Loss = Becoming An Adult?

images-5

Sigh.  It’s true. I’ve never felt so grown up and lost in my life.

After losing both parents you only have yourself to go to.

It’s surreal.

Help.

Suggestions?

Advertisements

Black Widow

images-2

After we lost our mother we were destroyed
Our house infiltrated by the devil
Eager to break our spirit
Eager to break our fragile bond
Took what treasure she could get her chubby little hands on
Heart
Soul

My mother’s “friend”
Demonic grin
Fake saggy tits
Cellulite ass
Clutching. Grasping.
Pursed bloated lips against a wine glass
Seductive to a blind man
Still married. She got a ring. A diamond ring
They’re only “things” right?

Single White Female in my mother’s clothing
Single White Female scavenging for jewels
Vulture. Bottom feeder. Tramp
Using her musky rotten scent to entrap a weak man
Dying her hair just the right color, just like my mom’s
Sending a poor fragile old soldier on the hunt for gifts
Not just any gift, the “just right gift”
The right expensive gift

A house ransacked
A grave desecrated
A family destroyed
Father against son
Father against daughter
Brother against sister
All in the name of “love”

Sad the women who get away with this
Sad the women who lack values, morals or goodwill
Sad the women who destroy the pure and good
But the Devil always gets hers
Someone looking. Watching. Waiting
An Angel
A hunter
To shoot the demon where it hurts

Right. Wrong. Way.

fork-in-the-road-2-paths-225x149

Life seems to be a process of letting go. Over and over and over again– and over again. I am barely growing accustomed to not having my mom around. I still miss her so much. Long for her phone call. Long really for someone who really gives a fuck about me. I don’t mean to be crass, but it’s true. My mom. Moms in general. Really are, for the most part, the ones who really care about what happens to us on a daily basis.

So, in an attempt to be a good daughter, I have tried to keep the little family I have together. But to be crass again, they are assholes. Self-centered shits. Some therapists say, whatever you think of others, may be what you think of yourself. Well, that may be true, I am an asshole and a shit and sometimes a big murky pond of diarrhea, but you know what, I, at least try to care, or pretend to.

This past month has been yet another of separation. I see my therapist on a weekly basis. Sometimes, I think it’s good; other times I think it’s bad. But, I hope for the most part it’s good. Recently, in one of our sessions I came to the realization that my objective to keep the family together – in writer terms—has been in the “right-wrong-way”. At least that’s what we call it when our protagonist/hero, is trying to resolve their objective with proper intention and bad thinking coupled with some bad actions.

What have I been doing?

No. No. Not sleeping with another married man, but trying to salvage my relationship with my brother. How have I been accomplishing this you ask? Well. Emails, texts, phone calls. Reminders of our youth. Nostalgia. Words. Lots of them. Recently, all he has been able to say to me is, “the only thing we have in common is that we came from the same parents.”

OUCH. What a shit! Right?

So. I’ve resolved to do as he and my stepfather do and (yes, we don’t share the same father, but I guess he forgot that, I have no relationship with said biological dad either— another shit, right?), anyway, I have resolved NOT to give chase. I’ve resolved not to beg my object of affection, my dear brother, to be a part of my life, instead, I am releasing him while leaving the door open in case he wants to come through again. Life hurts, but begging is a form of self-flagellation I don’t need to participate in anymore.

I ‘m learning that family isn’t a blood relationship; it is a bond between two people or clan of people who want you in their lives. Who care about you. Who love you. This is all I want, and let me tell you, it’s liberating. Maybe, now, romantically I will call the right one in, now that I am no longer on the right, wrong way.