Alone

Traveling incognito, I seem to belong to this world of middle class worries and conceits. The people around me find me infinitely amusing and sage. They believe they know me. They believe they understand me. It's a testament to my great powers of disguise and assimilation. In fact, I live in another country from those who think they've defined me.

I have seen things others have not and I have lived through my own concentration camp. I know what it means to entertain your captors so they will spare your life. Have no doubt about it; I could have died at any time, either by my father's hand or by any of the people he brought into my life. I know how it feels to be hungry and cold and all alone with no hope in sight. I know how to continue in the midst of despair.

I've watched people's faces as I've revealed bits and pieces of my life and understand that most people don't have the courage or fortitude to hear it all. Sometimes it's too easy to recognize the revulsion they're trying to hide. They find my past disgusting, but like a twelve year old boy at a slasher movie, they just can't seem to look away. They'd like for me to believe in their compassion, but I know it's less a matter of compassion than an opportunity for self congratulation. They're too good to ever allow themselves to walk into the darkness in which I lived for so long. It's a different universe. I'm from the other side. I've studied the manners and customs in this alien land. Unless I choose to reveal it, no one ever guesses that iIm not as simple as I lead them to believe. Therein lies the problem.

I am still, after so long, alone. I've been alone ever since I can remember. It feels so familiar that I rarely even notice it now. No matter how practiced I become at blending in (and I am very, very good at it), I know that I'll always be separate from the people I come into contact with every day. I could have chosen to embrace the darkness, like many of my relatives, but I would be alone even then.

The problem is that, though I'm intimately connected to depravity, I'm unable to accept it as a way of life. I see it for what it is, a predictable end to a troubled life. My cousins haven't such a clear understanding. They engage in adulterous affairs leading to murder on occasion, they abuse substances, they believe violence is the perfect way to express one's unhappiness. It's normal for them, just as being alone is normal for me. None of us have any choice about that. They're unable to free themselves from the past and so am i. At least they have plenty of company; a lot of people live at the end of line. Check out any bar on any given Friday night and you'll find at least one person reveling in going as far down as they can possibly go.

I used to reach out to people, believing that if I just kept searching, I would find my own milieu. As it turns out, there probably isn't one. I'm still standing over here on the far shore, smiling and waving at all of you on the other side of the ocean.

Birthday Roundup

"Where love rules, there is no will to power; and where power predominates, there love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other." ~Carl Jung

Okay. Birthday roundup. My mom and I had lunch yesterday and she gave me two sets of earrings...very pretty. After work, my husband was ready to take me some place special, but I just wasn't in the mood. I decided we could wait to celebrate this weekend. We went to Jason's Deli for dinner, I came home and did a Pilates workout and did some laundry. I guess that's how you know you're getting old...you don't even mind doing laundry on your birthday. Hubby gave me a lapis necklace. We had cake today at work and, since my boss wasn't in, we all had a pretty good time. My boss always either insults people or he starts talking about how none of us are going to have a job soon. He's also been known to launch into subjects he knows will gross everyone out. One of my coworkers once asked for a cheesecake with a praline topping. My boss pointed out ad nauseum that the pecans looked like dead flies. What a funny guy.

I met my husband thirty years ago on my birthday. I'd had friends in from out of town to celebrate and we had a little party. Later on, a male friend of mine from high school came by and we went to an Anne Sexton reading downtown. Sitting in front of me was this guy with a tee shirt on that said "Riot Squad Ballet" on the back. I think at some point he turned around and asked me for a cigarette (back in the days when one could smoke whether it bothered people or not). Of course I had one. I asked about the tee shirt and he told me it was the name of a play he'd written. We may have made some small talk between poems. I had to leave early because I had a 7:45 Hebrew class the next day. As we left, my friend commented, "He really likes you." I had no idea how he could possibly know that.

On a campus of 40,000 students, my hubby and I kept running into each other. I ran into him late one afternoon when I was delivering a paper for my Shakespeare class. I looked really ratty; I'd had an ear infection and was up late working on my paper. Suddenly, there he was. We stopped and chatted and he invited me to a reading on Sunday where he was going to be reading some of his poetry. I didn't really plan to attend, but when Sunday came, I decided to go. After he finished his reading, we went over to the apartment of a couple he knew and then he took me home. The really funny thing was that I wasn't even sure I was attracted to him. He's got very light brown hair and hazel eyes and I was more into men with dark hair and dark eyes. He sort of grew on me, I guess. Thirty years later, he still makes me laugh and he's still the most interesting guy I've ever met. He's had several nonfiction books published and I get to benefit from the research he did while writing them. I get the knowledge without having to do the work, really. Things haven't always been great; when I was younger I could be quite difficult to be in a relationship with. My history of abuse was the source of some problems when I was younger.

I still have a lot of problems with other men...power issues, competitiveness, anger. I've worked through most of that with my husband, though. He's a very special person. my therapist thinks I don't share enough of what's going on in my head, but there's always so much going on in my head that I'm not sure anyone could really tolerate knowing about it. Self-revelation is definitely something I haven't figured out how to do. I honestly don't even think about sharing with anyone. The only reason my therapist knows is because she's my therapist and I know she's supposed to know.

It's started to get a little cooler here and the trees are losing their leaves. as I look out my window at work, I can see my little squirrel friend that I keep track of all winter. He likes to lie on a branch and nap in the late afternoons. Right now he's busy burying nuts, which he won't be able to find when he looks for them. They don't have any way of knowing where they've buried things, I read not too long ago. It's all just dumb luck if they start digging and actually find something.

bushism of the day:"I understand small business growth. I was one."

Brief Update

George Bush for another four years. God help us.

Just a brief update. My stepson and his wife are still having problems. He just got out of the hospital after having an emergency operation. My husband spoke with his wife during the extended period of time they were trying to find out what was wrong with my stepson. She seemed to be open to continuing the relationship, but now my stepson tells him that she seems very distant. I think she's very concerned about expenses; her health insurance may not pay for much of the surgery. I'm just hoping for the best for both of them. I don't pretend to know what that might be.

It's my birthday today. I had lunch with my mom and then we came back to my office and hung out with the boys (my beloved kitties). I felt a little guilty about letting my mom take me out to lunch because I know she doesn't have much cash. As i said yesterday, sometimes it's a gift to allow someone to give something to you. I'm trying to remember that.

Gratitude

"At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us." ~Albert Schweitzer quotes (German medical missionary, theologian, musician and philosopher. 1952 Nobel Peace Prize, 1875-1965)

A fair number of people know about parts of my early life. Other than my therapist, no one knows everything. actually, I probably don't know everything myself at this point. I provide information based on my intuitive judgment of how much people are capable of dealing with. Some people cry. When people start to cry, I know I've gone too far. I've also had a number of people give me that train wreck look, like it's too horrible to continue to listen, but they can't bring themselves to stop. when I see that look, I stop it for them. It's a little akin to disgust. I take this very personally. Once someone has reacted that way, all of my protective barriers go up immediately and they never come back down. I'm sure at least some people don't believe me. I start to worry that they think i'm crazy. There's not much I can do about it if they do. Many of the people who've been able to tolerate hearing about my life believe that I've made choices which have kept me from becoming the person I probably should be--an alcoholic, drug-addicted prostitute who gets beaten up regularly. I tend to get impatient with those people who give me far too much credit.

I believe that I came here endowed with innate abilities which have allowed me to thrive under such destructive and barren conditions. Several weeks ago, I wrote about the seven qualities of people who are phoenixes. They are: Independence, initiative, humor, morality, the ability to develop relationships, insight and creativity. In my opinion, these are not qualities one can choose to develop. I suppose that people do have a choice betwen seeing the humor in difficult situations and being negative. I think people can develop some creativity if they don't come equipped with it, but I don't think it can be conjured from thin air. Just as an aside, I read recently that people with high iq's generally tend to have a sense of humor. I'm not sure I believe that's always true.

As for independence, I was raised as an only child, though I have a half brother and half sister. I've never met my half brother and I have absolutely no desire to. I knew my half sister until she was about five years old, but I haven't seen her in over 30 years. Not much interested in renewing the relationship. She was born when I was 15. My parents were always distracted by their own bullshit, so I really didn't have much choice in the matter. Independence was thrust upon me. I became very, very good at it...some people would say that I'm too independent. It certainly makes me less tolerant of people who don't think for themselves or are emotionally clingy.

I have a number of cousins on my father's side, none of which have fared well. it leads me back to the nature/nurture debate, but I'm guessing it's a little of both. I think most of them have never questioned whether their families created a lot of their own difficulties. For as long as I can remember, I've been noting the consequences of my parents' emotional issues and the choices they've made in their lives. It seemed pretty clear to me that allowing your life to be guided by emotion isn't going to result in a very happy life. Sleeping with people you're not married to, for instance. After the age of about 20, doesn't it become abundantly clear that that behavior will consistently result in heart break. so why do it? It just ends up making your life more difficult. Insight and a sense of morality did help me understand that lesson. I don't understand why I was able to see it and the rest of my dad's family wasn't. I'm infinitely grateful for all of the qualities that have helped me to survive and I refuse to accept the idea that I've somehow developed those qualities on my own. It feels like a great gift I've been given and I try to be worthy of it Every day. Some days I'm more worthy than others, of course. I remember people who've helped me along the way and I try to pass that help along whenever I can. Assisting other people (to whatever extent I'm capable) is a way to pay back those gifts in the name of the people who helped me survive.

Dark Days For A Birthday

"Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these" ~Susan B. Anthony

When I saw my therapist on friday, she suggested to me that I might want to take a break from my excursions into the past. It's been a really dark couple of weeks and this one doesn't seem to be starting out much better. Too many anniversaries.

My birthday is this week. My co-workers are pretty excited about it; they never miss an opportunity to have cake. I hate birthdays. It has nothing to do with getting older; I've hated them most of my life. I would offer explanations, but that would mean talking about the past. I know birthday celebrations are important to other people, though. I've come to believe that allowing others to give you gifts is actually a gift to them. since I've come to that realization, I try to be as celebratory as possible. I find myself too down really to write about anything. I may be able to muster some interest in something tomorrow.