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the ever present darkness

i just finished watching HBO’s “Captivated: The Trials of Pamela Smart” and my heart is heavy.

cap

the film premiered in January at the Sundance Film Festival, and makes an amazingly poignant statement about our lives today; what the hell is the media doing to our brains?

OK that probably isn’t actually THEIR statement…but as you watch the documentary, it is amazingly clear that TRUTH is not really easily definable or discovered once the media decides the verdict of things ahead of time.

i found this documentary fascinating, and disheartening at the same time.  i saw a documentary not long ago about the woman who spilled coffee on her lap at a drive through McDonald’s and sued for damages.  i actually remember that situation, and how frustrated everyone was about the situation ~ what world are we living in when people can’t own up to their own mistakes?  but the reality was quite different than people made it out to be.  and once celebrities and comedians got their routine into the coffee bit, all of America had made a decision on what happened with the coffee and the lap; including me.  “Own up to your own mistakes, people” i might have shouted.  “we shouldn’t be a sue-happy culture!”

we shouldn’t be a lot of things that we are.  one thing i’m pretty certain that we as people will never really get to is smart.  we are too quick to judge when there is no information available to judge with.  we are gullible and hopeful and biased.  we have long records of wrongs done to us, and not a long enough list of goods we have done for others.

i feel flustered today; because it doesn’t really seem like anything ever changes.  there is just a big bunch of good, bad and ugly.  so what is my two cents worth in the long run?  and what kind of stupid question is that anyway, ’cause nobody even uses cents anymore! cents are so worthless you can’t even find the symbol on a modern day computer or device!

* sigh *

so, there’s nothing left for me to do, but just keep on fighting.  it doesn’t really feel like it is doing anything.  but i can’t just roll over and give up.  i may not be able to conquer the darkness of stupidity, ignorance, and cruelty; but i can at least try to spread the healing blanket of acceptance, love, and kindness.

beyond that much, i will just have to have a decent margarita or a really big scoop of ice cream.

 

 

the devil inside

we all have a little of the dark in us i guess.  last night while i was lying on my heated massage table, my next door neighbor was outside in his car, playing ‘tunes’.  he does this all the time.  perhaps he’s gotten into a fight with his wife, so he goes into the car and blares his music.  maybe he’s in there getting high, as he frequently does.  maybe he’s just trying to pop the eardrums of unsuspecting locals.  the boom boom of his choice of music echoes through his vehicle loudly enough that it shakes the windows of my house.

it’s kind of hard to be in a peaceful, restful state when it sounds like a sledge hammer is taking down your walls.

at about this point last night the dark in me rose up.  i lay on the massage table imagining ways that i could kill my neighbor; electrical shock from his own stereo would be the most poetic, but probably not an easy task to arrange.  if i were a vampire i could drink him dry, but i don’t think i’d want to get that close to him, he’s been kind of sour lately.

at first this kind of thinking made me feel uncomfortably wrong.  we are taught that good girls don’t do those kind of things, and that thinking a bad thought is as bad as doing it.  but eventually i just accepted the fact that i was pissed, and irritated that he is so continuously rude (this family also forgets that their car stereo is on “blast” when they start it at 5 am with the auto starter, and leave it running for ten minutes).  despite the reality that i’ve been trained to squish away these kind of thoughts, or that sending negative vibes to another will bring bad to me threefold, it seemed to make me feel better.  imagining him injured didn’t help, but ALLOWING myself to imagine, and then ACCEPTING and ACKNOWLEDGING these thoughts and feelings released my tension and anxiety.

and then, his music stopped.

life is maybe less about trying to make things happen, and make the right decisions, and more about going with the flow and admitting that you are still a little beast here and there.

Accidental Happiness ~ the meaning of the Ghost Girl

Well today has been terribly interesting, and it’s only 8:30 am!

I’ve gone through a lot this morning, and I suppose I’ll start at the conclusion and work backwards:  I am a ghost.

Facebook is many things, but for me right now it has been validity.  I’ve had a number of people over the past year get in touch with me, and tell me how much I mean to them, and reach out to re-establish a friendship.  This has been wonderful and made me feel loved.

And confused.

I realize that having my situation – for those of you new to the Denelle-Experience, I have DID/MPD/aka: multiple personality disorder – might be difficult for people to deal with.  I have been very fortunate that the good majority of people I have come out to have been unphased by my declaration of insanity and have embraced me as the same old me I was yesterday, before they knew I was crazy.  But there is always that fringe element; the people who curl up their lips in distaste, the people who think I’m trying to be “special”, or the people who say “let me process that and I’ll get back to you” and then don’t get back to you.  But as I’ve said, I’ve been lucky most of the time.  And especially fortunate for these people that have come back into my life and said “I don’t care.  Have what you want, I still love you”.

And that’s the issue at hand for me;  grappling with this idea that people can love me regardless of my wonky eyebrows, or my love handles, or any of my other oddities.  Not because I think I am not lovable, but because I have trained myself to be invisible.

They say you establish your personality by the time you are five, and today my sister helped me understand why I so often feel like I’m invisble, or feel unloved even when people love me very much.   It’s because I trained myself to be a ghost.  Messages from my surroundings and actions from others bombarded me in my childhood, feeding me information that told me I was disposable, invisible, or ethereal.  Here are a few of those things:

my father left me in the mountains when i was 3 or 4.     my mother sent me away to Mexico when i was 8, without telling me why or if i would be coming back home.     i used to hear a song a lot as a kid that talked about Jesus, and how it’s too late for you, he left without you and “you’ve been left behind”.      my mother sent me to live with my godparents when i was having nervous breakdowns and was suicidal.     my uncle tried to kill me with an axe.      my mom used to leave us occassionally, when she’d had too much of our family, and i never knew if she would come back, which made me feel unimportant, and somehow invisible.     my father abandoned my family to go to another country and help them in a crises, meanwhile leaving us with no money, food or heat in the house.      i was missing in my sixth grade class picture-the year i started feeling strong and powerful and my own person-and there i was NO ONE and INVISIBLE not standing next to my best friend Mary, because i was mysteriously missing.  a ghost of a person, and it’s hard to take pictures of a ghost.        i lost my 7th grade year book full of signatures of all my friends that remembered me, had fun with me….almost as though that year never happened.

For a normal sane individual these things might not make you think you are a ghost.  You would say something like “shit, i hate it when i lose something” or “who keeps old yearbooks?”   For me, this is life.  My life.  This is how it has been for me since the dawn of my time; I seem to evaporate until no memory of me is left, and I was never there to begin with.  Sort of like the movie “The Butterfly Effect” which I won’t even link to because it upset me so much.

I have struggled with feeling like I had no particular place in life, in this world.  Detached.  Dissociated.  But my sis sort of brought that into perspective this morning, when I fretted about friends who loved or didn’t love or remember me.  We came to the conclusion that I am ghostly, and have ghostly work to do.  I have work to do between the worlds, between the realms of the living and dead, between the realities of possible and imagination, which to me are the same damn thing.  It’s become clear that all the things that happened in my formative years instructed me to be a ghost;  and so I must have been training myself in this field for some phantomly lifetime purpose. 

Either that or I’m just not very memorable.   I’ll stick with the ghost-mission.

white rabbit’s pocket watch

Sometimes I worry that I have started my life too late.

I started loving too late, and have missed out on all the good love, standing in line waiting for the “right one”.

I started being too late, and spent most of my life in fear, hanging out against the wall, counting the flowers in the wall paper and muttering to myself that it is too cold to go outside and play, and maybe instead I’ll just stay in here by myself and watch another episode of The Twilight Zone that I can already quote by heart.

I started feeling too late, and tucked away most of the colorful crayons that draw pictures like love and passion and brilliance and creativity, and instead played with the grey chalks that sprinkled a dusty, feathery hue of aloneness all over the canvas of my life, leaving me solidly entrenched in the walls of my castle, where I could color by myself, in my little grey hues, day after day, and not have to worry about whether some boy could ever find me beautiful, or wonder about love, and why it makes my heart pound so hard, and makes my eyeballs a sprinkler system.

I started seeing too late, the world being a flat and cardboard life until one day it burst into 3-D in front of my face, and suddenly I was living in a pop-up book, where I began to realize I was actually IN the story, not just reading about someone else. This is ME in here, and I’m actually alive.

And I guess that’s it: I’m actually alive. Finally.

And yes, it took so long. And in the space of time it took me to finally wake up from the bad dream that has been my existence, I could have learned to fly a plane, or solved world hunger, or discovered a new solar system. I could have healed the lame, or kissed the unlovable, or mastered some difficult martial art that only the chosen know.

But really, I guess it is wonderful and important for one person to come fully into their life. And so I must decide to agree that time is not my enemy, and finally set aside my pocket watch.