April 20, 2012

Today is the 13th year anniversary of my mugging. I've come to some realizations since then. 

While we might remember other people's birthdays and deaths, no one is going to recall the day when death came knocking on your door and you survived. Not one person.

You'll have to remind them and by reminding them, it sounds like you're looking for something, some kind of gesture that shows they love you, that they value who you are, that you have value to them.

If I had died that day, I'd forever be remembered as sweet Grace, a woman who had been taken away too young. 

There are no celebrations for survivors, victims of abuse and tragedies. The world continues to turn in its usual way. Today, we'll shed a tear, maybe even tomorrow. But then, we are forgotten. It isn't intentional, it's just another day...about me and my loved ones...about you and yours.

Isn't that why it's so unnerving when a painter becomes famous after death? Your work isn't noticed while you're living and breathing...unless you've got some luck on your side and not because you're really good at what you do.

I am observing this glorious Easter Sunday, this one single moment at a time. I'll give myself all the love I never got. I'll take a moment to notice the trees and the sky and let myself be swept away by them. Love is always readily available to me, to you. Just look and soak as much of it as your body will allow. 

My mind resists. It wants to go to that place of self-pity because misery loves company. Why am I looking for some grand gesture? My family isn't capable of giving it. I'm not even sure I'd know what it looks like. What I do know is that I can feel so small to the point of invisibility as though I weren't really here.

What irony. Yes, it's true. We take eachother for granted. We're all to blame and yet, we're blameless, too. This space doesn't operate in a sphere of winners and losers. We all suffer in some way. We all experience grief. We all handle darkness in our own way.

Expectation is a killer of spirit. 

The heaviness that has persisted since the new year is slow to lift. Oh god, I pray for some light, some relief. I'm strong but not that strong. I've got my own ailments, my own angels and demons I'm wrestling with.

Maybe the light comes in the form of divine intervention at just the right moment. I shouldn't minimize the significance of these happenings just because the result isn't what I think it should be or look like.

April is full of joys and sorrows. I also celebrate my 20th anniversary as a clinic manager for the same employer. I tell myself that expectation is a killer because my anniversary came and went and my boss gave me nothing. That isn't to say that nothing is coming, only that it didn't come on the day it should have. 

It brings up too much for me. The idea that I devoted twenty years of my life to the same person and not get anything when it counted the most, while I'm also experiencing the loss of my father-in-law, the deterioration of my partner's health, is heartbreaking, just so utterly, fucking, soul-crushing. 

Some expectations are meant to be had, if only to show yourself what you're willing or unwilling to continue with, to put up with. When someone stays where they aren't valued the way they feel they ought to be, it's time to leave. I learned that when you stay it's because you don't feel you deserve better. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to see this. I can't turn back time. I am grateful for all of it despite what I might be sharing here to the contrary.

It's time to turn the page for fuck's sake. It's time. 

Deaths

You just disappeared. Where are you? Is your absence intentional? Is it all in my head? Is there a way of proving my hunch? Or will I not care to wonder three months from now?

Time makes everything turn to yellow. Time will make me forget that I even had such negative thoughts. Or, it'll make me laugh at myself for having put energy into a lost cause, maybe an undeserving one, too. 

Right now, I perceive you as cold, as someone who enjoys listening to themselves talk. I don't get why it should hurt this much. 

Life's fragile. We're so busy protecting ourselves and our things, our lot. You hurt me. I know you didn't mean to. It's my fault I gave you time that should have been reserved for someone and something special. Because time, I'm learning, is a precious commodity. Don't you think so?

I'm surprised you could do that to me. That you could just ignore me. That you could toss me away so easily. It's strange. I don't understand. Though I get there's nothing really to understand!

I'm mourning so many things. One chapter after another is coming to a close, a definitive end, and like everyone else, I can't stop these endings.

Grief brings me closer to that isolating place and sometimes, its grip feels suffocating and unrelenting. I used to think it was death thst took away. It isn't. Life does all the work. Life gives and it takes away. 

Those endings that are abrupt while a person is still alive, are heart breaking. Just as with physical death, you're never quite prepared. 

You brought sunshine. And now I'm back with the moon again. I've always belonged to the moon. You reminded me of that.

I bid you farewell. May this world bless you and yours.

1996

The quality of work out there has gone to shit. The things that come out of young people's mouths at work should be grounds for dismissal. The quality of listening is so poor too. They can't even get the part where I said, "For here", right. 

One of these guys reminds me of Adam. I can see now just how full of himself he was. Oh my. We were as young as these guys are here now. We thought we had the world in the palm of our hands. But he couldn't afford a coffee and only ever bought me a single herbal tea the entire two years I knew him. Oh, please. What a cheap ass mother fu*ker. I can't believe I combed his Robert Plant hair!!

Every sentence is a run on with the word 'like' occupying too much space! Or the word, 'sick' to denote that something is great. And now, "I smoked a wicked one last night." Please be quiet. And of course, they're all either actors or musicians who think they're god's gift to the world. People will say I'm just jealous. I am not. I am nothing like these guys are now nor like the guys of days gone by. I was decades past. And that's why I suffer. 

Whether they're mature or immature, whether they're on the left or the right - both equally messed up - they lack depth! They lack soul! They lack vision! 

Actors are the worst. I've been around them for such a long time. It's all recycled personality bullshit disguised to look like talent and meaning. 

Oh my god, the horror of the situation is staring at me in the face as the light from the turning ball above adds emphasis to an already frightening realization - that most of us are all dead inside.