Dear Hearts,
I am at Burning Bed and…and…and
This doesn’t feel real. It’s like when Dad and I go there…I am on Planet X.
No, not Planet X. Because the world here is really familiar. There are the same stars and the same sun and same moon. It’s fucking 92 degrees at the end of September! I am not necessarily complaining because I can still smoke outside without getting cold. And, I really do prefer to smoke outside. The basement is a BLESSING compared to the garage—but this fall/winter we are going to have to do something about G-Pa coming down to use the bathroom whilst I am smoking. There is going to have to be a sign or something. I don’t think he really realizes I smoke down there—but whatever he thinks I do down there—he needs to not come down and use the bathroom.
The trees are dropping their leaves like on the EC. I am watching the same shows on Hulu and Netflix. Angle cuddles with me, bites me, demands food…
It is an alternate reality. Yeah, that’s it. The Twilight Zone. Rod fucking Sterling Zone. Or even Tales From The Darkside.
“You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wonderous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead-your next stop, The Twilight Zone”
“Man lives in the sunlit world of what he believes to be reality. But…there is unseen by most, an underworld, a place that is just as real, but not as brightly lit…a dark side.”
Definitely The Twilight Zone. The place that is dark and unlit is the NY House. My whole motherfucking life for the last five years.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I just want you to be happy. That’s all I want….your happiness.”
Tears moisten my supposedly waterproof eyeliner
It’s like the Twilight Zone episode where everything appears real and normal—but it’s not.
I will never step foot in the NY House again. I have left that whole life, including its dreams, tragedies, and successes behind. The next time I go to the EC the NY House will be empty, the shed will be full, and my parents’ house will sport a lot more things.
The NY House…new name: Albatross. The Albatross will be empty.
That sweet mother of fucking house has been the focal point of my life since Arthur and I starting sleeping apart. How to afford it. Loans. Upkeep. Trying in vain to make it my own. Then trying to extricate myself from it.
Yes, Mom, I realize the Albatross is so not over for you, but it is for me in a way.
The “What to do about the house?” qQuestion that has plagued us since my first nut house stay has been answered.
I am not paying the fucking mortgage. Just not gonna do it. Didn’t do it.
I don’t feel homeless necessarily. Mom and Dad’s house is always my home and I do feel at home in The Holy City. Everything—Barbies, Pocket Dragons, Faerie’s, crystals, pens, special mugs---all the accouterments that I brought out here are in a jumble in my room. I have hung my posters and pictures.
I don’t want to set up my desk the same way it was in NY. I have things around me that I haven’t had around me for almost three years. I just need to see how the room wants to be set up.
This is a new life for me. I am not getting back to normal. I am creating a totally New Normal.
A year ago, I wanted to die. A few months ago, I wanted to die. Now, I sit, as a PAID staff member at Burning Bed’s front desk fielding calls. The last two days have been very slow and that’s okay.
I don’t wanna hafts figure out the right thing to say to the drunken father who says his son was raped. I don’t want to write a Legal Advocacy Referral and then be told that it’s a custody situation and we don’t deal with that. Just let me smile, make small talk with the clients and visitors, and transfer calls. Don’t NEED anything from me—‘cuz I ain’t got nothing to give.
And, um, Trina—YOUR DAUGHTER WANTS TO BE A TRANSGENDER GIRL BECAUSE SHE NEEDS ATTENTION, IS TIRED OF BEING, THE SECOND ADULT IN THE HOUSE, AND HAS BEEN ABUSED AND THROWN AROUND LIKE A HACKIE SACK. MEN HAVE THE POWER IN HER LIFE—THEY ARE THE ONES THAT CAUSE THE PAIN—SO IF SHE BECOMES A GUY, SHE CAN TAKE THE CONTROL BACK! DUH!
Back to The Twilight Zone…
I’ve been away mentally, physically, spiritually and now I am back—the sunlight is blinding.
OVERWHELMED.
I told God last night—I was praying as I was showering—is that wrong?—that I am afraid.
I afraid of re-entering the land of the living. I am not the Walking Dead.
I am afraid of germs and failure and losing disability and disappointing people and letting people down and of incompetence and not being good enough and saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing and the monster in the closet.
One of thecounselorss here does this “Monster Box” with the kid. They take a box and decorate it like a monster. Then, they write down and put all their worries in the box. The monster worries about them for the child or gets rid of them.
DEE—TELLING THE KIDS THAT THE MONSTER IS “KILLING” THEIR WORRIES IS NOT TOO VIOLENT.
I try to give my worries to Christ, Mother Mary, my Saints. Saint Brigid, Saint Therese, Mother Mary, and Saint Ailbhe are not big killers. But, Christ, Saint Peter, Archangel Michael, and Jed—they would kill my worries.
If I fucking let them.
I am tutoring a resident of Burning Bed tonight. When I volunteered to do Friday’s four to six, I forgot that tomorrow I work here during the day. Oh, what a sacrifice. No, I won’t jinx it. But usually the weekends are quiet. So if I am gonna get paid to write, read, play games, draw, or cross stitch—I’m okay with that.
Maybe I will shorten the tutoring tonight. She is ED, ADHD and has a host of other LD’s. It’s cyclical. She grew up in an abusive household. Berating your own daughter is not abuse—it’s what you do.
BUT, I digress. I am kinda excited to tutor because I like teaching. But I am so tired. And I not sure how remedial this girl is. And, she can be sassy and go 100 mph. And, I am helping her with dental hygienist stuff. Shit. I brush my teeth and gargle with Listerine. That’s all I know.
AND T—YOU NOTICE THAT I MADE THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN GARGLING AND DRINKING.WITH LISTERINE, I DON’T SWALLOW.
I did my time sheet, because I am actually getting paid to do a real job…I worked 21 hours last week, plus that dreadful drug test and then annoying fingerprinting.
That is a big leap from volunteering eight hours to working 20.
It just feel so ambivalent.
I feel like I am just on high alert. This living thing ain’t for the feint of heart.
The Depression, OCD, PTSD, Episodes, etc. it’s all still there—and I am just learning to adapt to living with it. Kind of like a learning to live with a prosthetic limb?
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 Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.
Grateful For:
Café iced coffee
Sleep
Family
Health
BB Job
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