Compass Rose

It’s still the same I suppose. Every spring as Easter approaches. I drive past the various Churches, with their steeples acting like beacons, sending their Celestial signal up towards the heavens. I pass there aching to go inside.

The ache rises in my chest as I pass, and then my heart sinks as I sit glued in my seat. My blood runs cold as I nervously think that ‘maybe I am unforgivable’.  How dirty I feel. Less than. Not quite good enough to stand next to any of the people donning their Sunday best.

I ache for closeness with Him like I once had. The only One who ever deserved my whole heart, who ever deserved my obedience and love.   He was the only One who would never betray me.

I can’t remember when I had stopped talking to Him.   Some call it praying.  But it was more than that to me.  It wasn’t rattling off a bunch of rote prayers, though that was how I had begun.  We were close back then.  It was like a friend that was sitting at the foot of my bed, just as real as you are reading this now.  I’d talk about everything.  Then listen.   Oh yes, He would answer.   He spoke through my intuition, I believe.  Sometimes I would ask for a sign.  Sometimes He would give me one:  a gentle cool breeze on a hot night or a small butterfly dancing at my window just as I would ask.

I had stopped going to church.  No one particular reason really and not in anger either.  Then a few years later I had stopped praying.   Other things had seemed to take precedence.  It was like one day He was just gone.  You see, it wasn’t an event, rather it was more of a process. Like most good things in life that slip away.

When I tried praying again?  it felt empty and perfunctory like I was running through mathematical computations.  Something was severed.   And I knew it hadn’t been severed by Him.   That pain of knowing what I lost has been unbearable.  The emptiness, nothing thus far can fill.

A thousand miles I have strayed off that chosen path on which I should have tread, maybe more.  It is easy to get lost out there in the darkness. Still easier to stay lost.

I don’t know how I will get back to Him.   I’m so far off course and a compass rose made only of hope in my grip.   I hope that He finds it in His heart, to forgive me.   Hope that this prodigal daughter can come home.   Hope that lost Faith will be found.

 

 

I could fall in love at a red light

That’s what my friend Al told us in an AA meeting the other day, and I chuckled as I heard him say it because it aptly described me.

Well at least that’s how it feels when I do fall in love.   It happens so fast, so forcefully.   The way “normal” people describe it, they tell their story of how they fell in love….as if they met at some random place and over many many times get to know each other.  Seems normal yanno.

Me, I end up finding my suitor at said random place but then end up telling them my life story in under 5 minutes and then falling completely madly in love in the next 5.

Yeah, I’m so relationship material.

I have such excellent fucking boundaries don’t cha know.

Then two weeks later when the guy cold calls me at 3 am to pick him up and rescue him from some dramatic crazy situation?

You guessed it, I am right there with my fucked up cape on, driving to east overshoe in some contorted Mother Teresa-esque fashion hoping to “save” him from himself.

And this would describe the “good part” of the relationship, if it even gets off the ground.

It usually only gets worse from there….consisting of me taking verbal abuse or worse.

nuff said.

****

think I need drivers-ed, or maybe a total license suspension to drive on the highway of love.

SIDE BAR:  Mother Teresa is one of the greatest people who ever lived…….an awesome inspiration to me.  A real life modern day heroine.

Fairytales don’t exist

There’s no such thing as love at first sight.

maybe lust at first sight.

infatuation at first sight.

endorphin, adrenaline, oxytocin rush at first sight………

but that other bullshit that the Hallmark greeting card industry perpetuates……

just doesn’t exist.

****

but I bought into it at such a young age.

from the very first fairy tales I read.

Snow White being awakened by her Prince Charming’s kiss.

Rapunzel being rescued by some valiant knight on a steed at the tower.

and how can we forget Cinderella, suffering at the hands of unspeakable humiliation and abuse awaiting rescue by a wealthy, handsome Prince, who only saw her for what like five minutes at a dance? Pfffftt c’mon.

******

Yet I fell for it hook line and sinker, like so many other girls do.  And our culture perpetuates it with movies like Pretty Woman, the same storyline, a modern version of Cinderella.  but it’s just not reality is it.

and for those of us who come from neglect and trauma, we are just hoping that we will find that love we so desperately didn’t get in that other.

the love, attention and affection that we were denied as children.

which, is a pretty goddamn normal thing to want…..yet an impossible  expectation to have of another person.

One person can not fill such a gaping void.

****

how then?  how to learn to give oneself that thing.   I have no fucking clue.

People talk about finding a Higher Power, God,  to fulfil this and intellectually I get it, makes total sense.

but at the end of the day there’s just a total fucking disconnect.

I can’t speak for others, but for me? I really need a God with skin.

My libido must be hiding behind the couch with Jesus

Sigh.

It’s official.

I’ve lost my sex drive and my faith in one fell swoop.

I think it’s the fucking Prozac.

or maybe the depression….

hell, maybe both.

I get down on my knees in the morning and say a prayer but there’s a disconnect.

In yesteryear I always I felt a strong connection with God in my life.  It was an awesome feeling.  I never felt alone,

no matter what kind of monkeyshit life was throwing at me.

This is the worst.   Such a painful horrible void.  I miss that relationship so much.  This, This is hell.

*****

Life’s pleasures are slowly being whittled away one by one.

These days, I am not supposed to drink alcohol, binge eat/starve and to top it off I have absolutely no libido.

It’s like some thief in the night stole it from me.  The girl who used to having sex at least 5 times a day,

Doesn’t even care if she ever has it again?

****

Sigh.  Me thinks it’s because I’m taking the Prozac.  Manufacturers insert reads:   “It is thought that the action of this medication is….”

So the powers that be, don’t even fucking KNOW what this shit does to my neural network? they are simply extrapolating from looking at

a bunch of rats?

‘Cause gosh rats and humans are ever so similar….

****

Hmmmm….. well that rat is chewing off it’s own tail….so people might get suicidal on this drug.

That rat is agressively biting the fuck out of the other rat…….homocial.

This one is bouncing off the cage…….irritability

This one doesn’t sleep…….insomnia

And when the rats stop screwing each other?

*****

Guess that’s me.

*****

I’m getting off the shit.

1970 something

Going to my elementary school, there were about thirty kids in my class.  Hell, my graduating high school class there were 562 of us.  Recess was always fun.  Our playground was pretty nice because I lived in an affluent suburb.  It had what most nice school playgrounds in suburbia do.  Plenty of swing sets, slides, see-saws. Box-ball and hop-scotch were even painted right on the hot top itself.

*
I became friends with Jimmy in second grade.  We were in Mrs. Drapeau’s class.  There was a few unforgettable things that happened that year.  Like the time that Henry Altenwen puked and peed his pants at the same time in the front of the class.  The time that Eric Frobert puked all over his reading book.  And the time that Mrs. Drapeau yelled at me in front of everyone for helping a classmate pronounce a word when they were struggling, during oral reading.  Asked me if I thought I should teach the class.  I remember feeling my face felt hot and I felt ashamed. I was only trying to help him, my heart was kind.  It’s amazing the influence that teachers can have in shaping children.

*
Jimmy and I stood next to the teacher aid at recess you see.  I didn’t get much attention at home, my life there was a living hell that no one would ever find out about.  Jimmy? well he was physically sick.  I didn’t really know with what.  His shoulders were always raised up by his chin because he struggled to breathe.  So we both had different reasons for hanging out with the teacher aid at recess while all the other kids frolicked about on a beautiful sunny day.

*
Me being the little chatter box, and not really grasping at age 7 that Jimmy was so sick I treated him like anyone else.  I asked him all sorts of questions since he could not run or walk around much.  Why this, why that.  He laughed at my questions.  I told a lot of stories and a lot of jokes.  I asked if he was ever going to get braces.  I asked him all kinds of crazy shit.  (I used to ask my Catholic grandmother if I was reincarnated and maybe I were a rock in another life)

*
Jimmy and I went to St. Mary’s Church together as well.  So I am sure that I yapped about CCD too.  I liked our time together.  Me, Jimmy, and the teacher aide.

*
Jimmy had been out from school for a few weeks and one morning I came into school and the Mrs. Drapeau said that Jimmy wouldn’t be coming back.  That he was in heaven.

*
Her words hung in the air like a garrote, choking the love in my little heart.
*****
Jimmy as I would later learn had Cystic Fibrosis.  I spent a good deal of time in my teens doing the Stair Climb, an annual event during the early 1990’s at the Prudential Center in Boston to raise money for my favorite childhood friend that I lost to death.

*
Every year my dad would drive me to Boston and I would get people to sponsor me for each floor that I could walk up. I always made it to the top of it’s 52 floors. Course my legs felt like rubber when I got done. I have asthma, and  sometimes it was a struggle and I would get winded.  It would occur to me as I walked, how Jimmy struggled day after day. How winded he must have been.  That I get relief with an inhaler…. that he suffocated.  I cried as I climbed.

*
Since 1965, the term “65 Roses” has been used by children of all ages to describe their disease because it’s easier to pronounce.

*
*****
After Jimmy’s funeral, his mother sent me a card.  It read, “Thank you Lexi for being there for my son.  You were his only friend.”  Her words gripped me and I will never forget them. To this day I never realized that all the other kids, were frolicking around, never talked to him, never stopped to get to know him.  Strange, how because of the hell I lived and the horror of what happened in my house, God brought Jimmy and I together.
*****
2 weeks ago, I received a text from my mom which made me ecstatic! It read, “there is a new treatment for Cystic Fibrosis!”  So I ran over and googled it. Sure enough, there is.  It is a brand new FDA approved drug called  “Kalydeco.”

*
It reminded me of Jimmy and I smiled, then cried.  Some 35 years later, the love for my friend still lives in my heart.

*
~miss you Jimmy~ xoxox
…. … …

Confiteor

Confiteor Deo omnipotenti,

et vobis fratres,

quia peccavi nimis

cogitatione, verboo

pere et omissione:

mea culpa, mea culpa,

mea maxima culpa.

Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem,

omnes angelos et Sanctos,

et vobis fratres,

orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.

Amen.

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

I confess to almighty God,

 and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have sinned, through my own fault,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,

and I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin,

all the Angels and Saints,

and you, my brothers and sisters,

to pray for me to the Lord our God.

Amen.

I don’t like change.

I’ve said this for the last 30 years.  So long now I can say this in my sleep.  Next week the Church is going to fuck with this prayer and change the words to make it “new” version of the Roman Missal.  Where was the voting process? Pfffft.  Yeah right.  There wasn’t one.  I think this is bullshit.  I’m not sure what I”m going to do.  I think I’m going to still utter the old prayers and responses while everyone else babbles on with the other shit.

This particular prayer has special meaning for me right now.

I am feeling particularly large amounts of shame and failure in my life.

So this prayer just can’t be fucked with.  It needs to remain intact.

I’ve been sleeping with my Rosary Beads at night.  They were my grandmother’s.  She prayed on them every morning.   They are almost 80 years old.  She even has a relic on there of Saint Padre Pio of Pietrelcina .  He is a canonized Saint who had suffered stigmata.  They bring me comfort.  Knowing that her hands touched them, she was the most holy person I ever knew.  Never said a swear her whole life.  Went to Mass every day.  She was a good, good person.  Always had a smile for everyone.

My soul is in great turmoil.

At a friend’s suggestion, I am going to try take a trip for a 90 days.  I need a hiatus.  A sabbatical.

I’m nervous about this trip.   I’m going to travel light.  I will bring my Bible, I need to start reading that again.  It has been years since I have read it.  My heart has become hardened.   Stubbornly refusing to go God’s way and instead going my own willful way.  Repentance is on the forefront of my mind.  To turn away from sin, change my mind, change my direction, turn towards God…..

Gone Dark

“…the devil is real

and he’s not a little red man with horns and a tail

he can be beautiful,

cause he’s a fallen angel

and he used to be God’s favorite…”

–  American Horror Story

I called him.

It used to be when he dumped me, he would always string me along with the illusion of a future reconciliation.   “Maybe” he’d tell me, “you never know in time, but not right now” which meant in his speak “I need to go out and fuck around“.   I’d be his plan B and it always seemed to coincide around the Holiday season.  When his either his bankroll wore thin for the paid escorts or the craigslist fuckwhore hookups ran dry and the swingers were busy with their families.   On craigslist there’s always the same cast of characters, there’s not an unending supply of new people.  It’s the same people with ten different handles looking for ass save for the out of towners.

But something has changed alright.  This breakup is different.

He told me never to call him again EVER.  That’s been said before but this time he told me to call his grandmother whom I’m very close to and tell her we broke up.  He always wanted her kept out of the know.  He protected grandma from things.  She lives on the West Coast.  She is in her 90’s.

I knew once I told her it was over.  That it would truly be over.  A finality he would never undo.  He said “do it I don’t give a shit, I’m done with you forever Lexi.”

I made the call, tactfully, carefully, but I made it.

She had already figured it out, since we normally phoned her together.  No dementia in this lovely woman.  She told me she loved me.  I cried.  She’s not doing well.  She recently had taken a bad fall and required a blood transfusion.  I’ve been calling her to check and see how she is doing.  I told her this was not my decision to leave the relationship…….and left it there.  She knows that his illness is getting worse (a chronic neurodegenerative auto-immune illness) and that he is hard to along with.   I left it there.  I told her I loved still loved him.  She advised me to try to let it go.

But it’s really hitting me that he disposed of me.

And the lack of closure……the “why” that eats at me.

I awaken in the middle of the night abruptly at odd hours:   1: 47 am……then again at  3:23 am.  Then again at 5:12 am……. for no apparent fucking reason.

He intrudes into my dreams.

He intrudes into my daytime stream of consciousness.

and yet there is nothing but a heavy silence;  there is no trace of him……anywhere to be heard or seen.

~~~~~~~~

I haven’t been our of the house.

I haven’t made a single phone call.

I’ve gone into shutdown mode…..just gone Dark.

My eyes are so bloodshot from tears that won’t stop.  My temples hurt from crying and just when I think there’s no tears, they start again.

After I go to work. I sleep.    I go through motions of life.

If it wasn’t for my job.  I don’t know that I would be here now.

****

At night, my house gets quiet again and my eyes well up knowing he’s sticking his cock in some young girl not thinking about me.  Not one teardrop forming in his heart.

I just simply don’t exist.  It’s as if I never existed.  What could be worse than annihilation.  To have never existed.  Is there any worse such fate.

Than to forsake a loved one and act as if they are a stranger or less so, as if they never existed.   Or to know you were never loved that it was chicanery, fraud. you were conned.

I don’t think he has a heart.

Maybe he really is a sociopath like my shrink said, without a conscience, playing the part of a sex-addict this whole time.

A highly sophisicated con, and I was his emotional punching bag-toy that now lacks luster.

Now he’s set sail, off to find something shiny.

***

What have I done…..

What have I done to myself

What pain have I brought upon myself……

My God my God.