Question 29: Just an observation!

Question 29: Just an observation!

Hi Seed

You hang out here, leaving us with your articles, yes, it is intriguing, but it's odd, because you seem to have your life so together and don't need support from us...

Just curious why you are here?

You don't seem like a broken man with a broken heart.

Regards,

Skeptical Suzy

Dear Skeptical

I actually wrote the reply to this question about a year ago, however, since I was so far behind in the question queue I never got around to posting it. Which happened to be a good thing.

Why?

Cause my original reply was crap. I was wallowing too much and my sentiment, though sincere, was nothing more than a load of sentimental rubbish, drivel so to speak. My angst and personality did not shine through. And frankly, with tarnished angst, what good am I to anyone, including myself?

Exactly… I’m glad you agree.

First off, bear with me as I skew the first part of your question, hang out here --- intriguing --- odd --- life together --- don’t need support… are you not being a tad presumptuous? Well, aren’t you?

.

I’m so angry with you right now… I … I … I could rant, but I won’t, for the most part I’m not wired that way. I do rant, but for the most part (again), I keep it together, I collect my misery and put it in a big misery jar, poke one hole in the top of the jar, so it can breath, and every now and then I pull it out of the cupboard to remind myself that life can, pardon me, fucking suck… Next, I reach for the peanut butter, I go to spread some on a cracker, luckily I realize, it’s expired. A lesson for us all: Peanut Butter has an expiry date and it’s a bitch to expel rancid peanut butter… now spit… Damn it! It won’t come out… pass me the tequila…

Does the following paragraph sound like someone “who’s got their life together?” Well, does it?

Why am I here?

So me and Euro Seed can get rich off of your misery?

Nah… that’s a lie?

The short answer:

To share crap. Followed by blunt opinions on why it is a waste of time to wallow in pain when you still have a life to live… including me… I’ve still got some living to do… and if I’m too busy spinning in the past, what a waste, which will turn into a sour and sad story, eventually leading to… solitude.

Solitude sucks! It’s kind of selfish. Don’t you think?

You see, my crap, your crap, everybody here’s (been dumped and the world) crap, isn’t worth the time to beat you down… I know when I say that a whole bunch of readers immediately get defensive and their undies bunch up and their ire rises… what’s ire? Strong anger (literally).

.

Thanks.

Their blood begins to curdle, they may claim: I’m self righteous, have no business sharing my views, and I just don’t understand, my situation is different!

Stir it up with a dash of sarcasm: PLEASE!

Here, the website you refer to me hanging out in, is a great place for people to realize that they are not alone… That others are experiencing pain and suffering, too. To share stories and experiences, and then, to move on a bit stronger.

Those are the upsides. Another upside I almost scathed past… those who come to the site and share their experiences and hurt --- most of them grow and learn from the heartache. The ones who inflicted the pain --- usually, just perpetuate the cycle, making the world a touch more intolerable. There are of course, exceptions. Bitter people have a tendency of trying to highlight the exceptions, instead of focusing on the road to better. Misery becomes their moniker.

Harsh?

The downside to visiting, Here, the website, if the stay is for too long you risk being guilty of enjoying the heartache or looking for someone to agree with why you deserve to be in pain. The longer the visit, the greater risk of becoming terminal and flawed.

Harsh (again)?

But my experiences are different. You just don’t understand?

Although experiences are uniquely individual, and sole property of the rightful owner of the pain pony, not to be diminished by dear friends or counselors, on a grander scale, they’ve likely been experienced by someone else before. Of course (again), their may be the odd exception… if you happen to be one: SHUT UP!

Am I heading far off tangent?

Don’t know, I’m writing this on the fly, the only way I know how, therefore, like me, you’ll have to wait and see where this journey takes us…

The journey:

Time to share experience.

There once was this cute little boy, no more than five years old. He’d was lost for his first five years of life --- roaming solo trying to find his place in this big scary world.

His birth --- a secret. His Mother was whisked away to a dark room on a bright sunny July day… and when he finally came out into the light of the never ending darkness, the doctor in a remorseful tone stated, “He’s alive… what do you want to do with the evidence?”

The doctor turned to this boys mother, asking, “Would you like to hold your son?”

She turned away and the boy was removed from her sight. She was twenty-three at the time, had planned a vacation in a couple of weeks, and couldn’t be bothered, burdened.

Where did the boy go?

Wandering in confusion. Lucky for him… he didn’t know what was happening… and he hadn’t bought into the bond between mother and son propaganda. Or the formative years --- form the future, bullshit.

After his first five years on Planet Earth and being passed around like a hot potato (translation: his whereabouts were unknown), obligation deposited him in a home, a large home, six others, three girls, three boys. He’d play the role of the seventh. As for his Mother, she hung in the shadows, reminding him constantly of the hurt he brought her by being born.

Oblivious to meaning, this young man started playing for attention. “Look at me” he’d shout. Nobody was looking. “I’m over here” he’d bellow. The room was empty… he didn’t know better.
.

A voice echoed above him… “You’ll never amount to much. Your brothers are better than you.” The voice was on a continuous loop. He was still only five. The boy knew no better… he just took it all in and tried to remain unaffected. He failed… just like his mother told him he would.

The boy sauntered, strolled, and then strutted through life, confused, but not knowing better. He developed personality and wit. Scored a helping of popularity. Walked head held high, directionless.

As his journey continued he experienced stints of success with everything he touched, sports, school, friendship, he’d shout out…“LOOK OVER HERE. LOOK AT ME. I’M doing good, aren’t I?” His family had left the room. His voice echoed, silently.

“Dad please quit smoking. Mom you, too. Why did you have me at your ages? Hold me. Come to my games.”

They quit… but they didn’t hold him or go to his games, they were too tired.

Sickness visited… first Dad. On and off for ten years. Cancer paid a visit. Over five years of hospital visits were on his agenda, everyday, as the youngest of seven, the hospital became his second home, his responsibility as the rest of the family had long moved away. He was still only a teenager at the time.

Up and down the roller coaster went. The hospital visits were excruciating. His twenty-fifth birthday came, he remembered the doctor, “He’s alive” and celebrated anyway. The following day he took is Mother and one of his older Brothers to the hospital… his father was fading.

Upon arrival they were escorted to his Fathers room and the moment his Mothers hand touched his Fathers, his Dads eyes went vacant --- and life left his fathers body. A memory he captured. He wanted to collapse, his role was to fake strong.

Less than a year later the shadows cast by his Mother became darker. Cancer again. Another year of hospital visits and forced talk. It destroyed him. Two weeks before Christmas, a bright patch, Mom was sent home… things were looking up. They weren’t.

On the steps of his home, on the way back to the hospital, she looked at him with painful eyes, and said, “I’m never going be home again, am I?” He lied.

Four days later he watched her die. He wanted to crumble. The shadow didn’t lift. He went out that night with friends. His family rolled into town.

When he returned home the next morning, his oldest sister who had just arrived, hugged him, and said, “Mom’s gone.” Next, she broke the embrace, removed the emotion, and asked him to stay elsewhere as they needed his room for the relatives… she had just come in from out of town, she didn’t live in the house, he did. He obliged, anyway.

Years past, eighteen to be precise. He’d gone through life with moments of success, garnered some popularity, developed a rapier like wit, with good, yet subjective looks, he had the odd love dalliance, all without direction. Although obligation was removed --- something was missing.

Then he found love. True?

It was questionable, however, he was swallowed by content.

The love was fleeting, “We’re done…” was uttered. “… you’re a great guy, I want to continue living with you.”

Blindly, he allowed it.

The end of love put into motion a series of events. Over a period of two months: a friend uttered: “My life sucks.” He hugged is friend. His friend repeated those words, walked away, and hung himself.

Another friend was paid a visit by Cancer.

His closest relative, Aunt Priscilla, called, and told him: “I may be dying.”

Less than a month later, she died. He asked for hugs from his ex, he was met with, “I’m moving on.”

He needed to open the door and kick… he needed hugs. Friends said, “You don’t seem to be as fun as you used to be, you’ve changed.”

Relatives turned away, because he wouldn’t come watch his Aunt die.

Three days after his Aunts death, his sisters called, his last remaining Uncle passed away, unexpectedly, the night before. He cried. He’d been crying everyday… He could literally cry on a dime, so to speak.

Misery, misery, misery…relentless.

It was time for him to escape. Europe?

Yes.

As he walked to the Passport Office the shadow had expanded and even on the brightest day the shadow was exterminating hope. “You need a new Birth Certificate before we can issue you a passport.” He was told.

“How long?”

“It’ll only take a couple of days.”

Two weeks later and a call to vital stats. “I need my Birth Certificate… What do you mean my records don’t match yours? What do you need?”

Without emotion, blank, a plain white sheet, the civil servant queried: “Could you phone your parents and ask them who your real parents are?”

Tears blasting. “What?”

.

When he told his Brothers/Sisters that he knew the truth and was beginning to understand things about his... the phone was hung up and they haven't spoken to him since... it's been over three years and counting.

Fast-forward, shadow still lingering, Mom and Dad came back to life. Dad --- a stranger. Mom --- devastating.

Reality revealed: The man, still a boy in many ways, had become an outsider in his life and as for family, he was no longer a card carrying member. He’d been left on his own to sort it all out, assign meaning, and learn to cope.

Fast-forward some more, flip charts now being used to understand who’s what? Brothers --- now Uncles. Sisters ---- now Aunts… and flip, flip, flip… Anyway, a Niece --- now a Cousin, recently informed him his mother, still in the shadows, is dying. She still won’t admit to being his Mother. Scars run deep.

As for his father: he spoke to him for the first time two years ago. Can you imagine saying, “Hi” to your Father for the first time eighteen years after you watched him take his last breath?
.

I can’t.

Present day: He’s going to be meeting his now seventy-two year old father for the first time in the near future… and he still has to come to terms with his Mother’s pending (second) death.

The boy, has to remain strong, if not, it’ll be nothing more than a tragic sad story immersed in misery. If that’s the case, what a waste…

The boy… his story above only scratches the surface. It’s time to press play!

.

Side bar: during the journey, in his adult life, he’s had thirteen surgeries which all required a general anesthetic and hospital stays. And amazingly, the surgeries are only a side bar to his life. So is his blind eye, a side bar, that is.

end of experience sharing.

Why share?

Although not a competition, life has been unrelenting, therefore, I share because I’ve developed a tremendous understanding of, exception. Everybody has a unique journey and I know that the broken hearted want to scream out: I’m different. Look at me. Understand. He did this. She did that. I need the pain. I have children. My life has lost… and on and on and on, forever more.

My having life together is nothing more than an illusion created by need. I have to keep up the façade if I want to help others, if not, we can just focus on the crap and never move toward happy. We all risk being trapped and defined by one traumatic event. I am. I don’t want to be. So, I resist. I don’t want it to be the last story I tell, on a continuous loop. Futile?

I hope not.

As for support from?

My support from “us”: Comes in sharing, and trying to bring the odd smile to… it’s sincere. I don’t understand a lot of individual situations entirely, I can’t, I have no reference. Such as: I’m not a woman, I don’t have children, my husband never left me, etcetera, etcetera…

But I do posses and ample amount of experience, life and otherwise, actually, just life, I’m not so sure what otherwise would entail?

And from life I’ve come to one conclusion: Regardless of whatever garbage is dished your way, it will do you absolutely no good to wallow… you may linger for a bit, but that’s it… if you can’t get unstuck by yourself, seek out the help of a professional. And most important, realize, whatever trauma has come your way, it likely wasn’t your fault, and if by chance it was, quit trying to erase your guilt by a vein attempt at winning back what you cast to the side.

Wallowing in misery is a trap, if you wallow a day, a week, a year or forever more, the end result at the end will be the same --- you can never return to where you’ve come from so ultimately: there is no point in wallowing for too long.

“But you don’t understand…”

If your sticking to that: GOOD LUCK! I hope you prove to be the exception.

Skeptical, I’m here because, as corny as this sounds, “Here” came to me.

Lastly, my heart has been broken on numerous occasions, I just choose to patch it, cope with the pain and store it somewhere in the cupboard, next to the Peanut Butter, as a reminder of life, and then I venture out into the world, smile, and try to share my smile with others.

At the end of the day the only one who can truly help me is: ME.

Others can share the warmth of an embrace and the brightness of hope emanating from their eyes.

Embrace life and try to be happy.

Heartache has a place --- just don’t let it linger. Never ending pain, ridiculous, like Peanut Butter, pain needs to expire.

.

Remember you asked

the seed

P.S. Skeptical, the answer is not directed to your experiences… I’m just incapable of not rambling. I hope you enjoyed!