Say Goodbye T.

Dear Hearts

Tomorrow I am going to T.’s for the last time to fetch my Hallmark ornaments (some of which are 30 years old) and see Cinderella. Unless the future brings and a specific event to which Cinderella invites me, I have no cause to go back to upstate New York.

I saw a picture of T. today online. I stabbed at my computer repeating, “Motherfucker.”

Apparently, I still have some anger issues. The lies he told me and the deception he wove--when I think on it, it’s really rather remarkable.

Delusions in T.’s Life

*He is one of the few remaining Paladin left in the world. The Paladin are supposedly a Masonic off-shoot that my dad, the consummate Mason has never heard of. I could find nothing online about this group except some reference to a fraternity at Emory. We would be in a restaurant and he’d say that a Dark Paladin had given him a secret signal—which I never saw. My situational awareness is pretty good. The Dark Paladin compared to the Paladin are like the “1%” motorcycle clubs---think Sons of Anarchy—Goddamn good show. His Masonic elders were impressed with his being a Paladin—so I’m told.

*He has four college degrees that he got in four years although I have yet to see the transcripts. I was showing him my transcripts and he was impressed or so he said—but when I asked about his I was a “doubting bitch.”

*He was at Ground Zero when Bush gave his famous “The World Will Hear Us Now” speech. His job at the time would give him no reason to be there.

*He saved a governor’s life by diagnosing a burst appendix in the nick of time. And, had said governor got through the primaries, he would work in the White House with him.

*He knows, through his Masonic Lodge, the resting place of the Holy Grail.

*His Masonic lodge is the best in the world along with the fire department and search and rescue teams with whom he worked. Huh.

*He could get me any job in upstate New York. He could get himself a six-figure job in a heartbeat. He could be a state senator. He is so not that right now.

*He “knows people” so that he could speed on the highway, have planes re-routed, get out of any tickets (UM, EXCEPT THAT D-U-FUCKING I). To be fair after he blew over a .3 he was not charged with a felony DWI because his step-father really does know people. I verified the latter.

*The pope needs to sign off on his being a Knight’s Templar. Um, yeah, canonically Catholicism forbids Masonry and the Templar. But, T. was special.

*And, he gave me deep-compressions when I flat-lined in his apartment after my OD. Yet, I still have my puke-stained bra on and NO marks or tenderness in my chest. I have a high tolerance for pain, but I also bruise very, very easily.

*He has a book contract with a major publisher, but got no advance and meets no deadlines.

Okay, I’m stopping at 11. Nope, one more.

*He’d love me, take care of me, and never break my heart.

Twelve is a good number--even if it involves two “sixes.” Christ has 12 apostles.

Why am I writing down and putting out there all these lies?

A.     I am stupid because I believed them. Truly. BUT, in my defense, I met him during my ECT treatments and I was cognitively impaired.

B.     There is no excuse. I am just a fucking idiot for believing this shit.

C.     When I write out the stories, they are fucking hilarious!

D.    Remember those commercials with the egg in the frying pan? “This is your brain on drugs?” Well, these stories are your brain on Listerine and over a 12 pack of beer a day.

Johnny: opened for Z.Z Top; owned a brand new Maserati; was sick rich; played with Madonna; had real band that recorded real albums—one of which I bought as a young teen and thought it was so rebellious because of it political questioning; has travelled all over the world; is friends with fatally sick people; and knew intimately a Spiritual Guide that my father and I knew years before.

My parents believed Johnny. I believe Johnny. He has verification. With T., I always had a niggling doubt—like something wasn’t right. But I NEEDED TO BELIEVE AND LOVE THE IDEA OF T.

I have taught this concept in class a dozen times: if you are bragging about all the money you had or have, how influential you are, how devout you are, and how unappreciated you and your $800 suits are—then you’re probably lying or at best deeply insecure. Those people who have “The Swag” don’t brag about it, it just comes up in conversation. AND THEY DON’T DRINK LISTERINE.

I won’t get a chance to be alone with T. tomorrow. He is picking up Cinderella, his daughter, whom I love, right after his Saturday AA meeting (the validity of which I doubt). T. absolutely does not want me to be alone with Cinderella for fear of what I will say to her. If he thinks I would play his daughter, I would have done it by now and he doesn’t even fucking know me. 

So no alone time with Cinderella. A convenient buffer for him and me too. We won’t be alone. I have so much I want to say and so much I want to hear. In truth, I know that words will not end this chapter. But, I want them to. I want him to beg me to come back and tell me I was the best thing to ever happen to him—BESIDES Cinderella. And, I was his last shot at love and he fucking blew it. (On the upside Cinderella will see her father, who is at best peripheral in her life.)

“i wanna hear you say please, baby, please
i’m stupid, i was wrong
and you knew it all along
so get
down on your knees, baby
swallow up your pride
you know, it wouldn’t hurt to cry, and say please..” Saving Jane.

The Take-Away: I will never again doubt my intuition or my gut. I will never believe someone else’s word over my family’s. I will never allow anyone to treat me badly---only I can do that. I will never get ECT again. ECT truly and physically affected my cognitive ability. No, I didn’t want to kill myself—but I was in some ways experiencing clinical psychosis. (Two weeks after the ECT I ODed anyway). And, I will never depend on a man (outside of family) to “save me,” which all I’ve ever wanted. Not a great truth to admit—but my truth. (Fuck you Gloria Steinem!) No, I changed that—still Fuck Steinem—but God, Christ, Saint Jude, Saint Peter (a new holy friend to me), Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel (who deserves his own post)—those men I will count on to save me.

I want to be saved. I wanted to be redeemed. I want to atone.

I want to God, from whom all Saints, Angels, and Christ come, to save me. Please?

“A Better Day” Saving Jane.

I have been asleep so long now
All locked up without a key
I have tapped my feet impatient
For a change to come to me
I've been hanging my hair
Outside this tower
Waiting for a savior
When all along I had the power to save myself
And I can tell

It's gonna be a better day
I think I'm gonna be okay
Got a little air to breathe
It's alright with me
I got a little light to shine
You can't take what's mine
I've been down so low
Nowhere but up to go
So go ahead, bring on the rain
It's gonna be a better day

Every princess has a castle
Some kind of honor to defend
I would rather fight my battles
Than hide behind a thousand men
I've been hanging my hair
Outside of this tower
Waiting for a savior
When all along, I had the power to save myself
And I can tell

It's gonna be a better day
I think I'm gonna be okay
Got a little air to breathe
It's allright with me
I got a little light to shine
You can't take what's mine
I've been down so low
Nowhere but up to go
So go ahead, bring on the rain
It's gonna be a better day

I gotta make my own luck
I gotta find my own way
I gotta see that there is more to life than just existing
I wanna be living

It's gonna be a better day
I think I'm gonna be okay
Got a little air to breathe
It's alright with me
I got a little light to shine
You can't take what's mine
I've been down so low
Nowhere but up to go
So go ahead, bring on the rain
It's gonna be a better day

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: On Wednesday I am getting my hair cut—my poor damaged by medication hair—and maybe even get bangs. I don’t need to hang my hair out the window anymore. And, I’m not Samson. My power lies in God, Christ, Mother Mary, my Guardian Angel, all those who love me, and me. Yes, how scary is that—my power lies in me.