All Journal Entries Journals
Sort By:  

Frustrated efforts

Jun 28, 2009 - 10 comments

Well, I knew where my mother would keep her sleeping pills so I hid them in the rag I was using to clean her walls - surprise house showing today. I brought them home and looked them up on line - Zolpederm I think the name is, to see if they were the right kind. First thing I see is "People committing suicide THINK they'll take a lot of sleeping pills - ala Marilyn Monroe - and just fall asleep untill they die but most people attempting this find they wake choking on their vomit." Why? Why is EVERY different way to do away with yourself supposed to fail? I'm thinking this must be just propaganda because that's all you ever hear about - nope, don't even bother, there's so many ways for you to die but DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS AT HOME!

Untaken Photos

Jun 05, 2009 - 3 comments

The photos not taken...  
... are branded on my mind.

In the kitchen backlit by sun filled windows your blue-green-blonding hair seemed to me to be just the colors of your indeterminate eyes and I took picture after picture - with no film.

The beautiful house after we slaved to make it perfect and the budding photogapher came (a friend of the babysitter) and carefully took pictures of each staged room - without film.

The picture my artist friend told me she wanted to paint when she had driven past me and my four young children all for a walk in the tall grass and Queen Anne's Lace along the side of Hwy. 61....

There are no photos to upload, no paintings to dust, but in my minds eye I see it just the way it was.

This isn't really a poem. Just a collection of thoughts I've had lately.

The Poem "Renascence," by Edna St. Vincent Millay

May 30, 2009 - 1 comments

This poem explains us;

All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I'd started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see;
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I'll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And -- sure enough! -- I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I 'most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and -- lo! -- Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard, and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not, -- nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out. -- Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire, --
Craved all in vain!  And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each, -- then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight!  Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.

Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more, -- there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatched roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who's six feet underground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again!  Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free,
Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and -- crash!
Before the wild wind's whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things;
\A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain's cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealed sight,
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see, --
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell, --
I know not how such things can be! --
I breathed my soul back into me.
Ah!  Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e'er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day;
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky, --
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat -- the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.


May 19, 2009 - 9 comments

This is a warning about the dangers of having a mental disorder that goes on not being diagnosed and treated. Today I got the grim news that my mother will be losing her house - and the $90,000 she had invested in it. It goes to auction on Thursday. She lives down the street from me so I should have a good view of the proceedings. I know nothing of mortgages, etc. but yesterday my mother came and dropped this in my lap. She apparently had been getting letters from a lawyer and her mortgage co. for some time and JUST REFUSED TO OPEN THEM! She is an extremely intelligent, even intellectual, cultured woman who has been taken care of all her life but sees herself as capable. I am not so deceived about my own absence of some important abilities. She has received two inheritances which further helped prolong how many decades she could get away with this sort of insanity. My mother never worked outside the home and this was totally normal in her generation but now I realize she COULDN"T. I find myself that I can't keep a job no matter how I try and my mother knew inherently that it would make her look stupid. Just like I always look - stupid. Instead she played the book-wise and tasteful matriarch and it suited her. She never learned to drive - she was afraid and someone was always there to take her. I am afraid and have no choice. Her protests that I was interfering in her autonomy made me feel guilty for asking her where she was getting  all this money - insinuating that I was getting greedy. She's generous to a FAULT, don't get me wrong. Oh, the drama, the mood swings, the manipulations, the guilt trips, the screaming and get the picture. But because she was so smart in some practical ways and such a good conversationalist, house keeper, cook, art appreciator, bill payer, yada yada - she has skills I would kill to have - it just went on and on 'til now it's come to this. I can't stand it. Part of me is base enough to realize that that not only is she losing her house but what was left of any inheritance I had always hoped for is gone as well. I know now that I will never own a house and that has always been my dream. My children will never go to Disneyland. I will never again enjoy the lifestyle - that I never EVER took for granted but cherished - that I had 10 years ago due to my mother's over reaching sense of entitlement and a platinum Visa card. My excuse for my participation is I was young beyond my years in  the ways of the world and kept completely in the dark about the hard facts of limited resources. All my possessions are gone - everything I found a few dollars to to snatch up and hord for the day when I would have that gray stone house in the country, on a hill with a big tree with a long swing..... pictured in an illustration of a nursery rhyme book that I would lust after as a toddler. My father, who had his own demons, would draw up plans for a playhouse that he would never build for me, Every year or so he'd ask me how I'd like some detail - once giving me the (theoretical) choice between airconditioning or a fire place! I must have been 12 at the time and was sadly losing some faith but I wanted to believe. How I wanted to believe. Perhaps this is why I am so house hungry. Self pity, jealousy, obsession - I know my faults. Think how these emotions have tortured me when you tell me how unattractive they are. And now I see that I am no longer a Cinderella. That no lonely prince (read house owner) will come and, thankful for witty banter, a warm lover, and a ready made family, ask me to move in and decorate his empty abode. My prince was certainly not made to order but he loves me and he's so generous and good hearted. He deserves a better woman and I want a more realistic guy - so I can pass for normal myself.
  So, here it is, the infamous letter we BPs always leave behind. What is it it's called on the news? A long rambling letter, right? Well, that doesn't mean it was empty of truth and understandings. That it was worthless because of it's author's diagnosis or the many switches in subject - I've always resented that description - the victim left behind a long, rambling suicide note....Yes, this is the straw.... I just can not cope. I never could and now, as my mental illness gets more complicated, my eyesight is mysteriously worsening with no explanation, my boyfriend very inncocently accidentally gave me herpes, I have developed this shocking case of ACNE of all things - is this breast cancer? Should I whine? It's just that the combo of me losing my possessions, my mother losing her house, my lover actually OWING his mother his inheritance because he and his exwife took a second mortgage out on his mother's home (figure THAT one out), my  deeply beloved children each having things amiss and in in my boys VERY amiss and I witness them having this same tender heart as I that will be broken so many times, the inability to bounce, to remember, to learn from mistakes, etc., etc. and my heart is constantly broken on their behalves. My car leaks black bile that has to be put back into it at half the rate as gas it seems. It's rusty and smashed from where a deer ran into me a few years ago - without insurance, where was I? Oh, the list. David's truck needs hundreds of dollars of work and has been sitting in my mom's driveway for months. We live in a basement apartment and I hate it. I should be grateful - we USED to live in one room! If I were thankful I know I could be happy again but I see what I was and what I am now. What I had and what I have NOW! I need to add several more people on to the list as folks who unarguably HATE me with no apparent reason. I am a poor house keeper, an impossible appointment maker/keeper, a lame coordinator of homework, missing items, etc. Yes, I know people will cry - for themselves though really. I had a revelation one day many years ago when I was weeping for the sudden death of my young brother that he wasn't suffering any more - I was. That he had peace and I was crying because I missed him. It was understandable that I would cry but seeing that fact helped me to eventually stop. People should remember me as affectionate, an adoring mother, witty, fun, and haunted - as well as the crappy stuff. I was made wrong and then handed a set of circumstances that were the worst things I could handle. Sorry, guys.