I made it up to the Walmart after fleeing from the abandoned porch that had been my home for the past 3 months, I was already missing the Pigeons I had befriended, and getting another routine going was making me feel drained already. It takes a while to set things up, simple things like where to go to the bathroom, getting food, setting up a safe place to try and sleep, and other considerations you take for granted when you're housed—It can be daunting some days.
I wasn't looking forward to doing it when I wasn't feeling well and it can be hard even when I feel well, but I had to move on and it was time. I had started to grow attached to the porch. It had beautiful grapevines growing on the front and back and I had started to dry them and make grapevine wreaths with small dried flowers. I had made all the decorations for my home and loved making a new wreath each season. Having the actually grown vines was pretty cool, but it was not meant to be. I already felt sad and cried on my way up to the Walmart about the new losses.
The first night I slept by some shrubs on the corner where a store used to be but was now empty. It had been raining so I was cold and tired but was able to find a nice sleeping bag so I was warm, and because it hadn't rained that hard I was pretty dry. I was surprised I slept so well the first night outside. I was bitten by quite a few fire ants but I couldn't complain really. I spent most of the night sobbing and missing the porch. It had felt like home the past 3 months. It's amazing how you can grow attached to even the smallest places with which to live. It doesn't take much to set up a sort of make-shift home. I had little dried flowers around and my wreaths and then of course were the Pigeons, I already missed them so much. They kept me going on the nights it was so cold and I was so scared just like my dog Bentley had always done.
I'm writing at DunkinDounuts this morning after the past couple of days sleeping in the Walmart Plaza, people have been so kind and generous. Most will ask if I need something to eat, quite a few gave me some money, some were very generous, I was grateful to all of them, it renews my faith in people.
When I first got here the incident with my mother and ex-husband was bad, I wondered why they were keeping this going, but I knew locking me up had been their plan right along. I remember the first time I was ordered for a "psych eval," it was horrible. I had no idea what they were and no idea I would be transported somewhere. The ride out to Syracuse NY was very frightening, no one told me where I was going and the charges were such lies that I went into shock. I remember my 1/2 sister sitting in the court when I was ordered to have the psych eval and I was taken out in handcuffs—it was all so surreal. I cried as I got downstairs and pleaded with the vicious woman from Animal Control about my dog. There had been threats all along about taking him and I was really frightened by that time. They put me in shackles and handcuffs and it was awful—what had I done to deserve this. It had all been some kind of horrible mistake. I was upset to see my 1/2 sister and by this time was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the way she was acting. I had been trying to get her a place to stay possibly at my home when I was told she had been arrested for welfare fraud. I hadn’t seen her since I got married, she was another one I invited all the time but refused to visit. “Your sister wants nothing to do with you,” my ex viciously told me. I had no idea why.
We rode for what seemed like forever until finally I saw the Syracuse NY signs. I remember that first eval thinking it would be all over soon and they would know I had no psychological issues other than being in an abusive relationship and having had been sexually assaulted, but they ignored all of that and already had their agenda. I spent the 72hr forced evaluation telling them I was not on "Meds," did not need them, and was the victim of abuse not the perpetrator of it, but it was never a consideration that I was in fact telling the truth. I watched people being forced against their will into "Supervised housing." It was awful, one lady I met was having a hard time accepting this is what they were doing to her. She seemed fine to me and told me her story about a boyfriend that had gotten an infection from his teeth and passed away. It seemed a familiar story to the one that happened to my mother's ex-boyfriend.
He had all of his teeth removed, they had all been rotten and my mother convinced him to have them all taken out. He didn't want it done, but my mother had been making threats about leaving him. I wasn't sure why, but this had been a regular occurrence with her. She was never really happy and we moved often. I loved the home they bought out in Fort Johnson, a small village outside of the city, it was a beautiful home with a wonderful wrap-around porch and a beautiful English garden. She complained every day and said she never wanted the house and hated it. Fred grew up in a Children's home and was good to me most of the time. His clothes were often dirty from the Mill he worked in most of his life, but we had quite a few things in common. He liked Photography, Music and he was wonderful about giving me rides to places I needed to go. My mother would often refuse or leave me for hours waiting to get picked up. I know today it was all on purpose. She would often complain that her life was so hard and she was so busy. I know now so much of what she did was to always paint herself as the victim.
My grandmother told me she had been spoiled, as I thought of what she had I finally could face down the lies she told all the time. She had beautiful barrels of twin sets in every color when she first got married, boxes of china, silver, and other very lovely things, but didn't care about any of it. I never knew why and believed it was because she was poor and had hated having children—it had ruined her life she told me often. I know today this was to hide what she really had done.
She went to Florida one time to visit my Father, I really wasn't invited to go. I was told when she arrived my Father asked if she came to "get pregnant again." I know today she deliberately ruined my Fathers music career on purpose. It was devastating to witness at the RiverLink Park recently when the other families involved had sons that played. Their fathers and brothers had also, but I believe because of the language barrier was hard to get a successful band going—they were all Italian. As I sat listening, I finally understood the horrible violence these people inflicted on me and my Father just so they could be in a band, the deep envy for my Father, and the destruction of his career and mine they plotted all these years.
My mother had been ruthless and extreme about my father and I know in my heart today she deliberately got pregnant to destroy him after getting involved with these horrible people. I sat stunned that I was not allowed to see my Father just so these people could destroy his career and they could be what he was becoming at that time—a successful musician. My mother said one time, "all the girls loved watching him play," she said it in an odd way as if she would take care of that. I know today she plotted with her new boyfriend and his family to destroy his success in the same way she was now doing to me. I felt so sick I threw up most of the week after I went to the RiverLink Park and watched these people all gather to see their son in his band. I never knew my childhood girlfriend's father and brother played music. It all horribly finally made sense.
I never knew what horrible things people would do for fame. He was my Dad, not a Rockstar. He was my Father and I was not allowed to see him because of these families' deep envy of him. I was overcome with grief and sadness. All these years the awful abuse that followed me everywhere, my mother's violence, the constant way I was mistreated in school, and the constant gaslighting from all these people. There were so many losses it was hard to not feel like I was drowning. I know it's why they figured I would have a "psychotic break," and had actually planned for that. Fame is never what you grow to love about being an artist, it's the work. It's not signing autographs or having your picture taken or people gossiping about you. I hadn't had a lot of artistic success, but the little I had taught me that it's not about that superficial stuff it's showing up each day to write or paint or play. It's staring at the blank page each day and loving putting something on it, not dreaming of the people who will admire it or you. People can like you one minute and your work and the next rip it all apart—it's not what sustains you as an artist, but those that lust for fame only want the adulation, not the work, and will do such horrible things to others to get it.
Fred got pneumonia and passed away. He never went to the Doctors, he had no health insurance. My mother called me after I had visited to see my grandmother in the hospital and told me he died and hung up. "Fred's dead she said," my God I thought and asked about the funeral, she made some excuse and hung up. I could not believe I wasn't called about the funeral. I had just seen him and his cough was ungodly. I was living in Albany NY and was going back and forth seeing my Grandmother.
My mother at that time was threatening to move out and had bought an old trailer. I could not believe the way she was acting. She seemed crazed and hysterical most of the time and was always in what seemed like a drunk or stoned state. She could barely communicate and be often destructive and violent. I didn't know what kind of drugs she was on, but she would go from raging to crying. Fred had taken her back and the trailer was parked beside the house. I felt so bad for him. He tried really hard and he had been good to me. I knew he needed medical attention, but talking to my mother about anything was a losing battle. I worried about the 3 dogs we had and was told she had them killed—it was devastating.
The story was she got someone to take them up into the woods and shoot them. Fred had been in the service and had gotten a beautiful German Shepard "Bershie," he was a wonderful, protective, guard dog that Fred had trained so well. He never barked a lot, but you knew if you bothered one of us kids he would fiercely protect us. It was that quiet strength and power that was similar to Fred, we often watched "KungFu" together. It was a 70s show about a traveling martial artist that does good, but if you messed with him he could be very dangerous. I loved watching it with him.
I had no idea to this day where Fred is buried, I had asked a couple times to go see his grave but my mother refused to speak to me after luring me home and then throwing me out shortly afterwards. Things were not going well. After Fred passed away he son inherited the house. Fred and my mother were not married and his son was the rightful heir. My mother had said for years she hated the house and didn't want it. My grandmother told her often to have her name put on it because they weren't married, but my mother refused. I never knew why, it always upset me, I loved that house and could not understand why she never wanted a "home." She hated being home and everything about it.
The last I saw Fred he covered me with a blanket as I lay sleeping after seeing my Grandmother all day. His cough was ungodly by this time. He hated wearing the false teeth and I felt bad for him. He had been trying to work things out with my mother but she was out all the time to the "Robins Nest," a scummy bar in the village of Broadalbin NY. I could not believe what she was doing. She was going through Menopause and bleeding all the time. She rallied about no longer having kids and would carry all these dirty newspapers around with her because she would go on about bleeding through a pile of them whenever she went anywhere. She seemed so often unhinged about all this blood—she talked about it all the time in this hysterical way. She claimed she would "no longer be a woman," and because she could no longer have children this was the end of everything. She would carry around these stacks of bloody newspapers if she arrived somewhere telling everyone how much she was bleeding. It was shocking to watch her. She was dating a few different men and seemed so out of control that it was frighenting.
"She killed him," my 1/2 sister told me when I recently stayed there. She took him off life support, she said. I knew he didn't get the medical care he needed, my mother at that time was acting so crazy that I knew it was awful, but I was in Albany NY, and had no idea he had been on life support or how long. I was still asking about his grave and was getting nowhere. There were so many things going on, so many lies piling up and being revealed it was taking everything I had to sort it all out plus the room she had me staying in was extremely dirty and I was getting sick all the time. I had just gotten released from the psych ward and her violence was even worse than when I had been a girl.
After I saw the psychologist she told me she could not tell whether I had a mental illness or not without an MRI, but she would release me. I had no mental illness and was shocked when she then told me I would need to go to a homeless shelter. I was again stunned. Why would I go to a homeless shelter? I still had no idea about Divorce. I had learned my ex wanted one from the police report and was still coming to terms with that and the fact I needed a psych eval in the first place. I told the arriving officer that first came to the house some of the violence my ex was doing and his only response was that I was "crazy!" I told him I never had any mental health issues and that my ex was threatening to put me on the street. They came back later, threw me down on the floor, handcuffing me and pepper-spraying me. I had been just sitting in the chair at the time trying to figure out why my ex-husband was telling me he could put me on the street with nothing and that nothing was mine.
The doctor finally convinced my mother to have a hysterectomy, she had repeatedly raged and refused to have one. I didn't understand why she thought she wanted more children. She hated being a mother but raged about how she would no longer be a woman. I was ashamed she had been carrying these newspapers everywhere with blood all over them. I could not believe how much blood she was losing and still be ok. When she was admitted the Doctor told her she was anemic. She refused to tell me where she was by this time and my 1/2 brother told me. I went to see her in the hospital and she looked a lot better. I thought she would finally get the care she needed, but her calm demeanor only lasted a short time. She had a new boyfriend and was living in Broadalbin NY now with him.
It poured and I had to move from my spot by the shrubs to under the plaza by the old Fashion Bug store. I was never a big fan of their stuff, but my cousin shopped there all the time. I remember the 80s kind of things they would have. Inexpensive suits for the "career girl" look back then. Large shoulder pads, bright colors, and sexy styled party dresses. Most of it was cheaply made but marketed as more upscale never really fit me all that well. I rarely went there, but it was still sad to see it not there. I remember the girls that would work in the Mall loved to shop there. My cousin often had that look and style. Bright patterns and lots of colors. I was so tall things like that made me feel like a clown. I preferred the subdued colors of Filene's my favorite store back then. I had beautifully tailored suits from there on sale. They were similar to a Macy's but I always thought they even cooler. I remember still having all those old suits before they threw me out of my home. Most of it was put on the lawn and stolen along with all my craft things, garden things and so much from my business. It had been devastating.
So many stores are gone, our movie theatre too. It seems so polluted here. I remember looking from the plane at the beautiful lush greenery of Maine and after crossing into NY the dull gray of the landscape, the awful swaths of dying trees, and all the water having an ugly sheen on it. I sat not quite believing what I was looking at from the plane. What is wrong with our landscape, I had thought? So many trees were broken, fallen, and an ugly death color gray. All the water was a cloudy, muddy brown not the nice blue-green of Maine. I sat thinking how horrible NY had become. What was going on? I felt sick returning and was already noticing the air and food tasted different. What I was seeing was matching the way I was feeling about what was going on in my personal life and was I was seeing the same played out in the landscape. I told myself if something was wrong wouldn't the environmentalists know?
I thought of all the trees they killed at the Lakehouse, all the years they were so abusive and called me a "Treehugger." The vicious way they would clear cut and the animals never came back. The awful day they took the beautiful pines separating our lakehouses down. These awful neighbors calling me a whore and attacking me. The way the foundation was terribly cracked and the other smaller pine trees producing so many pine cones, too fast I thought. Everything was soaked and much wetter. Moss and fungi were everywhere now all over the dying trees. I thought in horror they changed the landscape! It's been changed so much that I worried a crack would open, a new fissure that could open right under all our foundations from what they had done. All are criminals I thought and shuddered, but I was getting stronger and determined to keep moving forward.
Comments