Story of My Feelings

On with the countdown and we're onto "A wizard, a true star" or as it is
warmly known among his fans as AWATS. So, right before my senior year in
high school, my best friend's Dad was reassigned and my best buddy moved
away.

A couple years after graduation, another buddy and I went to visit our
lost friend in Wisconsin. It was just after Christmas, so we were going
to bring in the new year there because the drinking age was 18. Well
after drinking all night and trying to hit on this chick (all night) we
ended up crashing at someone's apartment. We ring in the new year and it
gets late. We crash on the floor and the couches.

After a couple of hours I woke up with my buddies bare ass right in my
face. The story went that after we all crashed my buddy kept up the
pressure on my date's friend, and then one thing led to another. I could
never get over the balls they both had to screw in a roomful of
"sleeping" people. I can't imagine the charisma my buddy had to have to
talk this girl into getting nasty in a room full of people. Well I
wasn't about to throw cold water on their party, so I pretended not to
notice. They finally finished and crashed too, but is was certainly
strange catching them getting their freak on.

I'd have to confess that New Years Eve has never been one of my favorite
celebrations. There are only a few that stick in my mind as memorable.
To remember probably my favorite New Years Eve, I've started listening
to my Todd Rundgren collection. I'm going to see how far through his
formidable repertoire I can get before the new year comes. So far, I've
listened to Todd and Something & Anything. I'll recount some of my best
New Years Eve memories as I continue my journey through Toddlandia.

How can it be? That we celebrate around the world, some the same, some
altogether different. And yet, while I'm here amongst a celebration, my
heart lies a thousand miles away? What tricks are these that cause us
sadness, when we are surrounded by joy?

Now that I've thought about it some more
a nice little Sportster 883
or convertible Nissan 370Z Roadster
might be just as nice

If I could be granted just one wish
During this Holiday season
It would be for everyone
around the world
to look within themselves
and love their soul,
truly love themselves

Last night I tried to remember the last Christmas I spent with my
brothers, but I couldn't. I remember the last Thanksgiving. It was right
after my first daughter was born in 1994. And now for nearly 20 years
we've been separated, all because of who I chose to marry.

For some people life is a game
A competitive sport
where when someone wins
it means that someone loses
And the only way
to determine the winner
is by keeping score

For me life is more of an adventure
full of experiences
Some more pleasant
some less pleasant
Sometimes you take the right road
and other days you choose unwisely
You get lost, lose a bunch of your time
and never end up where you meant to.

In the end, however,
neither paradigm really matters
if you forget that nearly everyone
is trying  to do the best they can in life
To impose a judgment
on any circumstance
always misses the point
For there is always something
that eludes our understanding
It is impossible to know everything
about anything or anyone
So why try?

The other day my oldest daughter
went through her whole bedroom
in a wild cleaning spree

When she's done this before
I usually go through
what she throws out
Because there's always something
that seems to me, too sentimental
to part with
So I grab it and put it aside
To her credit, it's easy for her
to let go of the past

Today I went with my youngest
to the neighborhood park
Soon a day will come
when she won't want to play
with me anymore
And I'm not sure who
will look back on these days
with melancholy, her or me.
I'm guessing that it will be me.

It's madness. That's what it is.
A complete culture trapped.
By voluntarily isolating itself.
It is safe to remain stuck,
within the grandest delusion.
Never having to face up to it's self
for there is no one to hold them accountable.
The people are lulled into acceptance
by artificial opulence and alcohol.
It's "leaders" drunk upon the
illusion of power and  importance.
Like rats trapped in a maze
we repeat the same mistakes
over and over again.
We see misery and suffering
and isolate it to the lower caste,
separating ourselves from them
within glass houses of  morality.
And yet, at some level, we know.
We can occasionally see
around the rose-colored glasses,
we recognize the rampant hypocrisy
but blink it away,
as if it were a speck of dust.
When even the self righteous believe
they behave selflessly,
do so only to impress others.
And far be it, for anyone to dissent,
for they will be ostracized as a whiner,
or worse yet, to offend
when they were merely trying to defend
what they desire.

We put on our armor of jingoistic pride
even when we are not under attack,
no, now we pull it on so that we may cower within it
and hide from anything which could bring us
into direct confrontation with the reality.
With our armor fully in place we can easily
protect ourselves from the slings and arrows
of cold and harsh truth; we easily dodge facts,
allowing them to bounce off of our armor
and protect us from having to see the brokenness
which surrounds us, but with the face plate
of our helmets down we also prevent
ourselves from seeing our own brokenness.
Instead, when we look into a mirror
we imagine ourself in fine linens and trimmings,
and we are satisfied with our perfect lives,
even if they only exist within our imagination.

Ever have that feeling like you were supposed to be doing something, but for the life of you, you just can't remember what it was? It's like walking around on an endless balance beam teetering from side to side, expecting to fall off at any time, when you remember what you were supposed to be doing, except, you never remember, so you walk around for hours off balance, just about to fall.

As with all changes, sometimes it takes a while before we truly understand what things mean. Some call it hindsight, but we all usually arrive at a moment after we've made a change, when the true impact of the change becomes clear.

When change is thrust upon our lives, then we must follow the Kübler-Ross model until we reach the stage of acceptance, do we achieve peace and understanding. Now the five stages of grief are usually reserved for dealing with death or tragedy, if we are listening to our soul, as Thomas Moore suggests, the definitions of what is tragic broaden.

As anyone who has passed from full employment to disability knows, there is no other way to describe the change than tragic. So, at least for me, getting to the point where I accept disability is ongoing. What I think is more elusive is getting your loved ones to see disability as a tragic change and undergo their own process of grief.

It is an often encountered theory that we will either become one our parents or we will marry someone "just like them," i.e., marrying your father or mother. I have had the unique opportunity to see this evolve in front of me. I've observed for many years the similarities between my wife and her mother, so much so, that the imprint of mother upon the daughter is undeniable. Now I've begun to see another undeniable trend, the imprint of my wife upon her daughters. I try to remain impartial to this observation, but it is complex. Unfortunately I find myself responding negatively to some of my daughters behavior because of the issues I have with their mother about similar behavior.

Unfortunately, I got some first hand research on the comic book. I went
through a small purge tonight. Man, you can't imagine the pain.
Hopefully it'll stay fresh in my mind so I can finish the comic book
script.

Have you ever done something special for someone
without them knowing that you had anything to do with it?
There are some things that are just too precious to ruin,
by trying to steal some of the credit for yourself.

I bet she doesn't even know how lethal her barbs can be.
The razor precision of a few choice words
can turn my self-loathing inward
faster than an arrow leaving a compound bow.
Even when delivered with loving care
they pierce my essence and leave
me crippled to mount any defense.
The only response I'm left is to surrender.

How many people around this great big world are as alone as I am?
How many sit, as I am, at home, whether by choice or by infirmity?
How many suffer tonight in hungry solitude, while others squander their excess?
I remember how my Mother ended up a willing prisoner with her own home
as she slowly lost the ability to breath, struggling to keep oxygen flowing into her body.
For the most part, the television was her sole companion; I have my computer
and while it links me to millions, I often feel as alone as she did.
How many others are out there, lost within their own self-built dungeons?
I'll occasionally catch my reflection in the monitor, and wonder if there is any thing
left to me other than these pathetic attempts to reach out to .... no one.

Less than a mile away from our house
A man was chased down in the street
And then murdered with over 40 shots from an AK-47
Yes life goes on, yeah traffic was a mess
but nothing else registers
One person's normal is another person's nightmare.

If we could only realize, the small difference between hope and the dullness of an ordinary day.
If we could only remember, that nothing has importance except what we give it.
If we could only combine these two actions, we could build a life of joy, happiness, and peace.
If only, if only indeed.

Just one, that's all we get.
Just one life, it's impossible to be in two places at once.
Just one set of choices, for better or worse, never to be repeated.
Just one path, always sequential, there are no do overs, one thing after another.
Just one body, while it can sometimes be repaired, when it fails, that's it, game over.

Things are what we make them, or so people say. We filter life through
lenses crafted from experience and pain. We warp our perceptions to
match our preconceived judgments, then wonder why we are unhappy. After
a life-time of conditioning, how can we suddenly accept things at
face-value?

Last night a small opening appeared. With trepidation, I quickly decided to step through it. While I knew that it might lead me down a dark alley, I had to take the chance. Sure enough, once through, it was very dark indeed. I was compelled to confess things that we very painful. While making my confession, I became embarrassed; I was embarrassed for sharing my story with my therapist, with friends, and with you.

Continuing through the opening, I found myself in familiar territory. I found the same patterns which had blocked me before. However, surprisingly I found something new. I found new courage to share my feelings, and to my astonishment, I found new realizations. While rummaging through familiar patterns I found the roots of some of my feelings. For the first time, I had dug deep enough to find the source of my depression.

Although, I'm on very uncertain ground, I mustn't deny the danger that surrounds me. My digging has exposed a giant gaping wound, that must be treated with delicate and loving care. But somehow, I feel more at ease. The load which I had been carrying, now seems much lighter. Unfortunately, while looking around, I notice that the weight is still here, I've just passed it over to someone else. I can see it clearly now. Will my love be strong enough to help them carry the load until we can find some place to rid ourselves from it forever?

I'm not looking forward to another Christmas and New Year's in Purto Rico. It's almost like I can press rewind and live out any of the last 17 and it would pretty much the exact same thing. So I'm pounding down any negative responses and hoping that I can spend my way into a festive mood. Now that certainly sounds like the true spirit of Christmas, right? Ahh, bah humbug.

If we must carefully choose how we interpret things, does that leave any
room for spontaneous acts of love? Should we repeatedly offer an olive
branch, even if it is frequently mistaken for a thrown stick? Who can
find new ways to build a relationship, when bad habits have formed more
ways to destroy closeness? What are the magic words I need to use to
break this spell?

This in an ongoing series intended to help you survive, when your spouse
goes into insane mode. Probably the most important task is
identification. It's critical that you remain alert to the early warning
signs. Things to look for are: unexplained urgency in tone and actions;
non-stop frenetic and erratic activity; and finally, rising levels of
responsive emotions within the family.

Choices, some easy, some hard
Some with clarity
Some without much thought at all
But all share one unavoidable link
They take us down paths
Which lead us towards
Or away from our dreams
Depending on the power
Of our convictions

Couldn't say it any better, so:

"Day after day, love turns grey
Like the skin of a dying man
Night after night, we pretend it's all right
But I have grown older and
You have grown colder and
Nothing is very much fun any more."

Well, something like that, or is it that I've just heard Pink Floyd's "The Wall" way too many times?

How can I begin to find just the right words to lovingly share my deepest feelings, the fears I keep behind hidden doors? Not only will it be hard to say what I have to say, but it will be even harder to hear them. How do you get someone you love to listen with their heart, to stop thinking, or reacting, without throwing up a defensive wall strong enough to repel any words; even if they were launched with laser guided love?

O Sisyphus. Your such a silly puss. You just don't get it. The world just doesn't give a shit. You work and toil. But your life is always in turmoil. No matter how hard you try. Your efforts will never satisfy. The order that you create. Will always, in the end, degenerate. Such is our lot. Our labor will always be for naught.

My girls are terrible at finding things. I've come to realize what is the very first rule to follow when looking for something. Never look in the dark. Always turn on a light first. You'd be surprised how easy it is to see things with the proper illumination.

I can see the pattern so much more clearly now. We don't make decision, she does. Facts, evidence and opinion are either ignored, conveniently twisted, or subjectively determined to fall in line behind her opinions. It makes me feel so little to be in a relationship where my input into decisions is of such little use. What must I do to control the rage that this one-sided relationship creates? How can I ever find ways to bring us closer when I'm always struggling to control my anger?

I have to keep reminding myself. If there is going to be any change in my life, then it depends upon me to initiate action. Everytime I get sucked into negative thoughts and perceptions, there is less probability for change. I have to surrender my pride, and replace it with what I really want. Once again, I'm faced with the opportunity to learn that I am what I think. If I give up on my relationships, then they will surely wilt and die.

Today we heard the sad, sad news that Brother Gonzalo had passed. I've rarely met such a gentle and peaceful man. I barely knew him, but every time I saw him he always made me feel so very special. I'll miss our brief encounters, those unique moments when I felt certain that I was in the presence of the infinite. I'm sad to think that I'll never share that feeling once again, but his journey must be complete. I wish him God speed, I'll see you on the other side Brother.

I'm not sure which is worse. Whether it is better to suffer in ignorance or to find the way. Only to have those closest to you ignore your pleading to look at what you have found.

It happens more than I'd like to admit. I shout out ways for us to
embrace life, only to hear my pleas echo off into infinity. Then as I
see everyone around me continue along with their busy lives, doing
"important" things, I find myself alone trapped within my head; No one
to share my wants or desires, just an empty rubber room to hold my
thoughts.

I think that we forget to live. Our lives become complicated, then they
become full. Before you know it, every moment is spoken for and we fall
into a comfortable routine. As the routine becomes ordinary, we stop
thinking and just start doing. We do and do and do, and that's how
people stop living and begin waiting to die. I say: "Reject the routine,
reject the ordinary, and embrace each moment as if you're not sure what
will happen next. Let every day be a surprise!"

Who would have ever thunk it. A simple man living in a place he could not fit. In a life built upon decisions which he could not quit. Without being exposed as a hypocrite. So he's forced to live in a cesspit. And murmur blessings through lips bit. Holding out hope he must admit. That God will cure his spirit. Praying for answers that will permit. Something meaningful to which he can commit.

What is it about us, that allows fear, pride, and anger to creep into our hearts? Once they're there, they wrap cold dead tentacles around your soul. They strangle out love, and replace it with bitter regret. They squeeze out all compassion, and leave a shallow shell where simple love used to reside. The longer they stay, the further their tentacles grow, until they take over your mind and turn your focus inward. When left too long, empathy dies and you're left alone surrounded by a trail of brokeness and tears.

There are moments in life, when you know that you've really made someone's life a little more special. If you're lucky they can acknowledge that you've touched them. There is no feeling like it, because it absolutely beats the moment when someone has the chance to recognize your contributions but can't.

They look within themselves for the words but can only see themselves. They can only see how your contributions make them look, a measurement of themselves. So in order to sustain their own self image, they are forced to either ignore you or carefully choose just the right words to diminish your contributions. What's worse is when  you recognize what they are doing.

Way back when, I thought it would never end. Wrenching every moment away from the future, in a blinding cloud of drugs, smoke, and alcohol. Nothing mattered except when was the next high, not giving a single concern for tomorrow. Flash forward, and I've built up a life of dreams. If I'm so blessed, why am I drawn back to those memories with such fondness?

I tried to tell you this morning, but when you asked what was up. I fell silent and said nothing. I know that feeling. I know its' emptiness. I know its' cold embrace. How can I ever begin to hold out hope that I can convince you to think of us, when I'm afraid to even speak to you?

Maybe I read too much into things, or maybe I'm just straining to make reality fit my limited understanding of the world, but this is the second time I've come to find meaning in these words:

Kindred spirits moving along the spiral
I can see you up on another level
Its too great a fall
And I cant reach you to pull me higher
But I dont seem to get much closer or any more far

Both times have been when I've been at a crossroads in a relationship. Maybe that's the truth I find in front of me. Which road do I take? Thanks Todd, wherever you are...

It must be the finality of our discussion, but I can feel the void it has created between us. I also felt it as I was driving away from home last night listening to Shinedown's cover of Simple Man. It was all I could do to contain my tears of rage. Now this morning, the void has settled in. I'm guessing that it will take some time and effort to rebuild the bridge that connects S and me.

While we try to deny or anger, to root out our fears, what lies behind
these feelings? Thomas Moore suggests that we must be open to these
emotions, to see what our soul is trying to show us. However, the more I
look, the less I understand. What am I missing?

There are some mysteries that are better left unsolved. But, it's just not in our nature. We  have to know. So we ask for the door to open, then when it does, we usually wish that it had remained closed. I asked for an unequivocal sign, and I got it. I wanted to know, now I do.

Again from Gilman:

"much in life is a matter of perspective. It's not inherently good or bad, a success or failure; it's how we choose to look at things that makes the difference."

Point? Change your (their) perspective and everything changes.

There is a re-occurring theme that spans the last ten years of my life. Some might call that them indecision, other might refer to it as soul searching. I call it my waking nightmare. Bombarded by information, I'm constantly under the attack of something new that calls out for my attention. A new cause, a broader perspective, a new sense of purpose, more "mandatory" research, and on and on it goes, all of which cause to me stutter, pause, and wonder what the hell am I doing? What is it I'm supposed to be doing? Am I doing the "right" thing. Why is so damn important for me to micro-manage what I'm doing?

Harry Gilman said: "No one can snap their fingers and mkae someone happy. What you can do is help people to see what is useful for them to see. What you can do is point and hope they look." A little bit of Kimba Arem, some Xanax, a little nap, and I'm back from the brink.

Why do I feel like such a failure? I look around and see all of the things I should have taken care of, finished, managed, etc., but they all are just reminders of my failures. Sure, this is just my deprssion talking. Can't I just accept that keeping my head above water is accomplishment enough?

The funny thing about depression is how quickly it overwhlems you. Have a bad morning, instant funk. It's hard to shake. Once it appears, it creates its own gravity. It pulls at you, slows you down. Everything works against you, making it all the more difficult to escape its grip. You can throw drugs at it, but they slow you down, just the same. If there's a switch which turns it on, there must be one to turn it off. There's where the true search begins.

What an ephemeral term! Any one living with a chronic medical condition will know exactly what I'm talking about. However, it becomes even more subjective when we try to make decisions that impact the future of our children. How can anyone possibly know what will make the lives of our children have a higher quality? Compared to what?

Up at 4 a.m., just like yesterday. Another day, the same old struggle. In between the massive forces pressing in upon me, I must be getting close to becoming a diamond. They say things are never as bad (or good) as they seem. Could be, but that offers little comfort.

I found this in a book recently: "Nothing is a big deal. It's whatever it is, and then it's something else." For me, that feels like putting on a long lost favorite shirt.

With regular therapy, I'm now able to identify the patterns that indicate bad mental hygiene. I see the early signs of those patterns developing within my children, and it seems like I'm powerless to disrupt the development. I try to layout more effective ways to deal with their emotions, but I fear my counsel lands of deaf ears. They're already becoming used to yelling as the only way to make a point.

This morning S show me her "plan" for, pretty much, the next year of our lives. We're going to stay here, she is going to continue studying, and then get her hip replaced next summer. Then it's on into August and the beginning of another year of school. That pretty much cements things. A will graduate from where she's at in 2½ years. M will graudate from 8th next year, so maybe change is still unknown possible, but at least these things I know.

We through together a last minute Halloween party. Took N trick or treating and a nice group of S's family came. I love seeing S enjoy her family. It's times like this that form the strong glue which prevents her from mentally pulling away far enough to see into the future. Emotion, experience, and the status quo trump logic and reason every time.

Most of the time I suffer alone. While I plead for the pain to end, no one comes to help me. I suffer in silence, until the pain subsides enough for me to sleep. To leave this world of pain behind. I wonder sometimes if I should share my experience with S, but I conclude that I might not be able to bear adding sympathy to my sufffering. Day comes and I stumble through, step by step, with the memories of the night rippling through my stomach.

I don't belong here. I've never felt like I have. Everyone looks different, talks different, and it seems, acts different. I wish I could fit in. It would make things so much more simple. Ahh, simplicity, oh how I desire thee.

Yesterday a young boy was murdered in his school. I told S that I felt scared to think about letting our daughters go out by themselves when they get older. She responded by telling me that no place was safe.