It All Began

DANCE while you can...."I will not stand to the side and allow the MUSIC in
my HEART to fadeaway and die.
I will DANCE to my own LIFE SONG."

Saturday, September 10, 2011

The Sounds of Madness

"Early saturday morning. The guys went fishing and once I woke I could not sleep again. 
My mind began to churn and write and stir me up again. 
So sleepy eyed, alone I stare at an empty screen. 
Will I sit out on the porch, drink coffee and savor the last of the cool? 
No. It's sad. I won't. 
Instead, I'll obsess, and dream and wonder, what? and where? and why?. 
And will you think of me today? 
And if you could then would you want to be with me awhile? 

If I wrote would you write back? And if not how long would I wait? 
All day it seems I live in dreams I know will not come true. 
But still I choose a day to lose supposedly for you. 
But if not you then would I choose to let my life ebb away? 
Yes, it seems to live in dreams or by not choosing just to live like normal folk
 who don't obsess or stare and waste their days waiting 
for another soul to make or break their day. When in truth I've only me to blame.

Do I go back and make it all rhyme and fit just perfectly? 
Just more waste for I'll never taste the things that drive me mad. 
And then they simmer angrily and then I'm turned to sad. 

How many thoughts can you think in a measure of a time? 
Mine can't be measured, they're too quick and torturous to me. 
Do you ever wonder if there's a way to be set free? And if you do then from what? 

Want to steal away and meet for pancakes at I-Hop? 
No. I didn't think so."

I wondered how long it would take.
Now I know. 
Not long.

It started yesterday. The obsessing.
The dirty little secret I do not share.
The original obsession of my youth that made a circle and then returned.
Somewhere in my early years it seems that things went south. There was the fear, the "not measuring up", the awareness of the strangeness of me. Different. Not like others. Alien.
It manifested first in isolation (hiding).
That's all I remember about that early season.

Then came pre-adolescence and with it the OCD.
This was a major ignitor of anger and disgust from my mother.
It may also be the first 
recollection I have concerning texture and touch. 
It's gonna sound weird but here goes:
I remember it best at the dinner table. I would reach across the table to get the ketchup (or whatever). 
On the way I would touch the bottle or another item with a certain area of my finger or hand. Then I was required to touch it again, in the same spot. It must feel exactly the same or I was required to try again and again until the feeling was replicated, then I could relax and move on.
The requirement was not at my mother or anyone else's insistence, but at my own. And it was not optional.
Believe me, if I could have stopped it then I would have saved myself much suffering. 
It made my mother furious. "What the hell's wrong with you?!" 
"Stop it elle   _____, _______ (you know the voice that includes your first middle and last name)!!!
There was the glaring at me, the look that said 'you disgust me'.
(tears) It is a look I was all too familiar with. A look my father gave me often. Sometimes accompanied by an attack on my looks (my hair, the condition of my shoes), often of my mother (her inability to cook, clean...). She disgusted him.
I reminded him of her.
I was disgusting to him.

It was the same on the other side.
"When you do that (whatever the hell that was, I never knew), you look just like your dad!" The voice was low, bitter, angry & full of hatred.
She hated him.
I reminded her of him.
She hated me.

It's not rocket science. 2+2 will always = 4.
He hates her, she hates him, but there's still me.
He can't hit her, she can't hit him, but there's still me.
He's not near her, she's not near him, I'm near both.
So I get his hate, I get her slap then I get her hate and I get his fist.
I remember her slap, I do not remember his physical fist. His lifelong disgust, disappointment, disapproval, disowning me over and over were fist enough to destroy.

Let's take a break in the chain:
I understand her. I admire who she had to be to survive for herself and for me. She is my mom and I love her. She makes me furious at times but no one has loved me longer or truer. 

(lots of tears. this is very, very hard & deep. dark and true. these are the things that confuse my mind. how could she hate me and love me. why me. why not me. how does this happen, this madness. i woke this morning and started writing a poem about leaves and their beauty. what triggers the madness and will it last forever and is there an escape. how long must i walk. why am i so alone, and does ANYONE UNDERSTAND????)

I'm going to post to this point. The rest will come later today or not. I will see how far I can go. Timing is crucial in all things. It seems I have time today. Time will tell how healing the truth is or isn't.
With love. For now, elle

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