn tail and run back to the house. Not often children see strangers come running at them while screaming and reaching out in such a way...but back home was the stuff of my nightmares...and so I stopped dead in the street and waited for whatever fate this screeching woman intended for me. 

It was then I realized I felt a very warm sensation oozing down my face and shoulder and I reached up to wipe it away only to come away with a hand drenched in blood. I stared at my red hand wondering just how it came to be covered in blood and couldn't think of one good reason. Suddenly the screaming woman went silent though her mouth still made the motions of screaming...only to be replaced with a very loud buzzing sound. Just before I went weak at the knees I was scooped up by someone I hadn't seen coming up behind me. My mother. 

Apparently my mother hadn't witnessed my father's early morning lessons on keeping my shoes unscuffed, but had heard me crying as I left the house and came to the door to see if I had left or not. It was then she noticed blood droplets in a haphazard line leading away from the door and towards the sidewalk. She told me her heart stopped in her chest when she saw that blood, assuming I had been taken by someone and injured in the process. She ran down to the  sidewalk just in time to hear the neighbor woman start screaming...and assumed the very worst.  

As she rushed me back to the house intending to take me to the hospital, not knowing how I was injured but seeing lots of blood, she was met with my stony faced father who quickly took charge of my "medical care". He refused to allow her to take me anywhere and insisted I be put in the shower so all the blood could be washed off. I remember him insisting my underwear stayed on which seemed rather odd when I thought about it years later. All the while he was washing off the blood he was on a long rant of how it was my fault and these were the consequences of disobeying his orders. I made not a peep in my own defense knowing it would do no good and also knowing it could make matters far worse. 

My father investigated my head to see what the injury was and declared there being no need to pay a fortune for the hospital when all I had was a pin sized hole in my skull from the end of the wire hanger. My mother did not insist...in fact she said very little. Something I took in stride at the time but would recall years later as being silent acceptance of my fate at his hands yet again. 

He kept me home from school that day and we never spoke of it again until I was grown and my mother came to visit me. She said that she didn't want me  to be hurt more than I was so she remained quiet...to protect me. Considering what that man did to me over and over again for the next 10 years I find it hard to believe my safety was what motivated her that day...but who knows.  Possibly she had my short term safety more in mind back then.

I think about that particular moment of abuse more than lots of others because I have a scar on my head to constantly remind me. It started out as a small raised bump but over time it has grown bigger and gets scratched my hair brush quite often. My father is long gone but his mementos are still around keeping his memory alive. Yay me. 

Another memorable event that always comes back with unending clarity were when he forced me to stand in the corner with my sodden underwear pulled over my head. I was a horrible bed wetter as a child and it lasted until around the age of 9 I believe. My older sister absolutely hated sleeping with me as I generally soaked us both with my nocturnal offerings more often than not. I remember my father making it a point to come check the bed every morning and me laying there fully aware of what he was going to find yet again. 

No matter how hard I tried or what I did (using the bathroom before bed, not drinking anything for hours ahead of time) it never seemed to help much. I actually recall having dreams as a child of me getting up and using the bathroom, feeling that sense of  release when you have been holding it and then get to finally go as you sit down...only to wake up and realize it wasn't a dream. For the rest of the night I would lay there cold and shaking from both the wetness and fear. 

On those mornings he chose to come throw the covers back and pull me from the bed I knew what fate awaited me...hours with my face pressed into the corner with my own panties snug against my face. Of course it didn't end there. Once his particular brand of punishment was over I still had my older sister to contend with. She always found time to punch or pinch me while hissing in my ear about how disgusting I was and what a baby I was and did I need diapers again? 

For the life of me when I think about these episodes...I can't remember what my mother had to say about it or if she ever did anything for or against me other than once again change the sheets on the bed after letting it air outside for a few hours. To this day the smell of urine triggers memories of those mornings spent in the corner while everyone else went about their routine as if I were invisible and inconsequential. Good times.

Years later when my own youngest daughter had her own bed wetting years, I should have made the connection, one of many, but it just never clicked until hind sight gave me 20/20 vision about that and a lot of other clues as to what was going on. Another reason to feel such guilt about my blindness. 

When these memories, and so many others, suddenly intrude on a perfectly nice moment, I can't help but wonder what memories my own children have locked away that also cannot be forgotten and make for unwanted company now and again? In my own defense (if I even have the right to make one) I did not remain quiet from the moment I learned what he was doing. I know this does not mean anything against the painful memories my children suffer from when I was clueless but it at least lets them know that if I had known sooner...I would have stopped it sooner. 

Small solace but something I try and convince myself means something. 

 

A reoccurring dream has me head scratching...again.

As I have stated several times on this blog, I often have dreams over and over again that generally end up meaning something to me, or coming true in some cases. Quite often these reoccurring dreams occur in the same place, like a bedroom or a particular road that ran near where I lived for awhile in my teens. One dream I have had many times over the past few years puts me in a bedroom, though this one is a room I'm not familiar with, in which I am on one side of the locked door and someone else is on the other side trying very hard to get in. That someone is almost always my father though now and again it is some unknown person. 

These dreams are not exactly scary but I do wake up from them feeling stressed and a bit anxious. I'm not sure what the purpose is considering my father has been dead for quite some time now. It's not like I will ever find myself on the other side of a door from him while he tries to knock it down. 

The more interesting thing to me is that I don't feel as if I dream that often. I know we forget our dreams generally upon waking giving us the impression we don't dream, so that may be it, but most mornings I wake up with no memory of having dreamt. When I do dream they are vivid life like events that have very little fantasy type scenarios involved. In order to come true they need to be capable of coming true. Dreams that reoccur often do come true in some fashion, though, so I suppose if I dreamed of flying it could be me in an airplane and not me personally flying...but my dreams don't generally work like that either. One thing doesn't generally stand for another thing. If I ever dream that I can fly chances are I can and just need to muster up the courage to jump off the highest available peak. My dreams are more like that .

 The dream about my father on the other side of a door trying to get me is on my mind a lot as he recently showed up in once again doing just that. The way my dreams generally work doesn't mean my father on the other side of a door trying to get me symbolizes some inner angst...but that at some point in my future, my dad will be on the other side of a door trying to get me. That is what the dream tells me..but that is impossible. Over the years I have had this same dream too many times to count, but I don't give it too much thought because my father is dead. End of story. The dream can't come true...so why do I keep having them?

One other interesting thing about my dreams is that I don't dream of the people currently in my life all that often. While married to my ex for 20 years he rarely showed up in my dreams...as did my father while living at home. An occasional cameo role is about the most they could hope for. My children probably show up more often than any others in my life, but then again, still not as often as it would seem they should. The love of my life probably even less so. This is something I have always found a little strange. My dreams are generally about me, of course, but often just me or me with unknown people set in familiar surroundings...friends and family are almost never co stars. 

I have no idea if that means anything at all in regards to my psychological make up or sanity level but it is something I have experienced all my life so is normal, whatever that it. However, dreaming of my dead father in a way that makes it seem as if a future event might take place that is impossible (unless one believes in the zombie potential...hmmm) but also knowing that those dreams of mine that do reoccur often come true in surprisingly accurate ways has me scratching my head.

Not sure if I should find this interesting...or be worried about it. My dad alive was hard enough to live with....not sure I want to find out what the alternative is.

New Year 2014. Last one was damn rough...time for something a little different.

2012 was one of my worst years yet since I divorced. No lie. I made some very bad choices, burned some much needed bridges, and generally just set myself on a destructive course that nearly had me in the black for good. 2013 was mostly spent trying to do damage control with varying degrees of success depending on who you asked. If you ask me, I wouldn't mind forgetting 2012 all together and parts of 2013 can follow right along, thank you. 

However, I didn't die from any of those bad choices so I will assume that means I still have time to do better and be better. A work in progress. Good days and bad days rub shoulders and have me on that emotional roller coaster ride that never seems to have an end. I have cried a lot and laughed little. I have spent more times just sitting doing nothing other than beating myself up over all those bad choices that just kept coming rather than do something about them...but eventually I caught on and started doing something. Too little too late? As I said, I'm not dead yet so let's assume the answer is no. 

I seriously need to start writing again. I keep saying I will and then let things get in the way even though this empty space is running like a ticker tape through my head day and night. It begs to be filled and my fingers itch to fill it but my mind just gets in the way and makes excuses...never seem to run out of those. 

Anyhow, my one resolution, if I must, is to get back to writing. I need to fill the empty spaces with words that won't stop in my head until they are written down. I need to finish that story I started awhile back that some of you may remember and I need to figure out how to make my writing work for me because I stopped writing and I started spiraling. I see a connection yet I couldn't seem to stop it or fix it. My goal is to write at least one post a week, more if properly motivated. Whether my readers come back or not is immaterial...I always did write just for me but the positive feedback was always nice. 

So here I am, 2014. Not dead yet. Not out for the count. Long as I wake up every morning then I have been given another chance to do better than the day before. Let's see if I have enough sunrises left to undo the destructive sunsets that are behind me? 

Wish me luck. 

The value of a child.

A Bahraini man publicly declared that he would be willing to sacrifice his children for peace in Bahrain. He was called a hero by many when it was posted on Facebook by supporters of peace in Bahrain. I was the only one who took exception to his declaration and said so. Here is what I said. Comments?

I am a follower of the Defend Bahrain page on Facebook and recently a particular Shiia man's name was mentioned as being "a hero" because he stated that he would be willing to sacrifice his 5 children for peace in Bahrain (for the record he was denouncing those in Bahrain that are causing chaos). Dozens of comments lauded this man as a not only a hero but a shining example of what a citizen of this country should strive to be like. As a parent myself I was absolutely horrified by his statement and by those that verbally back slapped and high fived him. I'm sure they would have carried him on their shoulders as well if possible. As parents we are given one task the moment we realize we are now parents and that is to protect our children from harm. There is no piece of land on this planet that comes close to being worth the blood that flows through any one of my children's bodies. We are meant to protect them with OUR lives...not sacrifice them on the alter of stupidity, ignorance, and pride. What is the point of bringing peace to Bahrain if we have thrown our children to the wolves in the process as we are meant to want peace for THEM, not for ourselves. We are leaving this land for them and for those that come after them. Not for ourselves as we will be long gone eventually. To say you are willing to sacrifice your children for a piece of land means you are not only an unfit parent, but neither deserving of nor striving for that peace you so loudly claim you want because a home that has lost all its children to war can never be a peaceful home....and a home that has lost all its children due to a parents neglect, pride and misplaced priorities is hell on earth. How can peace come from that? A true hero is a man that lays down his weapons, be they real or imagined, physical or verbal, while standing in front of his children and declaring, no more fighting...I want peace..and I am willing to sacrifice my pride, my ego, and my life for that goal, as long as they are safe. If everyone of those on that page who called him a hero were willing to sacrifice their own children as well, Bahrain would become a barren wasteland for what is peace without the sound of children playing and laughing. It is an empty meaningless peace.

A Squeezing of the Heart

A Squeezing of the Heart

For much of my life I was alone. Yes, I had a family growing up but I was not like any of them..or they were not like me. Not sure which is more relevant or if it matters. What matters is that I wasn't very connected with them and so spent much of my time alone...and by alone I don't actually mean physically alone, since that was rather impossible, but more emotionally alone or mentally alone. I spent more time inside my head then out of it...if that makes sense. 

When I married things didn't really change all that much. I really had no connection to my ex, who never read a book, never thought too deeply about anything important, and never understood why I did. I spent more time alone then with him...both physically and mentally. 

I couldn't really make friends either. Mostly because he didn't allow me to be with people, for the most part, but even when I was I didn't really know how to foster friendships and maintain them...so either he broke them up or my inability to be properly sociable did. Either way, I was alone more often than not. I was alone a lot in my life. I could say I was use to it but that wouldn't be true. Choosing to be alone is one thing...having it forced on you is something else.

And then I met someone who changed all that. 

This person was (is) everything I thought I would never have in my life. Something I thought I never deserved to have in my life.

 I was taught from a young age that I was worthless, useless, a waste of space and not very good at anything. Not a good daughter, sister, wife, mother, Muslim, friend, girl friend...etc.. Even though my I.Q. was higher than most children my age (I was tested and skipped grades blah blah blah), I was made to feel stupid and never encouraged to build or make something of my intelligence. My father couldn't be bothered to allow me to see just how smart I was. He refused to send me to college...hell, he refused to pay for SAT to get into college. I couldn't take them because I had no money of my own. I took the free ASVAB and went into the military. Not what I wanted in my life but the choice was not mine at the time....and see where that got me.

My ex spent 20 years destroying what little self worth I had left. He degraded everything there was to degrade in me..both physically and mentally. We both knew I was smarter than him...yet he made it a point to attack me in every way possible so that my intelligence was never a weapon I could use against him. I was too busy trying to get through each day...day after day...trying to be a better wife, mother, Muslim etc. so that the words and abuse would stop. If I could be better...he would be nicer. Didn't work with my dad but it might with the ex.

It didn't work but we all know now that it never would have. Abusers don't care. Period. No amount of fixing yourself will fix them....since they are the ones who are truly fucked up. 

At any rate, by the time this person entered my life...I was about as low as one could go and not actually be under ground in a grave. That all changed...to a point.

There is something about being loved by another human being that changes you. To see how he or she looks at you to the exclusion of anyone else in the room. The way he or she softens their voice to speak just to you...softens their touch just for your skin. The way they sit closer to make sure their body has some kind of contact with you. The way the sound of his voice causes a  reaction in you...or the way her gaze focused on you makes goosebumps crawl up and down your arms. That reaction your body experiences just because that person is near...or if they are not near...just thinking about them can do things to you that nobody else can. The way they go out of their way to make sure YOU know how important you are in their life. How special you are. How loved and appreciated you are just for being you. It's like your existence suddenly makes sense...you exist for the soul purpose to be loved by that someone special. 

Now it is one thing to have someone fall in love with you, quite another for you to believe it...to believe you are worthy to have such a love given to you when you have been made to believe that you are unlovable, unable to generate any emotion other than disgust, hate, or worse, indifference, in others. To have someone open a door and enter your life that knows none of your history, none of your emotional hangups and can't see the scars you have on the inside that are far worse than the ones on the outside...and just loves you because of YOU...not only is that hard to believe...it is hard to understand. 

There is obviously something wrong with me...for my entire life people have been detailing exactly all that is wrong with me. They can't all be wrong...can they? So how is it you can't see what they see? How is it you can see my intelligence? My sense of humor. My blue ocean eyes that sparks a shiver inside you when I look at you with that intensity that you love so well. How is it that my touch, which has always been described as cold and unwelcoming, is suddenly, not only welcomed but longed for? Who is this person you see when you look at me that nobody else can see because it seems you are looking at a stranger. Someone I certainly don't recognize and have never heard of. Since there is something obviously wrong with me...yet you find me desirable, lovable, and all things good...then there must also be something wrong with you. Yes...that is how my mind has been working during the course of this relationship.

Of all the things I have had to work on within myself..my anger, my self esteem, my sense of purpose and worth...believing I am worthy of another person's love has to be the one that has come hardest to me. People who professed to love me have been leaving me all my life...and usually after doing something  truly horrible to me (so better they left really but still painful), and those that stayed in my life made sure I understood they were the ones suffering from my existence because I was more work then I was worth. It is hard to get past a life time of that sort of conditioning. It doesn't happen over night and not just because someone enters your life and tells you that you are loved. 

It doesn't work like that. Believe me. 

No matter how much that person will express his or her love. How much they might go to pains to show you, prove it, live it every day of your life. No matter how much you want to believe it..there is always that little voice in the back of your mind saying, it's only a matter of time before he or she discovers that same person everyone else was aware of, that unlovable person, and do what they all did...either leave or stay and suffer from your existence. 

So because that voice is the voice of the demon that lives in your head and has lived in there since you were old enough to know that a demon lived in your head...it is the voice that dominates much of your thoughts, your choices, your life. No amount of love from another human being can silence the voice of the demon that assures you that no matter what that person says...you are not worth being loved. Period. 

So you hear the words, love and enjoy how that person makes you feel, how they touch your heart, your mind, your body...while the whole time the demon is negating it all in your head. It is a constant war going on that never ceases. There are lulls, there are retreats now and then but it is a full scale war going on and the casualties are constantly piling up. Of course the casualties are the moments you let pass, the choices you made believing they were the right choices, the harm you did to your relationship because the demon dominated your thoughts. Created anger and doubt and suspicion where none existed...but existed in your head none the less. Demons are powerful things. So powerful that sometimes even love cannot conquer them. 

My personal demon was anger, of course. All the years of abuse from every corner of my life caused such an all consuming anger in me that in the end, I had very nearly destroyed not only myself...but the one relationship...the one love that was given to me freely and unconditionally. 

It is not that I don't love this person. I do beyond words. Beyond expression. It is just that I couldn't believe in myself, find worth in myself, find anything in myself to deserve what I was being given so much of. I was letting the anger and self doubt destroy even the little bit of good I had in my life. I was allowing that anger and self doubt to make choices for me that were not good choices but of which I had no power NOT to make because the voice in my head, my demon...was the most powerful force in my life up until then. Not even the greatest love I have ever had the honor of being given could quiet the voice of my own personal demon. 

I had to fall very hard and very fast and all the way to the goddamn bottom almost (almost) before I learned that the demon was alive and well because I fed it, nurtured it, and gave it everything it needed to survive. It needed my anger, my self doubt, my self loathing to live comfortably in my head...it needed everything negative I had within me...and I had a lot...and so it grew and grew and became louder and louder...until every other voice was drowned out (even my own). Even the voice of my love. 

So I made choices. Bad choices. Choices that were bad for me, for my children and for this relationship that was the best thing I have ever had in my life. At the time, of course, I thought they were the right choices but then that was the lying little demon convincing me they were. And I listened...and lost a lot. 

As my previous post indicated, I had an epiphany of sorts. Realized that I needed to just Let Things Go if I was going to survive my life. Survive with any sense of peace and happiness. I'm 44 years old and not getting any younger (so sad) and all I can say is better late than never that I was finally able to drown out that terrible horrible little voice that has been my constant companion since I was a child. Of course I still have moments of doubt, moments of in which I have to mentally catch myself from falling into bad habits of self destruction...but I'm coming along quite well for the most part. 

However, I have learned that just because I am healing myself...working on myself and doing what I can to ensure I am a mentally healthy person...that doesn't mean the damage all that anger created isn't still being felt by those that are closest to me and suffered the most from it. Most especially by the one person that loved me when no other person on this planet could find one reason to do so (not including my children here of course...that is a different kind of love). I damaged this relationship a lot by making choices that hurt us both. I thought they were the right choices at the time...but they were choices made in anger so obviously were not going to turn out well. Unfortunately, fortune telling is not one of my skills...and I'm worse off because of it. 

So now that I have let the anger go (mostly, still working on some issues) and have gained a lot in my life because of it (inner peace, happy thoughts, better choices made with a clearer mind and losing weight), I find that now this relationship is in danger of coming to an end. Not because the love is gone, it isn't. Still as strong as ever. Not because the desire to be together is gone. Still there...but because my anger has been a very real part of this relationship even when we both tried to ignore it or excuse it. My decisions and choices were made from anger and they turned out very bad for all concerned...and so this person is use to being hurt because of my anger and the resulting fall out. Hard to convince someone that it's no longer an issue when it always has been before. Sort of like convincing myself I am worthy of being loved...even when everything in my life convinced me that I wasn't. 

I am so afraid now. More afraid than at any time in my life. More afraid then when I thought my father was going to actually kill me. More afraid then when I thought I was going to actually kill my husband. More afraid then when I thought I was going to die at various times in my life. None of those moments of fear can measure up to the this overwhelming fear that now consumes me that NOW...when I have finally gotten my life on a good track. When I have accomplished so much mentally, physically and emotionally...to the point where I can feel actual happiness is within my grasp...now when I believe that this relationship can actually be better than it has ever been before because NOW I won't be busy destroying it with anger and self doubts etc....now is when it will finally succumb to all the pain it has had to endure over the years. 

Now....when it has the best possible chance of succeeding...is when it will fall apart. 

Irony...Karma...which ever it is...you are a bitch.  

I am fearful that my vanquished demon will return with a vengeance because even though the anger is gone...it is being replaced with fear of abandonment once again. I cannot blame this person for leaving me...lord knows I did my share of pushing away...but I cannot seem to find the right words to convince that all will be better now.

Words have abandoned me, it seems....and without the power of my words...what do I have left to convince with? Words are all I have ever had to truly express myself. To make people listen up and pay attention to me when most of the time I am invisible and ignored. 

I have accomplished so much within myself this past 5 months or so...but my greatest fear is that it is simply too late. I will end up losing the one thing that kept me going when nothing within myself could do that. And for that reason...I am terrified. 

It is hard to remain positive and moving forward towards happiness when that very source of my happiness seems intent on moving further away no matter what I do. I cannot blame anyone but me for this. Which is ironic considering I have been blamed for all the failures my abusers had within themselves but pushed off on me all my life...I didn't deserve those blames...but this one I actually do...and I am afraid it will send me free falling back into the black that I have worked so hard to pull myself out of. 

I have dealt with abuse, with neglect, with anger and self doubt. I have lived through soul destroying loneliness and unhappiness. I have survived when my abusers have died alone or continue to live but are alone having lost everything. I survived all of that for better or worse...but I am not sure I can survive this person leaving me (or worse yet, becoming indifferent). 

It will be one leaving too many. 

All I can say is that I love you. Need you. Want you and that I am so sorry for my past mistakes. I have no excuse other than that I am a work in progress. I cannot undo in such a short time what 40 plus years has had time to create in me. Have a little more patience with me and I promise it will all be worth it. I am trying so hard. Please don't give up on me. 

Please.

Just Let It Go

For those that use to read me regularly you may have noticed that I haven't written anything significant for quite some time. Writing is my Thing. It's what I do and I have always enjoyed it since I realized I do it rather well. However, this past year hasn't been My Year, so to speak. I've been in an up and down roller coaster ride that has had me either hanging on for dear life...or raising my hands in the air and enjoying the thrill. All this has resulted in one very troubling aspect in my life...I lost the desire to write.

Period.

It just left. No idea why...or really when but I realized at some point that I just had nothing to say anymore. Or maybe I felt my words had lost their ability to really convey what I was feeling or what I wanted to express. I have no idea but the end result was silence in the one area of my life I had always depended on to get my demons out...or my humor (I choose to call it that) or whatever was on my mind. Without being able to write...it has all been locked up inside me...and damned if I haven't suffered because of it.

I went down the rabbit hole more or less and apparently enjoyed it so much I decided to stay there for a spell. I have been down that hole before (my past made it a place I tend to visit from time to time) but I have always used my writing to pull me back out again. This time I did not have even that ability to rescue myself...so there I stayed.

Around the first part of this year I had a revelation of sorts. I was angry. Very angry. Angry at the people in my life (past and present) that have done things to me that turned me into a negative, pissed off person. Every day I was fuming about one thing or another. My temper, which use to be so hard to trigger, was now on a veritable trip wire. Anything could set me off...and I was a raging ball of fire. I was a seething mass of negative energy that ended up corrupting everything good in my life...because I was too angry to pay attention to the good things in my life.

I was letting my past ruin my present...and destroy whatever good my future held for me. I was allowing all that bullshit that was my past life...be the sum total of my present life. I was my past..and my past was me. When I realized that I was allowing those people, that are long gone from my life, to still be a part of it (taking up full time rent free space in my head) and therefore impacting and corrupting it...I knew I either accepted the rabbit hole as my forever dwelling...or fight my way out of it.

Everyone who reads (or did) about my life know that I have 5 kids. I had a blast with my kids while they were growing up. We were rarely apart for any reason and they were a close knit group of siblings. My kids are mostly all grown now. I have my youngest, 15 years old, at home still but the rest are off living their lives. The silence that is my house now weighs on me terribly. Gone are the sounds of the music they all played, the fighting or laughing...the messes they each generate in their way. This silence has fueled my anger in ways...because I had no distractions from that anger and could spend copious amounts of time nurturing it and feeding the flames. My children are the soul reason I survived my marriage. Having them in my life, knowing I needed to be there for them..meant I couldn't give up or give in. Even if I felt my life wasn't worthwhile or important, theirs was...and I had to make sure they knew it. Now they are gone (generally speaking) and Ive been alone with my thoughts, my inner demons, my anger issues...and that has meant I had little respite from the inner destruction that was going on.

As I said, I realized one day that I might as well still be married if I was going to wake up every day and spend my time, my precious time, living as if my ex was still a real and meaningful presence in my life. If my memories of the past were going to keep me company as I went about my daily routine, ruining whatever happiness I might gain from even the smallest of joys then why bother living. If the experiences I had while living in Bahrain for the first 20 years...were going to color and corrupt whatever came after that then what was the point of the divorce..of gaining my freedom...if I was still going to live as if I were a prisoner?

I realized that the only person that could save me from my anger and issues with my past...was ME. Once I realized this I set about on a course of emotional healing. I spend far too much of my time alone...but one thing that being alone affords me is time to think....and think... and think some more. At times I would lay in my bed, during my time off from work, and just think. I would do nothing else but think about my past, my anger issues and where they came from...and what I could do to change what I was becoming (or had become) into someone better. I would literally lay there for two days solid and just stare at the ceiling...going through every damn issue that had turned me into a person that others didn't want to be around (did I mention I have lost several "friends" this past year as well)...I thought it was them...but realized it must be me since it kept happening. I find it incredibly hard to make friends, went most of my whole life without really having any, so losing the ones I did have was like a confirmation to my already low self esteem that I'm not even worthy to remain friends with. If others can't stand me..what did that say about me?

I worked my way through issues that were like open wounds on my soul. I poked and prodded them and made them bleed out all that pent up corrosive blood until only fresh blood remained. As I dealt with each issue I would ask myself...why is this still making me so angry...and is it worth it still? Of course, most of the time (damn near every time) the answer was no. Anger and self loathing, low self esteem and feelings of unworthiness were not worth it. My past was what it was...I couldn't change that...but I could change today, tomorrow and whatever came after that. As I worked my way through each and every issue...the end result would be to Just Let It Go.

Like a balloon that yearned to be free and sail off into parts unknown...I released, one after the other, issue after issue that was weighing me down, corrupting my relationships, my goals, my life. As each balloon sailed away I felt myself become lighter inside. I started feeling something I hadn't felt in so long I wasn't even sure I was calling it by the right name.

I started feeling happy. (don't be as shocked as I was please)

Happiness is not a feeling I have really felt too often in my life...and when I say happy I mean more than just a fleeting moment of happiness that is more like a memory than a state of mind. It felt unfamiliar and alien at the beginning...almost like an impostor had set up residence after I kicked out the abusive squatters. I almost didn't know how to handle this new emotional state. I felt like a beginner at happiness..a noob that needed to feel my way around and learn the rules and tricks before really putting my all into the game.

Apparently the "new" me was attracting some attention. I have had people at work comment more than once that I always seemed to walk around with a scowl on my face (I'm sure I was as I always had some inner demon playing with my mind)..or that I looked like I wanted to punch someone. Now they were amazed to notice that I was smiling, whistling...even singing...while going about my work. I had a few people ask me if I was in love..had I found someone that had brought about this change. Well, first off, yes...I am in love, have been for years now, but that relationship was one of the ones I was busy destroying due to my anger issues and one I was desperately trying to save at that point....but the reasons for the smiling, whistling and singing was due to another person all together.

Me. I was happy....or working hard so that I knew it was coming. I could feel it...see it...taste it. As I worked my way though each issue...I finished with it..and then Just Let It Go. I could not possibly explain with adequate words the effect this had had on me emotionally. Yes of course I still get angry (more than I like still...a work in progress) and I know that to never get angry is just not possible...but when I trip up and fall into a full blown anger melt down, I mentally try as hard as I can to reign myself in and put a halt before it gets out of control. (again, not always successful but I'm far better at it then I used to be). I ask myself, will this matter in 5 minutes, ten...tomorrow...and of course it most likely won't. And when I realize this...I can almost  feel myself relax and feel the anger start to recede and dissipate. It has stopped my anger in its tracks most of the time...most, work in progress as I said.

I have reached a stage now where so many things that use to set me off (thoughts of my past, of Bahrain, of certain people) don't really affect me at all anymore. I can think about them without feeling that tightness in my chest that would be an indicator that rage was building. I can talk about them without gnashing my teeth or getting angry at the person I'm talking to because the person I'm really angry at isn't there. Those balloons have sailed...and I have never heard of a balloon that was set free...come back to its owner.

Now, if there was one set back to all this emotional healing...it's convincing others that it's actually taking place. People who know me, love me, are so used to Angry Red...that they are suspicious of New Red. For some reason they would rather believe that you can't change who you have always been even though those same people have been encouraging me for years to do exactly that. I have actually gotten into arguments (go figure) while trying to convince these same people that the changes are real, are reaping benefits and are permanent. I much prefer New Red to Angry Red...why would I go back to that...and why do those I love most keep insisting I do? I have no idea.

Anyhow, I have a lot more to say. That makes me happy just writing that as it means I have more writing to do...and I realize this post is not up to my usual standards but I felt the need to write and I haven't felt that in such a long time...I'm just putting it out there before the mood disappears. So you guys (if there are any readers left) get a rough copy and I'm sorry for that but it is what it is. 

A few topics I will write about are my two recent trips to Bahrain (yes...imagine that), my new status as Grandma (my granddaughter is amazing) and what the future might hold for me. I became friends again with my ex from high school and other topics that might be of interest.  Stay tuned...if you are interested. I know I am.

Oh mind of mine...

Being alone with my thoughts
What black chaos
What red pain

Filling my head with your sneaky ways
Devious pain filled images
Do you even care...oh mind of mine

Three little words on a screen
Causing doubt...hurt...regrets
Squeezing my heart

Wonder of wonders
It still functions...beats
Tho each one leaves me breathless

Choking my throat
Filling my eyes so I can't see
Squeezing...always squeezing

Oh mind of mine
You are not really my friend
Will you leave me too?

I spend a lot of time on line (more than I should of course) looking at what other people thought was worthy of recording for the express purpose of entertaining other people. I'm curious as to what is going through the minds of these video makers when they not only record the video but then decide the rest of us are just as interested in seeing it as they were in recording it.

Now there are two categories of video snippets that are out there for our viewing pleasure...the purposely made videos as mentioned above...and the caught completely by accident snippets that are generally the more entertaining. We, as the viewing public, can make or break the "careers" of the video takers...we have the power of the "click".

I see these things go viral (meaning they are spread through the Internet like a virus with a million hits in a very short amount of time...hit meaning viewed) I see completely ordinary people suddenly thrust into the limelight simply because they caught someone on video doing something funny, amazing, scary, unexpected....or usually for most of them...something completely off the wall stupid. Next thing you know they are the headline news on Yahoo! and Ellen has them lined up to be on her show.

Soooo....I got to thinking (I do that sometimes)...I can do that. How hard can it be. I can video someone doing something amazing, wonderful, scary...or probably just bone numbingly stupid...and put it on the Net and ...walah!! I will join the ranks of the great 15 min famers...I will be a viral sensation and my name, Coolred, will be a household word...teenage girls will aspire to be me and teenage boys will wish they could date the teenage girls that aspire to be me.

I'm thinking here folks.

Soooo...I went out and bought that Flip video recorder up there in the image. Figured if I was going to record something that would make me famous..I would need a recording device (it helps I'm told) and that one looks fairly straight forward. Point. Record. Upload. Bask in Internet glory.

Repeat if necessary.

There is one small problem I have encountered though....all those videos I have viewed appear as if the person recording just walks around with their phone cams, or whatever they use, always on and ready to make history. I see people nearly get hit by cars (not funny to watch but still amazing) and there ALWAYS seems to be someone near by coincidentally filming them. I suppose I could stand on a street corner and pray for a near miss while holding my cam out like a can of Mace at every car that goes by but...eh!! according to some videos...THAT person on the sidewalk is just as likely to get hit as the one she hopes to record...so maybe not a good idea.

Babies are right at this moment making their parents Internet Sensation Parents by doing something so adorable and smile inducing the rest of the world does a collective ahhhhh when viewing it.

I don't have a handy baby to go that route. Hmmmm? Thinking complete strangers with babies might not like me pointing my cam at their baby either. Parents can be rather rude like that.

My apartment building is known for its Daily Drama. There is always some girl throwing her cheating no good boyfriends things out on to the curb or the cops come swooping in with lights flashing and siren singing to break up yet another drug ring or....arrest a rent skipper. All very dramatic and worthy of a few moments of video taking...but then again...people involved in drama aren't always happy to see others taking advantage and recording their drama for the benefit of Internet stardom...they can be rather defensive about that....and cops..well they tend to get upset when you point ANYTHING at them...so no..better not go there.

Hmmm?

Could stand in the college parking lot and hope someone slips on the ever present ice and does a gymnastic worthy 10 of a maneuver....oh forgot..that was just me...and sadly nobody was around to record me do my thing. Unfortunately, I couldn't repeat that performance if my Internet life depended on it. *sigh*

One more option...have my trusty cam ready while I'm driving my trusty jeep around town. Have it on the seat next to me to be swooped up in an instance whenever something looks even remotely sensationalistic...I could do that.

Then again, while I am busy making Internet fame...someone else might be busy recording that "crazy lady who crashed into the side of the bank building because she was busy looking out her window recording someone doing something and not looking where she was going".

Yeah...I would totally be THAT woman.

Someone else would get the Internet fame and I would just get the ticket and bill for damages. Not good.

This isn't going to be as easy as it first seemed. Got some kinks to work out and planning to do. Instant Internet fame doesn't happen completely by accident...

Oh wait...