Before I spoke, I studied him. He looked familiar, as in a long time childhood friend way. I grew up in a small Italian, Catholic, white, family-oriented town. Everyone knew us. He looked like one of the guys……like the kind in the earlier part of the movie Goodfellas. He has that younger DeNiro look, wearing a buttoned down Cuban style shirt and pants. His hair was slick and dark…. and he had a cute, sweet smile…..like he was flirting with you without even trying. I felt at ease with him. I didn’t know why….I just know I did.
I had this vision, just for one minute, of him speaking to me in a deep Italian, rough and tough guy type of way. I gazed all over him with that sly sweet smile, glancing at me for 15 seconds and slowly glancing away. He was just giving me a little when he knew I wanted a lot. I could not break my stare and it was obvious, but I did not care. I never cared about asking for what I wanted or telling someone how I felt, good or bad.
I think it was the whole image that intrigued me. The badge…..the voice…his demeanor, look and stance….it all added up to an intoxicating combination….and I was drunk. For those briefs moments that were only seconds, I was transformed back to a teenager. I was almost giddy, yet acting just as seductive without saying a word.
I remember thinking how I wish it could all be just that simple again.
No responsibilities….bills…kids…nothing. Nothing to worry about except how I was going to start talking to this guy. Just like in high school. When you were dying to go over to that one guy your father told you never to even think about seeing. He was the dangerous teenager your daddy warned you about….and the more daddy told you no….the more you wanted it.
He pulled out his wallet, only it wasn’t a wallet. It was a roll of money with a thick rubber band around it. All hundreds, fifties and twenties….just like my old neighborhood guys had. I don’t know why he did this. He was fingering through the cash, as if he was counting it, but there really was no need to. There wasn’t a store for at least a mile around here. It seemed odd to me, but unwantingly sexy. My family had money. I never wanted for anything, but money was never something I considered where a guy was concerned. I had the best sex ever with some of the most broke-ass guys. Go figure.
I finally spoke.
“What do you need all of that money for?”, I simply stated.
“It’s bond money.”, he replied, tilting his head slightly with that sweet and sly smile that I could now not do without. He took out a pack of Camel no-filters and flipped one into his mouth. He lite a match still the the pack and proceeded to light is cigarette and blew it out. He put the pack and matches into his back pocket. He noticed I was smoking before.
“Do you want one?”, he softly offered.
I don’t smoke Camels. I prefer Parliment lights….always have for years, but I wanted a reason to get closer to him.
“Sure”, I replied in that same soft voice. I could be just as coy and flirty without trying too, if I wanted to.
He started to walk over to me. He was only about twenty or so feet away. There was no other noise except for his footsteps. It was the middle of Lake county. No buses, trucks and only the occasional car. I was getting nervous, but didn’t show it. He walked slowly and methodically….almost deliberate. It seemed to take forever. He smiled the whole time…he knew what he was doing. There was a method to his madness and he knew how to use it. He finally made it over to me, took out his pack of Camels again and I looked down. I stopped breathing for a second.
He had more that just a pack of Camels in his hands.
As I blew the smoke out of my less than pink lungs, it hung in the humid air right in from of me, like a cartoon balloon wanting to tell me something. He pulled up in a white truck, newer than most…..asked me if there was a leasing office, since there was a For Rent sign out in front. That sign must have put up and down a half dozen times since we moved here in August of last year. It was really a no brainer. No credit or background check, five-hundred dollar deposit and seven-hundred and seventy-five dollars a month for a three bedroom, one bath duplex…..eight units total for rent, most were occupied for the time being. You would never get this much space in the heart of Orlando, so we opted for just inside of Lake County…Sorrento. I was happy to finally have our own place after a few months of staying with Ted’s brother, wife and kids. Leonard was extremely laid back and not much bothered him. His better half, Crystal was extremely meticulous and had some wild mood swings. Other than walking on a few eggshells…and the fact that our travel trailer was in their backyard hooked up to the house….it was bearable. They did have a great pool, which was a Godsend for May, June and July.
I said, “No, no leasing office.” I wasn’t going to get into a full on conversation with a guy out in the middle of nowhere. He then asked if we had a groundskeeper. Again I said, “No, no groundskeeper”….landlord lived in Georgia….she’s a “don’t ask, don’t tell” type of landlord. He thanked me and returned to his truck. He didn’t strike me someone looking for a place to live. He was going through some paperwork in his truck. So, my curiosity got the best of me. I asked him what he was looking for.
It wasn’t the first time someone had come here to ask about tenants. I did a sex offender search online when we first moved here. There was one in the next duplex. I never really got to know him…not that I really gave a shit. He had been convicted of lewd and lascivious acts and battery on a child under 16. I made my older son Jake study his face, told him to stay away from him and let me know if he ever approached him. Little did I know that my husband of eleven years would go over there that next Saturday and confront him. The guy could have been no taller then 5’9”…weighing about 100 lbs. Ted just flat out asked him.
“Do I have anything to worry about with you and my kid”? I was watching from the front door. The guy was about 22 or so and scared shitless. I would be too if Ted confronted me. He was a huge man. 6’3”, but all chest and arms and covered in tattoos. His hands were easily twice the size of mine. No knuckles….lost those years ago in drunken fights and barroom brawls. His skin was a reddish-brown. Al those years of construction work outside had burned his Blackfoot Indian skin. He wasn’t full blooded Indian, but enough to have the skin. Short sandy blonde hair with a block shaped head. I don’t mean that in a mean way, it’s just the shape of his head. Very good looking…and loyal to a fault. Even after all these years, some with doubt, I never regretted marrying Ted three days after we met in 1998.
I later learned people called him Chris, but he was John Callhoun on the Florida Sex Offender Search. There were two or three other kids with him. When you’re pushing forty, a twenty-two year old is a kid to me. No one said a word…stunned silence I guess. He finally worked up enough courage to talk.
“No, no, no….there’s no problem….it was a mis-….uh….I was with a girl and her parents…..”. He said he was nineteen when it happened. He was dating a fifteen year old girl. Her parents supposedly went nuts and had him arrested. I’ll never know the real story, but I would never need to. They all gave Ted a wide berth as he just slightly smiled and said, “Good, so were on the same page”?
Yea…they were all over that page. The proverbial “I will beat the living shit out of you and you will be found in the trunks of ten different cars” page. I later learned that he lived there with a few roommates and their girlfriends. How he had a girlfriend of five years, I’ll never know, but she was of age…although extremely young looking. He was supposedly an uncle to his roommate, Kenny….even though he was younger than Kenny by about six years. Through marriage they said. Kenny turned out to be not so bad after a few more casual meetings outside while walking to the mailbox. He knew the landlord personally and let us know if she was coming to town so we wouldn’t have to see her. I have never even met her until this day…and that’s fine by me. Everyone is late with the rent at some time or another and so were we. She loved her fifty dollar late fees. Hey, when you rent to anonymous people, you essentially get what you pay for. Inconsistency.
I walked over to the guy in the white truck and he spun around with a huge file and some sort of badge around his neck. I looked it over, but could only make out the word “Recovery”. He was a bail bondsman. He showed me a picture of a Latino-looking type guy and asked if I knew him. He had an address for him that was off by a few numbers and one letter. I said that he lived here, but I didn’t know him, per say. He then proceeded to show me three pictures of other people….their driver’s licenses. I confirmed who they were and that they lived with him in the third duplex over from me. The mother, father, girlfriend….all in that same file. I didn’t even notice all of their names except for the father. It was the same as the guy he was looking for. That’s why they call him “junior”, I thought.
Then my big mouth got the best of me…again.
How does one measure a person’s success?
I have known many wealthy individuals who have worked themselves almost to death and for what? A bigger house. A nicer car, designer clothes, more vacations and hair by Fredric Fekkai….why are all these things so important? Do they really measure a person’s worth? Do they calculate their success or value as a human being?
I knew a woman once that would give you the shirt off of her back…knowing it was her last shirt and never bring it up in a conversation again. She had ruined her credit, had no vehicle or home and was virtually broke. I also know a man who has earned a lot of money, helped his family members when he could, but was quick to use it against them in the future. Yes, this man worked long, hard hours. He was rarely home and saw little of his children. He had everything he ever wanted, but there was always something lacking…. something more…something better to buy…something more expensive or trendier to obtain. So he kept working way beyond what should have been his retirement age.
Now, this woman died penniless, but with all of her friends and family surrounding her.
This man is still alive. He has a strained relationship with one of his children. He lives under constant stress and is still striving to obtain “the American Dream.” Most people would agree that he has already achieved it, but not in his mind. He has to have more…has to keep up with the lifestyle he has made for he and his wife. I don’t discount for one second all the hard work he has done to have this level of success…but is it really success?
I have shitty credit. It’s my own fault. I made huge mistakes and now I am paying for them. I don’t own a home right now. I rent a really great two bedroom, two bathroom apartment. This is where I am right now in my life and I am taking steps to change my life. Not only monetarily, but spiritually as well. I am truly happy with my life right now. It has improved greatly from over a year ago and my husband and I are doing more to insure that our family will always be comfortable.
Now….am I successful? In one respect, no, as my credit is shot and some months are harder than others with the bills. On the other hand, yes. I am in a much better place than last year. I am healthier, my kids are happy and my husband is much more relaxed. We have improved our lives 100% in the last year, but we are by no means wealthy. Does this mean I am not successful? Do I have to be Donald Trump to be a success? Is the measure of ones success based solely on their economic status?
Is it so horrible to die broke? I really don’t plan on that happening, but if I do, does it mean I died with nothing to show for it? My children are always well cared for. They have everything they want and need and more. We do things as a family all the time. No…we don’t go on elaborate vacations to exotic destinations, but we go to Disney-world or Universal Studios for the day every few months. We go to the park and the beach. I spend almost every day at the pool with my kids and their friends. My oldest has sleep-overs constantly and my house has become the Kool-Aid House. I write every day, which is what I love doing. I have friends that I talk to every day. But most importantly, my husband loves me and I love him. We have had some of the hardest times one can imagine, but we got through them. We have both made mistakes, but we worked them out. We will be married 11 years on August 31st. He is the only man in my entire life that has never disappointed me.
Some would define our life as average….some below average.
Why is it so important to be wealthy and powerful to be considered successful? Does it not count to have a loving family and friends living a less than middle class life? The middle class has been totally screwed lately, but they continue to pick themselves up, brush off and start over.
I was middle class once. I screwed it all up. I am below middle class right now. I don’t plan to live paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life….who does? But life happens and people screw up. What else are we supposed to do? I could drop into a deep depression, make my kids miserable, ruin my marriage and really make my life a royal fuck up. But I am choosing to pick myself up, brush off and start all over again….with the help of my husband. We did it before…we will do it again.
I would say that sounds pretty successful.
It finally happened. I saw them both. We were all in the store. It was just a coincidence, happenstance….or are there no coincidences? I followed them around the store while my father longingly looked back as his unsympathetic wife walked faster and faster. It was as if he were trying to stop, but couldn’t. I could tell by the look on his face. It was ….”I’m sorry”….”I love you”…..”I have no choice.” She was cruel but her crocodile tears were starting. They always came….she was a professional. She could have won an Oscar so many times over the past 30 or so years…it was a true hidden talent….but I knew that’s all it was…a talent, acting…not real tears. Maybe this time she was genuinely scared. Scared of my wrath, as the anger was growing on my face. Scared of my letting the truth out, calling her out on her lies and manipulations. But I saw the slight grin surface a few times around each corner. She knew what she was doing and didn’t care. What made me sad…more than anything was that my father was going along with it all. Dodging me, pretending to ignore every time I yelled to him…asking him….”Please, please stop!…I need to talk to you! I have to talk to you!” I started to cry….the kind of cry that is almost inconsolable. Sobbing, my chest heaving with every breath and step I took.
It was as if I were in slow motion. I was trying to catch up so desperately, but there were people everywhere. The store was so busy and flooded with potential consumers that just seemed determined to block my every move. I finally caught up to them. I didn’t say a word at first. I just stared at my father for a minute that seemed like a lifetime. The type of stare that buckles your knees and says everything without uttering a word. I was puzzled, dumbfounded, hurt, shocked, visibly upset…but only slightly angry. My chest hurt so badly. I was squeezing as if I were in a vice. It seemed impossible to speak, but I finally could.
“Why are you doing this.”, I sobbed to him. “I just don’t understand. Just what am I supposed to say to Jakob”. I started to yell. “He is only eight years old…a little boy…he doesn’t know what he did “wrong”.” I was now spewing at him.
He had no defense. He knew he was wrong. He had hardly spoke to me in the last year and a half and had called Jake about ten times. His wife, who Jake had called Mom-Mom at one time, had not spoken to him in over two years. No phone calls, letters, holiday or birthday gifts that she picked out. He only received what my father picked out and signed her name to the card.
“Jake has done nothing!”, I screamed. “He is so innocent and good-hearted. He is kind and wants to know why “Mom-Mom” doesn’t care about him any more. He wants to know why everyone he has known for the past seven years has disappeared out of his life. He wants to know what he did “wrong.” I finally screamed at both of them.
She was “crying”…. A meek, simple sob that would absolutely be figured out by the majority of strangers and most family members. I knew it so well. My father was always reeled in., but he was different this time. He seemed to know that she was the reason, but he had no choice. He kept stumbling over every word. He couldn’t complete a sentence. He was crying now too. I have seen my father cry a few times, but not like this. He was truly sorry, empathic….with a look on his face that said everything. He was helpless. He was a pussy.
“We can’t trust you. We never could. You have always caused problems for your father and I will not see him hurt any longer. I am done with all of your bullshit for all of these years.”, she spit at me. Her eyes were dark with nothing behind them. I had heard this speech so many times before. It was ridiculous. I could not have possible been that bad for thirty years.
“What does that have to do with my son!” I screamed into her face. I was up close to her, intimidating and angry. I always knew deep down she was scared of me. Scared that eventually my father would finally listen to me. That he would would hear how she treated my sisters and I over the years. I was never afraid of her. I never backed down from a fight with her. I called her out on every evil, manipulative move she made. She had said to me so many times over the years….”I will deny everything I say to you, so don’t bother saying anything to anyone because they will never believe you.” She was right….they never did.
I was pleading with my dad…..”Daddy, please…why are you doing this to Jake?….I don’t want you to hate me, but it doesn’t matter if it means you’ll stop what you are doing to him. Jake is so sad some days. I don’t know what to say. I am sick of lying….telling him that you and her are so busy…that you work so much, even though you are supposed to be retired. I am tired of having my son think your wife is a good person when she absolutely is not!”
“I don’t understand.” I said as more and more tears were streamed down my face. All three of us were unaware of anyone else in the store. The people all seemed to go about their business in slow motion. They were all a blurry haze of everyday life passing me by. My father didn’t seem to care either. Normally he would avoid any public display of this sort. His wife kept looking around…as if anyone really could give a shit. They had lives to lead, bills to pay, grocery lists to fill. She was always putting up a front. No, no…nothing is wrong in my life…I have the perfect life…a huge home, a rich husband…and I was able to turn him against his three daughters…it was so easy.
What kind of man lets that happen? What kind of woman lets a man choose her over his children?….But we are talking about her. She hates kids. She hated us as kids. Now as adults, she saw no reason to find any possible imperfection or nuisance to make my father’s life so miserable that he was willing to ignore his daughters. At that very moment… I didn’t care what he was doing to me. I was protecting my son. I was standing up for my child who loved unconditionally and didn’t understand what he could have done that was so awful that his own grandfather hardly spoke to him…..that his so-called Mom-Mom hadn’t talked to him in over two years and hadn’t step foot into our home in over three years in Pennsylvania before we moved to Florida.
My father just kept sputtering…trying to catch the right words. There was an obvious look of “I am so sorry for all I have put you through over these years. I wish I could change it all. I wish I had a relationship with you”. It was everything I ever wanted to hear, but it wasn’t why I was so angry….Jake…why would he torture a poor little boy that he used to take almost very weekend to fly in one of his planes. Jake loved it so much. He would tell everyone he could…”My Pap-Pap is a pilot. He has his own planes and lets me fly them all the time. I know how to fly a plane.” He was so proud…so sincere….it broke my heart.
It ended almost as quickly as it started. We were being pulled apart by her. My arm was out stretched….with so much pain on my face. He had the same look of pain. He kept asking me, “Do you need anything? Does Jake need anything? I’ll give you whatever you need! If you need any help. please let me know!”
I yelled… “No. …I don’t need or want that kind of help! I don’t need your money….I need for you to be a grandfather to my son! Don’t do to him what you did to me! He doesn’t deserve it! He did nothing wrong!”. Tears were flowing so much that I could see any longer. She was pulling him father away. I was screaming at him.
“Call Jakob!..Call your grandson! He doesn’t understand! He just a little boy you bastard!” It was my final good-bye as she whisked him far out of my reach. I was sobbing so heavily. I didn’t answer the people…strangers asking me if I were all right. My mind was boggled and nothing was resolved….as always. I had a glimmer of hope that everything was going to go back like it used to be… but it was gone as quickly as it came.
The sobs kept coming. I couldn’t control it…I was inconsolable. I hurt so badly for my child…..Jake loved him and her so very much…..I had never felt such pain and controllable grief…it was a loss greater than any death I had ever experienced….because it was a chosen loss…. by my father.
I woke up grasping my chest, tears streaming down my already soaked face. I was crying during the whole dream. I still could not control it. Jake was sleeping next to me. I hugged him so hard, but not enough to wake him. I love him so much…..everyone always tells people that you will never know such a love until you have children….I never believed it until I had Jake. I would die and kill for him. Everything was so fresh and real. I was there. My dad was there. She was there. It really happened….it couldn’t end like this? Why was it all a dream!!! Why was my son going to still question himself and what he did wrong to have this all happen to him. I was still crying, but starting to become angry.
I got up and went to the bathroom. I washed my face off and brushed my teeth. The clock said 1:46 AM. I cried the whole time.
It’s 2:58 AM now. I am done with the dream, but I am still sobbing uncontrollably. I had to wipe my eyes so many times just to see the screen. My chest doesn’t hurt any longer. I am starting to calm down. Jakob had a sleep over with his cousin, Skylar. She keeps waking up and moving around, but I think she is still sleeping. The computer is right next to where she is sleeping. I am going to check on her.
I just can’t believe it is over. It was so real. It still seems within my grasp….like maybe when I fall back asleep I could pick up where I left off…but that never happens in my dreams no matter how hard I try.
I guess no matter how much I say that I am OK, I am still not over all the hurt from my father. Maybe I will call a therapist in the morning.
I have had many friends…more like acquaintances…come and go throughout the years. All due to life’s circumstances, be it a job change, moving, leaving college…whatever. But there are a lot of people, come to find out, that have family members come and go throughout their lives. And I am talking about the same ones every couple of years.
As I have written before, my family issues are no secret. I don’t get embarrassed by much, as long as it’s the truth. And one person’s version of the truth is not always the same as the other person’s…but that’s not what I am writing about.
I looked for a couple of friends from about ten years ago on Facebook a few days ago. I found them and sent a message, which was returned immediately. A chat started on line, then emails were exchanged and the next thing I knew….we were on the phone like no time had ever passed between us. Our parting ten years ago was not pretty, but that was ten years ago and I figure, who gives a shit anymore….so now we’re talking about getting together on the weekend. We never even mentioned why we didn’t speak for so long…it was just two people catching up.
This morning I was writing my daily quotes on various websites and found myself on Facebook at the same time a family member was. This is an individual that I had talked to everyday, multiple times a day for over seven years. Now, we have spoken about four or so times in the last year and a half. No chat was initiated by either of us. I have tried in the past by email and phone to communicate, but it is obvious that some of my family are still not willing to meet me half way…or any way for that matter. So, I have done what I can. I am not going to beat a dead horse.
So, how is it that two people that were so close and related by blood for the rest of their lives just not speak? I didn’t kill anyone. I have apologized multiple times to many people…many of which didn’t even require or deserve an apology, as they were not involved in the matter. I made huge mistakes, but how long am I going to be held in contempt for them? How could someone just flat out ignore someone they claimed to have loved and still do?
Is pride such an important issue?
Sometimes we have to just let go of things and leave our pride to the wayside. In the grand scheme of things…..I wonder how it will go down?
Maybe this is an example of one of my family members waiting to get into the pearly gates:
God: “I know all that has happened between you and Alex. What is the reason for never forgiving or speaking to her?”
Family Member: “She has made so many mistakes. I just couldn’t be around her any longer. ”
God: “So, was it worth it?”
Family Member: “Yea, God, I am sooo glad I never spoke to her again. “Do I need a ticket or something to get in?”
Ummm….yea…it’s sounds really stupid when it’s laid out there like that doesn’t it? I guess this is what my father will be saying on his deathbed….
“Man, I am sooo glad I stopped talking to my daughter and grandchildren. It fills my heart with such joy that I took my wife’s advice and wrote her off. I have never felt better.”
That’s pride….one of the seven deadly sins.
Another Blog worth reading:
I write everyday. On line, in journals, on napkins…anywhere I can. It has always come so easily, naturally…effortlessly. I have never been someone who was at a loss for words. I have always been the one with the quick comeback, funny joke….cute little quip. Right now…..I’ve got nothing.
I have so much to write about. My mind is full of so many things that need to get out that I am just overloaded. It’s not writer’s block…it’s anti-writer’s block. I don’t know where to start. I don’t even want to start most days. It’s like I know my mind is going faster than my fingers can type or write. I know it will be a nightmare to try writing, so I don’t even start. My head literally hurts. I know it can be potentially explosive.
But, I have been sick for a couple of days, so I have had time to think, sleep, puke and relax.
I have written about my family in past blogs….about their choices and mine…how I now know where I stand (or fall for that matter). After two weeks of unanswered phone calls, I finally got in touch with my grandmother on her cell phone at “the home”. She sounded so defeated, broken….just not the woman I knew before. I know she is going to 89, but ones life circumstances changes a person…and I don’t believe that she is happy…no matter what I am told.
Anyway, she said my father was having some tests for his heart….that he “wasn’t feeling well again”….her words. Last year he had the same issues and was tested for heart problems. He claimed to be fine, but I don’t think he would really tell me if he were not. So, I wrote him an email asking if he was OK. I can’t call him, as he is only allowed to speak freely when alone…without the presence of his wife. I am waiting to hear back from him.
This is what bothers me. No matter how my family feels about me, why am I not privy to any information on anyone’s health or well being? I sometimes think that some one will be dead and buried before I am informed, just because of the grudges that are being held. It has been over 18 months and no one has budged. I can’t imagine how this is still happening, as it took my mother’s death to bring my family back together at one point almost nine years ago. I can say all day long that I have to move on, let it go….they have seemingly got on with their lives, what is holding me back?
It hurts. It is a completely devestating feeling to have so many individuals in your life…and your child’s life….for almost a decade and then…..gone. It is like a death….there is mourning, anger, regret….all of the same feelings as a death. So, I guess I am to assume that when any one of the members of my family are to pass during this silent treatment, that I have no more emotion to feel?
Have I done it all already?
Everyone’s family is dysfunctional in one way or another. No one has the perfect set up. But when dysfunction turns into total alienation it is a completely different feeling.
I sent an email to the most important members of my family last Friday. I told them I loved and missed them. I said I wanted to say it while I still could…while there was still time…before it was too late. I said I didn’t expect anything…I just wanted them to know.
I received no response from two of them, one sent an Obama joke and the other a TMZ video.
This brings dysfunction to a whole new level.
We all think we do it right….we remain calm, collected, make lists and prepare for the “discussion”.
A conversation….a compromise…..what we get is something all together different.
Why is it that no matter how hard someone tries to have a serious discussion about a serious, life altering issue…the other party just wants to bring up shit that is irreverent and doesn’t address the subject? Why is the “past” always dragged into it? It’s called the “past” for a reason. It’s over.
|1.||gone by or elapsed in time: It was a bad time, but it’s all past now.|
|2.||of, having existed in, or having occurred during a time previous to the present; bygone: the past glories of the Incas.|
|3.||gone by just before the present time; just passed: during the past year.|
|4.||ago: six days past.|
|5.||having formerly been or served as; previous; earlier: three past presidents of the club.|
|6.||Grammar. designating a tense, or other verb formation or construction, that refers to events or states in time gone by.|
|7.||the time gone by: He could remember events far back in the past.|
|8.||the history of a person, nation, etc.: our country’s glorious past.|
|9.||what has existed or has happened at some earlier time: Try to forget the past, now that your troubles are over.|
|10.||the events, phenomena, conditions, etc., that characterized an earlier historical period: That hat is something out of the past.|
|11.||an earlier period of a person’s life, career, etc., that is thought to be of a shameful or embarrassing nature: When he left prison, he put his past behind him.|
What’s that on #1???….“It was a bad time, but it’s all past now.”….What about #11?….“When he left prison, he put his past behind him.”
I’ll tell you why the “past” is always a hot button to press. It is used against a person when there is nothing intelligent to contribute. They have no valid point, so they go for the jugular. It’s classic.
When you don’t have a leg to stand on…..you try to take out the opponent’s legs.
Maybe they feel threatened by the subject. Maybe they just don’t want to talk about it. But, if something is bothering someone you love so much you would think that the person would want to help fix it. How anyone can sit and watch their loved one sit and cry and just continue to belittle and make light if the issue is inexplictable to me. It’s borderline sadistic.
|1.||Psychiatry. sexual gratification gained through causing pain or degradation to others. Compare masochism.|
|2.||any enjoyment in being cruel.|
Take a look at #2….“any enjoyment in being cruel”.
When you love someone, you would think that you would do anything within your power to help them or ease their pain, no matter what the cause…especially if you are the cause. It is horrible what we do to each other in the name of love and a fair fight. I have used the past and hurt loved ones in arguements and have had it done to me also. It doesn’t feel good on either end. Particualrly the first. Hurting the one you love just to try and prove your point is not fair….it’s cheating. Every discussion begins with the good intention of working an issue out. No one expects to be hurtful or vindictive, but that is our nature. When threatened, we realiate with a greater vengence. It’s not right, it just happens to be true. Humans have never been able to distinguish themselves from animals in their basic instincts. The protective mother, vengeful lover, or sexual impulses of procreation.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions……
I watched the movie “The Day the Earth Stood Still” last night. It wasn’t a particularly good movie, but it had a very valid and poigent message.
When faced at the brink or precipce of great destruction is when we finally change.
My husband and I were at that brink a few years ago. We decided it would be best to live apart and try to work it out. We made arrangements to see apartments for him, as I wanted to be sure it was a good place for the kids to be when they went over to their father’s. We found one just a few blocks from the house we were in. It was close, in the price range and had lots of room. An old Italian lady came down from her home a few doors down…she owned the apartment building. She showed it to us and it seemed just perfect. She asked if it was just for us. We explained what we were doing.
She was looking at us as if we were insane.”So”, she said, “you’re a gonna a live a apart and a try to a work it a out? What is a the a sense in a that? You a younger a generation don’t a realize what a you are a doing.” We laughed a little, thanked her and said we would be in touch.
I had a lot to think about on that short drive home. I guess my husband did the same. We didn’t fight that night, but talked….really talked without being mean and hurtful. He never did take the apartment and we worked it out. It was at the precipce of that moment that we realized the impact of our decision. That woman talked us out of renting her apartment. I think that was her intention all along.
It took me longer than normally to write this, as I didn’t know how to put into words how strongly these feeling are for me. I am guiltly of being hurt and guilty of administering the pain as well.
It is when we are at the brink of a breakdown that we finally realize what we need to do. I feel as if I am slowly walking toward the precipce of something huge. I don’t know if I will change what I need to…..
or just jump.