I had an incredibly long post, and now it’s gone. I published it and saved it, goddammit. Now my mood has totally changed and I am seriously annoyed that I’d already gotten SO much out, and now it’s gone, back to the realm of dusk silence it’s been trapped in all these years.
Ugh. I’d even told one of my MANY MANY personal childhood stories of anguish. Wow. Now it’s not going to seem organic at all if I just come out with it.
Because, the theme of this lost post began with my discussing first my obsession with privacy (particularly when it came to things I am writing) and my odd blend of cynical optimism, or as I sometimes call myself, the strongest coward around. Not to say I think of myself as being seen as a coward. I’m actually afraid of less of the things that a lot of grown ass people are afraid of. I’m jumpy in the dark at 5:45am when I’m getting into my car for work, but that’s because rape and human trafficking and car jacking are all real things, not because I think some demon monster or Mike Myers type character is lurking about. But there are some things I’m like straight terrified of. And anyone finding out about any of them is in fact a huge part of why it’s all so scary. Then I was going to mention how my childhood was littered with all these different instances of affection/love/friendship being offered on my end only to be cruelly shoved back in my face. I’m not saying there weren’t times I wasn’t a complete bastard to someone else/a group of other kids when I was a kid, and it didn’t help we’d all known each other for so damn long after awhile, but there was a very disproportionate amount of times I was the butt of the joke, I was the one being treated poorly, like I was somehow less-than, I was the annoying one, I was the immoral one (much more on this later), I was the one who walked around by herself at recess and THAT seemed to bother everyone more than anything else. Like everyone (meanly) asked why I did that. I always told them it was because I didn’t have anyone to hang out with. At which point they’d stop talking to me entirely. I was made an example of by teachers too often.
And school was the good part of my life. And it was not good, at all. I mean that is how I met my best friend, but that wasn’t until the very end, the year before we would all leave that grade school and most of us would transition to a high school of the same denomination. Yeah, I went to parochial school, but believe me I did not in any way belong there. Really, if religion had been absent from childhood home, it would have been an enormously different experience (I’ll explain). That, and wondering, at times, where God was, throughout my time at home (unsure if I’ve mentioned, I moved out of my parents’ once and for all two weeks after my high school graduation, so as soon as I fucking possibly could have) are the two biggest issues I deal with. That’s another thing that I’ve never once spoken a word about to anyone, that I’m certainly not the devout Lutheran I was throughout my childhood and adolescence. I mean, my parents more or less insisted that I get a job at 16, so when you work most/every Sunday, you’re not making it to church anymore. Then, once I moved out, I became a Christmas/Easter type, if that. I used to pray every day, felt guilty if I didn’t. Then sometimes I’m like, well, God must understand these feelings, right? It’s just…is it really the Christian-Judeo God, is it something less specific? I’ve been taught that Christianity is the only one that works because it relies on grace, on God forgiving you when you don’t deserve it. All the other religions are flawed because they involved earning redemption/heaven. Then, as you get older, the concept of heaven/hell is insane to consider, like really. My husband has 3 half siblings, two of which have a different half brother completely unrelated to my husband. This unrelated half brother did mushrooms once and lost his Christian faith over it (what he saw/felt I guess). This deeply vexed the sister on that side, but the brother (married to a non-believer) probably less so. I can kind of see where the unrelated one is coming from, because if anything reminds you of religion when you’re tripping, it’s going to freak you the fuck out. Because like…okay, I’ll say it…eternal damnation/constant excruciating torturous pain for an unending span of existence? LIKE, REALLY? Isn’t that like…using an extreme fear tactic? Is that really how it is? Like, why haven’t we invented a way to find out? Like really no one knows how we got here or where we go. Even if you staunchly believe in evolution…how did the first single celled organisms get there? At some level some shit happened. It came from space…okay….howwwww did it get there? How did any of anything get anywhere? I’d ask other people but the only people whose opinions I value all seem to be atheists. I’ve had the worst luck trying to find a decent church around me.
See how quickly I can start rambling about religion? But, keep in mind I only got away from parochial schooling when I went to college (so that was the August of 2006, if my age fascinates you in any way). Plus it had an abrasive and obtrusive presence at home as well. That my dad, in a nutshell, he was either awful, in your face, being unpleasant or downright frightening in one way or another, or he was completely checked out (AKA – on drugs or drunk or asleep). For a few years, he had a job that entailed driving about 90 miles one way to work. Those were the best years. I think that’s why I valued my time with my Grandma so much, it was the least likely place to find my dad. He tolerated my Grandma for my mom and our (the 2 of us, my brother and I) sake, but I’m sure the constant financial assistance she gave was part of the brokered deal as well. I recall one year when we weren’t allowed to be on speaking terms with her (at my dad’s command, obviously). I remember going over to her apartment in secret like 2 days before Christmas to get my gifts from her. I guess it was really memorable because I got this set of really big/nice Winnie the Pooh stuffed animals that I had for years and years after that. I remember my mom putting them (still new in box) in garbage bags to sneak them into the house, so my dad wouldn’t know we’d been to my Grandma’s. But, as it would turn out, that was something my mom actually put her foot down (even back then) about. It only happened that one year. After that, things were at least relaxed enough for my Grandma to be able to come over. My mom had one brother who stayed local (another in another state whom my dad had cut all ties with before I was even born over the spending of money that had been sent with the intention of starting some sort of savings account for my newborn brother….there was some odd reconciliation when I was 5, but of course my dad saw to ruining that because my uncle was ‘nothing but a drunk’ and ‘couldn’t take it with him.’ That’s referring to the idea that material wealth doesn’t transfer into the afterlife. Which, as I am now older and actually writing this out, is exactly what someone who was made jealous and insecure by the success of a relative would do. Better to have nothing to do with them and say its over some bullshit moral ground than like…be made to feel inferior by your millionaire brother in law. Which is what he is, literally. It doesn’t do me any good, he has kids and grand kids of his own. But he did come to my wedding, so that was nice of him.) and things remained strained with the local, younger brother for longer. When her one brother, the younger one who’d stayed nearby and was obviously my Grandma’s favorite, died of cancer very suddenly when I was twelve, it certainly changed everything and my mom and Grandma forever. I think my mom was really devastated because she’d wanted to be closer with him. She’s always really wanted family, it’s obvious. It’s too bad she was for some reason drawn to the world’s most precocious asshole and married him and refused to divorce him even when she certainly had the grounds for it. I guess I wouldn’t exist if two sets of Depression/WWII era couples in two different states hadn’t both accidentally had children in their forties, then those children hadn’t both been at the same hotel bar back in the early 80s. My Grandma told me my Grandpa (who died when I was 5….more on that in a sec) was engaged to someone else when he came into the drugstore she worked in (which..for the 1930s was kind of weird for a girl her age but her family was POOOOOR it was just her and her mom and her alcoholic WWI shell shock/injury father and some grandparents, and only children weren’t really a thing back then, and her parents married in the April of 1918 and she was born in the November of 1918…I did that math when I was a kid and thought it was funny, but now that i think about it, her dad was probably gay. Maybe that’s where my weird gay dude fetish comes from) and he saw her and like…decided to marry her instead. They got married in his living room, she was in a navy blue suit. I wish she could’ve been at my wedding, or even met my husband. But, that’s a normal kind of sadness. The fact that I did not go see her right before she died, nor did I go visit my mom the day she died, is not. That’s on me I guess. I was really fucked up and strung out on adderall (sp? idk?) and my dad had told me half a dozen times before that that he thought it was my Grandma’s ‘time’ or whatever (almost excitedly, of course). So I didn’t really believe him, and when I told him he’d told me that so many times before his response was ‘Yeah, and I’m telling you again now.’ Just always the worst kind of asshole all the time for fun. Then my car had honestly had a flat tire the day she died, and I didn’t have the money to fix it. I am aware there were other avenues I could’ve taken but I chose not to because, like I said, I was fucked up from adderall. Mostly it was the day after having been high on it all night, when literally everything is the worst and you’re super angry and emotional, and like hungover from the cigarettes and no food and no sleep. It was how I managed to work full time and get through the tough, last few semesters of undergrad. Proud to say I didn’t do any of that shit in grad school because I was like uh this could possibly be causing brain damage. I can’t tell if it was all the adderall or ALL the weed but I’m one of the only people I’ve ever known of that didn’t have horrific, terrible, sweat-inducing nightmares from taking Chantix (that quit smoking drug).
I’ll be back, but I want to make sure I know how to fucking save blogs, because if i lose another one of these i’m going to freak out.