Finished off the last bottle of Corona from the six-pack bought from Stewart’s; sad, broken, not looking forward to more rough sleeping the Sunday after Christmas, but here I am. Paid the last of my Covid money to the hotel in the hopes of surviving another few days that I didn’t feel well and had to get out of the cold even though we have days of such warmth, sunshine, and very little snow, but this all continues.
What now? What happens when u have done everything u were suppose to do? then everything u can n still things go bad? “Into dust,” I used to listen to Mazzy Star all the time the last few days I had my Art studio. After 20yrs of saving Windsor Newton sable brushes from college I had bought, I was looking forward to painting not knowing the horrible deception that had been stalking my 20yr marriage all along; all the people I loved involved, all the horrible things they had planned for me.
I sit listening to “Into Dust,” by Mazzy Star now as I did then and also when trying to hold it all together when they locked me up in a psych ward telling me my whole life was basically a failure.
I cry periodically packing the few things I have left thinking of once again having to rough sleep, watching the sleet and freezing rain hit the window at the hotel. I can’t believe this is happening again; thoughts of waking up in a parking lot, the side of a road, or somewhere else. My first night here, I woke up after a night terror; the parking garage coming alive in my hotel room; I had not caught up w myself.
The outside had not yet released it’s awful grip and I struggled to remember I was inside; safe, ok for a little while, it was hard falling back to sleep. Night sweats continue along w the nightmares. The walls became the black, dirty, collapsing parking garage I had just tried to sleep in; a corner part not yet fenced off, but still unsafe—cold, desolate. The noise unending, the car lights continuous; the dirt and grime all over everything I have. I have never felt so dirty, so unclean!
I keep thinking this will all b over soon, but it continues; a nightmare that has no end. I keep wishing to wake up, but it keeps going. I finish packing, drinking in the last bit of relaxation before I have to rest. Even if it comes in a beer bottle these days, I’ll take it; if only for a night. If only a few hours reminding myself of myself; soft focus, music playing, I’m lulled into believing things will b ok even though I wake up again and again not having a place to call home. If hell is on earth then for me this is it.
To b homeless after everything I did to prevent it is unconscionable as people I knew laughed and joked about it knowing all the work I did the past 20yrs to prevent this. People I went to high-school w involved, the old cliques once again shunning me, gossiping about me; having the legal power to again deny me what they continually have taken for granted—a home, work, a car!
I pack a few more things, feeling the anxiety start once again. Where can I go? What am I going to do? I had always had a plan since I was a little girl, always loved a new DayTimer. My childhood chaotic, often violent; turned upside down repeatedly by a mother who saw me more as an accessory than a human being. Something to b sold, exchanged for something else—merchandise she wanted to pawn. I think of my beautiful Grandmother and all the abuse she took just for loving me. I shudder to think of what would have happened to me if she hadn’t loved me. If she had been like my Mother—unable to love me!
I glance around the room; chilled, wanting to just sleep forever in the beautiful white down comforter. I had just bought one before all this horror unfolded. To think people did this purposefully makes me feel like Snow White, just wanting to fall asleep and not ever wake again. I ask God how long this is going to go on? but he has left like everyone else. I’m innocent I plead, but he already knew how horrible our Justice system is. I didn’t know and feel ignorant complaining. I knew it was bad, but still believed if u did what u were told, did the right thing, not got in trouble; I would b ok! I think of all those lately not ok, not here now!
People like Sandra Bland that like me was so excited about the power of New Media. The power we held in the palm of our hand to finally tell our stories. We won’t ever know now what she would have shared, like so many others her life cut short after n encounter with Police. We didn’t see the forces of evil wanting to destroy this new way of communicating, especially women trying to get away from violent men; something I have been doing my whole life, now also learning of the women involved; women that help them! It’s been horrible learning people I loved r racist, misogynists, and harbor such deep hatred it still takes my breath away u could live w that kind of hatred in ur body all the time, especially those tasked w “helping others,” the very people doing these awful things r called “Hero’s!”
The “Truth,” Gloria Steinem said recently as I watched the new trailer about her life, “will set u free, but first it will piss u off!” I always loved her way back when she believed women like me could make our way; have a career, own a home—have a life! She didn’t tell me how horrible people would b to me for wanting and achieving what they took for granted, believed they were so entitled to, my life was of no consequence; even people like my family, my ex husband, courts that r suppose to treat me like a human being. It’s been horrible learning they felt no such thing for me. I will never b the same again. Is this the illusions of childhood I’m to let go of? It feels like so much more. Why doesn’t anyone tell u? Why do they constantly tell u everyone is good deep down! Deep down where? Where is this goodness?
These r people in positions that can destroy ur life; all legally even, and yet we lead people to believe how just they r, how conscious of ur humanity—honorable, but they r no such thing.
Get over it, I’m told. “Welfare people don’t want to work!” the man that checked me in at the latest hotel said. How can u talk like that to people? I thought. But it had been the same at the restaurant I just had dinner at. I know there r scammers that r poor, just like in the Middle-class, just like w the elite, but the poor r easy targets—they can’t defend themselves.
The Pope recently calling Domestic Abuse, “Satanic!” I believe he is correct. He cited the fact, “they can’t defend themselves!” I believe the Church is trying to move forward w this statement after so much Sexual Abuse. I had thought when I first started reading the article he would say something like how women should submit, b obedient. I did that close to 30yrs after first meeting my husband when I believed in the “Good Wife.” When I saw God as my Father, his love fatherly. His grace as that of a parent towards a little girl then young woman then as I became a Good Wife, but not now at Mid-life. My belief of God was that of a young woman, I see him differently now, as I see myself—a grown woman. A woman that is no longer looking for her father, even though I still love God in that way; as a child loves a parent; I also know he is so much more now.
God can b more than ur father; he can b ur lover. It might b why he left. I don’t have good luck w relationships, I can laugh a little, but it’s probably blasphemy—still the good girl. I’ve read of the Mystics swooning is rapture. When younger, I had no idea what that really meant. Recently, I started looking for answers again and found Mary Magdalene. I was onto something w her, finally I thought. The fact the Church called her a Prostitute was even more proof I was finding my way again. God is hiding to show me how much I still love him, need him, and want to live my life—he knew that all along. I would often contemplate the story of Job. God was so sure about him that he allowed Satan to do what he did.
I’m the “Devil’s Saint,” my ex told me when he told me I would b left, “homeless, destitute; to walk the streets w nothing!” I thought it was his medications or dementia. I had no idea he was serious. I had no idea it had all been planned—merchandise again! He was after all just like my mother. Their closeness more and more apparent lately, as I continually catch them meeting in different places; exchanging secrets, plans, attacks towards me, in benign places like the Supermarket. Scott Peck wrote “People of the lie,” talked of the banality of evil. The Pope talking of Satanism speaks to this evil also.
Jesus was so evolved I know he loved consciously, he loved these women in ways men today need to aspire to, as people—human beings. God as lover speaks to my own transcendence, my own shifting from one kind of relationship to another. One where I’m treated w respect, consideration, and care. It’s been a very deeply harrowing journey for me. I had to go all the way back to when I was a little girl. To know and learn why I put up w so much abuse for so long. I had learned so young. I loved my mother so much, often having such compassion for her. Today, I see her differently. I see her inability to love, in a similar way I see my ex. People laugh I haven’t had sex in 10yrs, along w the accusations I’m a Prostitute.
My ex just used me so these men think it’s funny that’s what I am, but it actually shows what they r. Listening to Mazzy Star again just like I did in the psych ward whenever I was allowed on the computer, which was rarely, trying not to forget who I m. Their attempts to tell me differently were horrible. I almost died, but that’s often how it goes, which is why most people opt for the easier path. I still have days that I wonder why God is keeping me around, but he plays hide and seek; calling me then allowing me to find him in the small places of grace. The kindness of a stranger, the way I fall in love again; only now older, wiser, but I laugh, he knew that all along.
Comments