Better

 

There is a song for everything. 

My kids hear me say this often.  Sometimes one of them will say something and it'll trigger a song in my head and I'll sing their phrase back to them.  It's a kind of game, I suppose.

On my device I have many, many songs.  Music thrums at the core of my psyche.  I have a few different playlists for different moods.  One of them is titled "People", and on it are songs that remind me of folks I know.  When one of these songs plays, I say hello to the person.  They're not all among the living, but the music doesn't care.

Some songs are less about people than about moments, or choices, or life in general.  Or all of those.

I was in an abusive relationship.  It didn't start out that way.  It started hopeful, and giddy, and powerful.  It started with sweet words and compliments.  It was the very definition of love bombing, something I had no notion of at the time.  Love bombing is something best know to those who study or experience narcissisms/narcissistic relationships.  He was, still is, a narcissist, textbook.  He may or may not read this blog, and he probably won't like this entry, but it has been building up inside my head for a few week and it wants OUT!  So, out it comes.

The abuse began before he ever came here to Casa de Crazy.  It began when we talked on the phone, when his anger and frustration at his own life echoed in his words to me.  At the time, I knew he had...anger issues...and tried to help him get a grip on it, to have hope.  After all, we had plans, happy ones (I thought).  It seemed effective, to talk through what was upsetting him.

One incident sticks out - he wanted to go camping.  The campground he had in mind was in use by a Boy Scout event, and he was turned away.  He called me, agitated.  Angry.  I can't help it, I am a helper.  I want to help people.  While on the phone with him, from four states away, I found a campground near him and sent him directions.  He had his camping weekend.  That was the first of many times he would call me, even after he moved here, to find him and get him directions to where he wanted to be.  More often than not, he was still driving and I had to search on the fly, and he would yell at me, denigrate me, for not being fast enough, good enough, for not being more remarkable than I already was.  How many people can ask where you are, and while you're still driving, find you, find where you want to be, and get you there with clear direction, even sending you information via text and also through a mapping app?  But it wasn't good enough.

It wasn't good enough.

I wasn't good enough.

Never good enough.

And when I was better at something than him, he would rage.  He raged for days because we'd laughed at a bit of whimsy and both wanted to share it on our blogs.  We each raced to snag the link and post it.  I got there first.  No big deal, I thought.  I was wrong.  That night, I contemplated suicide for the first but not the only time in our relationship.  I was so awful, I thought.  How could I dare?  And he refused to share the video on his blog because I posted it first and...I was a terrible person for mocking him with my success like that.

It was the first time I saw his anger, but not the last.  

He swore he loved me even as he swore at me.

I got so that I didn't want to write, or sing, or take photographs, or cook, or do anything better than he did.  I failed on purpose, did poorly on purpose, so he would get angry.  Or, if I couldn't fail, I wouldn't let him see I'd done well.

We were supposed to be polyamorous.  Heck, he met his first "other" girlfriend through me!  He was poly, but I couldn't be.  I couldn't feel happy or good about myself if another man so much as complimented me - I couldn't so much as hug a friend I'd known for twenty years or more - or he'd accuse me of lying, cheating, scheming to get rid of him.  He cheated on me, lied about it, stole from me and the kids, lied to us, broke his word over and again, and I was steadfast...but he accused me nonetheless.  

I held on.  I struggled, strove to keep together.  I just knew that we could make it work if we did the work.  Through his addiction, anger, alcoholism, abuse, and narcissism, I kept on.  I made excuses for his words and behavior.  I was quiet, and hard, and loud, and soft, and yielding and unyielding, and consistent, and eventually I was done.

That kind of anger, that rage, that spite, that hatefulness, that blame, all of it was toxic.  My children cowered in their rooms, fled from him.  Time after time I put myself between them and him, put myself between him and the world, inviting his wrath to target me.  He knew how to hurt with words, but so did I.  I finally stopped trying to be nice and spit my own venom at him.  Time after time, I used my voice, my experience, my knowledge of him and the human psyche, and I lashed out.  I didn't like who I was becoming.

I had to end it.  For the sake of my children, for the sake of myself, I had to cut the final strand that tied us together.  So.  I did.

During that time of ending, the song above came into my life.  Dear Goddess, it was a blow.  At first I wondered how I could have been better, what I did wrong, why I wasn't good enough.  Then I wondered why I blamed myself.

I wasn't, I'm not, perfect.  Mistakes?  Oh, yeah, you betcha.

But.  I gave it my poor best, held on long after every other person in my life who loved me begged me to let it go, gave and gave and gave while he took and took and took until I was empty and then I dug deeper and found more.  I borrowed against my future self, took years from tomorrow and shoved them into the cracks, trying to keep the whole thing from falling apart, until nothing was enough and it crumbled.

I look back and think of the pain and sorrow that I carried with me as if I deserved them, and I I wonder what could have happened if we had been better.  And then I think...how could I have been better?  How could I have been more?  Again, I'm so, so far from perfect I can't even see it from here...but...I was always striving to be my better self.

If you were a better man...if he were a better man...

But he didn't want to be.  He wanted the world, wanted me, to bend to him, to bend to his unforgiving, unreasonable will.  Still does, although he says he trying to be better.  I hope he figures it out before he destroys someone else.  Before he destroys himself.  

As it turns out, I cannot, will not, bend that far; I will not break for anybody else.  I'm the only one who breaks me.  I the best there is at it.  

I wake up lonely at night.  I walk through my days lonely, wondering if that loneliness will haunt me until the end of my time.  I feel the immense burden of being a single mother and of the many ways I fail my kids on a daily basis.  I hear echoes of his terrible, horrible, awful, ugly words.  I know I had to do it.  Should have done it sooner, but I'm stubborn and don't easily give up, give in.

I had to be better than that.

I had to be better than both of us. 

I have to be better.

I will be better.

People Soundtrack

Music.

It's a large part of me, of how I feel and express, create and connect.

You've likely heard about the concept of a personal sound track, like in the movies but for your life - songs that are indelibly embedded with memories of places, times, emotions.  Songs that unfailingly remind you of your moments.

I have those songs.

I find that I've got a track within the track, too,


It's my People Soundtrack.

I'm feeling...things...and decided that I'd like to share some of my people with you.


John Watson

John was a dear young man.  I'd never heard this song  before his memorial.  It's sweet, and lovely, and when I hear it I always say "Hello, John Watson" and smile a little.  I miss him so.

Matt from PHP
He's married and has at least one child, now, but I knew him when he was sweet, painfully young, and attending a social group of which I was also a member.  He recorded a version of The Moldau for me when he learned that I adore it.  I believe that he is still sweet, if not quite so young (the years, they do fly).

Gypsy (not her real name, but excepting those passed through the veil or already public in persona, I don't tend to use given appellations)
One of my dearest friends, Gypsy.  Before kids and life and whatnot, we spent a lot more time together.  She played this lush song for me and my French brain struggled to translate to English, but whether I understand every word or not (and there's a lot of "not", these days, but thank goodness for translating programs and my hazy memory of youthful French), I enjoy it.

K2

Sister of my heart, Godmother to my son, one of the dearest people in my life, this is but one of the many songs I found through her.  Decadent, dark chocolate song...

E
He's married to K2, and he's one of the very few people with whom I will discuss politics.  He's also one of my favorite tech wizards, and I appreciate how often he doesn't make me feel like an idiot.

Mizz R Green
Dear woman, Godmother to my daughter, we've shared a love for another that has brought us joy, pain, laughter, and commiseration.  With her I've learned lessons about polyamoury, some easy, some difficult.  She brought me this song during some dark days.

Manx
I've listened to s LOT of Neil Diamond in my lifetime, but until Manx did a karaoke version of this, I'd never heard it!  Now, when I listen to it, I think of my friend singing at the Starwood radio station by the road, waiting for others to come do some karaoke in the summer sun.

Mr. Grey (nothing near his real name, but it's the name he used when we met, and not, it's nothing to do with that awful book...as far as I know)
He didn't introduce me to this song, but I heard it just after we met and it struck me as sweet, and he's rather sweet, and somehow it stuck.  I'm rather fond of both Mr. Grey AND this song.  The video never fails to bring a smile to my face.  Lort, but how I wish I could dance!

Donna Donnovan
I am comfortable using her name because she is fairly public - she founded and is part of Appalachian Pagan Ministry, and they to good work.  She used this song for a video she did for the APM, and it stuck in my head.  I say hello to her whenever I hear it.  She is John Watson's mother, and I love her.

There are so many more, but I think it wise to stop here before a too-long blog becomes too-longer.

How about you?  Any songs that bring your people to mind?

Lean

This morning I woke up weepy, and it hasn't let up.  Every damned thing makes my eyes leak.

I wish I had someone to lean on.

I mean, I have people to lean on, really terrific people who love me and put up with all of my bullshit on a daily basis.

But as wonderful as these good people are, they're not next to me in the small hours when the night is heavy, pressing down on me, stealing my breath and churning my thoughts into a froth of misery.

I wish I had someone to physically lean on.  A shoulder on which to rest my head for a minute when I'm worn out and feel like I can't pick up my basket of stones and carry them one. Step. More.

I'm tired of feeling alone.

Merry, Merry

Music On My Mind

If you've been reading this blog for a minute you know I'm a wee musical.  There's almost always some kind of song running through my head.  Sometimes I have an extensive playlist in there, and sometimes it's just one or two songs over and over and over and over and...you get the idea.

I have this idea that the music on our minds when we aren't thinking about it is trying to tell us something.  Music soothes, it agitates, it hurts, it comforts, it offers an outlet for expression unequaled in this world.  When words fail, music speaks.

So this morning I woke with a few songs taking turns on the inner part of my noggin.   First was this:
  

 Then this:
   

 Then this:
   

What's that about?

Meanwhile, what kind of music have you been listening to, in or out of your mind?

Not Much to Write About, So Here's Some More Music

I cannot keep from singing.

Beautiful Things

I always wished I could dance...

A Brief Musical Interlude...

...because I need to fall apart a little, right now.

Oh. Muh. Goodness.

Once, long ago, for the span of a few minutes, perhaps a few hours, I wanted to be a ballet dancer.  My grandmother, being her usual kind, sweet, compassionate self learned of it and wasted no time in telling me why I could never...

Too fat...

Too slow...

Too clumsy...

Too tall...

Too graceless...

Too much of too many things that a dancer cannot be, and not enough of any of the things a dancer must be.

What made me think of this?  The video below...which prompted the sudden intense regret that I am not also a ballet dancer, if only so I could move with this man with such power, grace, and intensity.  Sigh.

I can watch him, though...over and over again.  Join me - I don't think you'll regret it.

You Don't Have To...

I'm feeling melancholy today.  hardly new.  I am feeling as though I have lost myself, or given myself away bit by bit until there's not enough left of me for me.  I feel bent and broken and wrong.  I'm cold outside and in.

The world is still beautiful, and I cannot bear it.  I have things to do and I am doing none of them.

Music, instead.  Song after song, helping me tick away the hours until tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, on and on...

Last week was death and anger and hurt and struggle and loss and hunger and cold.  This week looks like much the same.  How dare the sky be blue?

Yuletide Tunes - A Very Happy Solstice To All

Yule Sing Along Eventually

Hey, You...

Sometimes a song says it best.
~~~~~

Meanwhile, the Evil Genius, Sprout and I are hauling the keylime bars and brownies I baked yesterday off to K2's place for her son's birthday party.

What're you up to, today?

Deep Impact

Fair warning: Long winded vent following.


What the above has to do with this post...I dunno. Well...actually...two lines stuck in my head: "Others have excuses, I have my reasons why."
~~~~~
Story time, boys and girls.

When I was young(er), I was sent to boarding school. It was in New Hampshire. I was there for four years, through eighth-ish grade, the last level the school had. I say "ish" because the school didn't use the traditional grading system, and I was actually educated beyond eighth when I left, but the public school I was to attend when I moved put me in ninth based on age.

While at the school, certain things took on greater importance to me than they'd had before.

Things like mail - a letter was gold, a package sent a kid over the moon. I've recently learned that it's not unlike that for someone in prison; it's a connection to the outside world, proof that someone, anyone, still knows you exist...and more, that they care. I still have a few of the letters I received while at HES (the school).

Phone calls were good, too - once a week, we could receive phone calls from family, and we waited for those calls like hyenas waiting for a crippled gazelle to finally stumble and fall. The phone would ting and heads would pop out of rooms, a sort of prairie dog effect. Again, it was a connection, a reminder that we had families who loved us.

Visits were best of all. At any time, family could arrange to come visit, although weekends were the usual and most popular visitation time. I looked forward to visits from my family, although they were few and far between - Mum lived here in Redneck Central, I was at school in Nude Hamster, Dad lived on The Island and my grandmother was busy doing...umm...grandmother things. Mum wrote regularly, my grandmother came up once in a while, and Dad...well...

One Thursday, Dad called. It wasn't usual, and I was delighted to hear from him. We talked for a bit, and he told me he was coming for a visit.

I looked forward to that visit for weeks. When the houseparents made special weekend plans, I opted out because my father was coming to visit, and how could I go do...whatever? Plans were made, and I awaited his visit with growing excitement. From today's perspective, visits would have been boring - maybe go out for lunch, maybe hang out and talk for a while, maybe go to the library or into town to walk around - but we lived for them.

Friday night came, and the dorm phone rang.

I knew.

It was Dad, calling to cancel. At the time, he ran a charter fishing company, and he'd had a last-minute booking. He couldn't come up that weekend.

My father had his reasons why...but to me? They were excuses. Weak ones. Excuses that told me I meant less than everything else.

I told him it was ok, that I understood, that I knew it was important. We finished the call, and I went to my room and cried where no one would see or hear and bother me. I missed out on the weekend activities, spent much of the time alone in the woods talking to the trees and trying to figure out why I didn't matter.
~~~~~
Yesterday was T's birthday. For weeks, Bird has asked me if he could spend that day with his dad. For weeks, I have been asking "So, how 'bout it, can the kid spend the day with you?" For weeks, the answer has been non-committal. Finally, a few days ago, T called and said he would come get Bird and keep him overnight.

After confirming that he really was coming, I told Bird.

He was over the moon.

So yesterday, T called and said he would come in the evening. Bird was excited all day. When T called at 6 to say he was on the way, he also told me he couldn't keep Bird over night...he'd had a last-minute call to work.

I was...annoyed. Disappointed. Not going to be the one to tell Bird. T could tell him when he got here. I was also glad that, once again, I had NOT made any plans that hinged on being without an Evil Genius. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid - I have come to expect these things.

Bird took the news well enough...but that, combined with the painfully short visit (about an hour here at Casa de Crazy, at least half of which T spent talking to me or texting/making/receiving calls on his phone) hurt him. He'd hoped to have his dad's birthday with his dad, a sweet thought...and he got a fraction of that.

He sang Happy Birthday to T (Without being coached or prompted by me, might I add?), eventually walked him out to his car, and came back inside...a very quiet boy. He spent the rest of the evening snuggled up to me on the couch - I let him stay up a little late and watch a show on what Earth might be like without a moon, put an arm around him (despite holding a sleeping Sprout), shared some Cheese-Its, and talked about what we were watching.

I know work is important. I know that income is necessary in today's society. I know that T's inability to tell people "I can't. I've made plans with my family." contributed to our divorce - coming in last place gets a little old, even when you're used to it. I also know that he's not trying to hurt Bird; he loves his son, and I do not doubt that for a moment. I know all of these things.

But Bird was hurt...is continually hurt when his father doesn't come until late in the evening to get him and brings him home early in the day, or cuts visits short to work, or goes to work while Bird is visiting, leaving the kid with his (T's) mom for most of the day - and while she adores him, it's his father he wants to see and be with.

Every time his father lets him down, I have to pick him up, pick up the slack, try to assuage hurt feelings, make it better (because I cannot make it right).

T has his reasons why...but to Bird? They're excuses.

And despite my best efforts, he is beginning to wonder why he doesn't matter.

Yes, Yes, Another Video

I was out running erands yesterday and put the iPod on Gordon Lightfoot, 'cause I dig him and like to sing along (when I can make out what the heck he's mumbling - my diction teacher would have had a field day with him!). One of the lyrics to the song below caught my ear...

"Deep in the dark of a burned out soul, there's a few good second-hand dreams..."

Nice...



What're you listening to, today?

Rootless

Don't take it personally...it's not directed at anyone in particular. I'm simply tired in ways that defy my ability to speak of, and certain phrases from this lovely song haunt my mind.

Sometimes I'm blind and I just don't see.

I wish that life, that this life that I'm living, would let me out if it hates me so.

I'm awfully tired of hanging on to something that clearly doesn't want me. Why fight, why scrap it out, why roll in the dirt and dust and struggle when it just gets me another kick in the teeth?

It'll pass. It always does.

And some day I'll get it right, this damned life of mine. Hopefully before I ruin anyone else's any more than I already have. If you're part of the collateral damage...I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you on that far away some day, if you'll let me.

The Gift

It's that time again...time for the music, lights, the sparkle, the twinkle...and The Gift. I only listen to this song at this time of year, despite having it marked on YouTube. I love it...


I admit...it's one of my sniff, sniff, weep songs. I love the child's voice, and the story it tells.

M'kay, nuff o' that - it's lights-and-ornaments-on-the-tree time, and then there's a cookie swap to get to!

Do you have a favorite holiday song?

Just...Breathe...

Back in '09 (when the world was new and my knees didn't creak), Someone posted this on his blog. It made me cry...and miss him (he didn't live here, yet)...and wish he was here. I played it until it echoed from the timbers, until I heard it in my sleep, until it whispered through my days...

Sometimes I forget to breathe, so caught up in the moment am I...

When Someone holds me, tucks my head into his shoulder, wraps his arms around me...oh, how I love to breathe him in, his scent, that indescribable something that is HIM. I am comforted. it's the absence of that touch that hurts, when we forget and are caught up in momentary occurrences, anger that will pass because anger cannot be sustained forever...and why would we want it to be?

"Oh I don't want to hurt, there's so much in this world to make me bleed..."

Yeah.

People are...odd. Difficult. Stupid. Just plain mean.

So caught up in their own moments, so caught up in their own hurt...they parcel it out, little bundles of ugliness meant to distress, to bring others into their circle of misery.

Last night, Casa de Crazy was hauled into other people's misery, and we forgot to breathe. This morning, we've found our balance again...we're breathing...

And through it all...we're loving...even when we're in our moments, bound up tight and choking on thoughts, words, hurt...we're loving.

What With Upcoming Elections and All

I thought I'd post this again:


Feel free to share...I know the creator and lent my voice to some of the harmonies.

Hey, Y'all, Watch This!!

I'm going to be a little shameless for a moment. I had the honor of recording some tracks for a friend's video. He finished it and posted it on YouTube, and I sent the link to The Hermit, because the tone of the video fits in beautifully (I think) with his blog and world view. I I'm posting it now because he's already posted it on his site, so now it's fair game. The video is political, and maybe it'll offend some folks...but I also think it's powerful and a message that is worth hearing and sending to any one who holds public office. It's We the People, not You, the Politicians, and everyone will benefit if we can remember and remind others of that.

So...give it a listen and feel free to tell me what you think - good, bad, indifferent, I'm happy to hear from you.



I doubled B's vocals on melody and did high and low harmonies, in case you were wondering.

I'm hoping this thing will go viral...so feel free to pass it along.