more thoughts of the legend; reflections

 

I always knew there was something “emotionally” wrong with my mother.

unhinged. 

I knew her differently than others in my family. Looking back now, I understand why her bond with me was bittersweet. I looked like the man she loved and lost and I was the daily reminder that she was marked in her husband’s eyes as his whore to abuse behind closed doors.

I watched from the crack of my mother’s closet door. I watched scenes that marked ….into the eggshell of my mind….I saw that vile little evil man 

but also, I saw her manic highs

I saw her lows

her lows made her cruel ….usually most to me

but I understood

I was willing to be thst for her

I listened 

I told her how much I adored her

I forgave her everything 

She was not diagnosed manic depressive

it was a secret that I saw but she hid well…. but she was quite mad…. quite mad…. and with a husband prone to violent behavior to members of his household—the exception the molesting daughter of his blood and sickness; behind closed doors were two plus one lunatics we all lived …. in that yellow house 

I reacted to her mood swings. I bore the swings. I was depressed when she hurt my feelings with her shunning and spiteful words…. that was why the self harm began, you see; her rejection made me wish to die when she shut me out and would ignore me for days; weeks…. And later years ….why do females in my family hurt me so ….the men not as much, just the one—my personal Hitler 

I had been misdiagnosed years ago for clinical depression —they were wrong. I just needed to heal. But some things you don’t heal from. It is up to the individual to figure out how to survive and build their armor and maybe one day triumph 

It is not depression when you hurt or grieve. Those emotions are correct to feel. They should be experienced, not masked by chemicals society enforces 

we should accept differences of others ….accept and appreciate their unique perspectives 

How boring if everything was straight up and down 

 

I feel a sense of tremendous gratitude. 

There is light in the universe. There is beauty, and joy after all. 

alas the struggle to be understood and heard has touched me gently to walk in good faith and shift my onward path

Alas, alas ….all is indeed glorious 

 

 https://youtu.be/qanqpSHoTv0

e.d., and that piece of me does break and disintegrate when I realize with that kind of grief —there is no going back once the jab has gone too deep. it could have; had it been retracted at the time but it was let 

pour toi; grenouille de paix 2

 

Electra’s dictionary; a voice to be heard; Beth pwy yw beth a phryd

 

Electra, 

this morning’s dreams mix with real everyday incidents. So, I relive the scene later when 

Sunny calls out in alarm—in painful, physical urgency and then I recall —oh, I knew this would happen; we know how it goes 

later ….

—here I stop to reflect upon how strange some things shift and alters things —of people and—of the importance of some things…. such things like a nearby neighbor who is moving away, so suddenly my presence to Sunny here becomes more required ….and think about how that fits in with what Stina is asking me to do…. I mean, if what she said is true —it makes me wonder how it is that he suddenly appeared on that road to rescue me from the last stalker I just had to escape from 

But…. my brain gets so muddled over this double double triple agent spy stuff, so  instead, my thoughts choose to turn to write instead about my  ‘Persephone’…. and how that heavy weight which had pressed so hard upon my heart that I could not ever inhale all the way ….the adjustment to lightness with full lungs now alters my perceptive view through the kaleidoscope that I see looking at me in the mirror 

And even Bran ….he calls me again today ….he says he doesn’t like,

“that nobody cares if you’re alive? Really Beth?”

“Well…. I’m working for Sunny, he’d start to wonder if he didn’t see me for a few days….”

“Honestly Beth….” he stops to edit his thoughts; I hear his mind shifting the course, “I was surprised about—your ‘Persephone’” Bran says 

“Oh….”

“I remember how close you were so….but you are talking again?”

“It’s ….been a long several years,” I say and sit down, as I have been pacing 

“So, how is that going?” he asks

“You know…. if someone wanted to see in actual life ~inheritance over environment~ study —she and I are living proof that—as much as they tried to turn her into one of them and not be like her mother….it failed. Even her sexual identity label is like her mom’s but her generation are comfortably out.”

“Hmm, I never doubted your attraction to me, Beth—did you?”Bran asks me

“To you? Of course not, but you are the exception —you’re deep —and sensitive—and….you’re —nurturing….”

“I’m nurturing? I don’t think Clare would agree,” he says and then he says, “well….you always brought that out in me, you have that way—it makes men want to protect you—“

“Protect me-!?”

“—take care of you,” he amends

“What!?—why? I don’t need that from anyone!” I feel defensive, “I can take care of myself!”

And at this moment I get a text from Stina:

<have you called Dr. Evans office yet?>

I ignore her message and walk to the window to watch a herd of deer playing in the near field. Two with massive antlers stop to look directly at me from the field as I listen to …..Bran’s lilting voice that ….throws its sheepish warm coat from across the sea…. and for a split moment in time ….I am perched in an alternate time ~Beth pwy yw beth a phryd~

“Well….” he concedes but he says, “to your credit, I don’t blame you for all that armor you wear—I think if anyone deserved to hate men for everything that happened to you, I wouldn’t have blamed you for completely turning off men. I really couldn’t blame you, I would have had I been you,” he says

“Yes—well—but the alternative wasn’t much better so—there is a fine line within that gauge of yin-yang on the dial between male and female ….and I gave up fine tuning my definition and —realize ….it’s more to my liking avoiding most humans altogether —unless they prove they have something worth my time to interact with —on any level.”

“And where do I fit in?” he asks 

“….you never had to doubt….but there is only one of you, isn’t there? And ….you disappeared. And…. you’re an artist so…. that is under the umbrella of my orientation—oh! Bran, I have to go—” I say when from downstairs I hear my name being called

“Beth—don’t hang up—wait, ….can I call you again?”

I hesitate

He says,

“I can’t not have you in my life….it’s so good to hear your voice.”

identity and sex e.d.

 

I don’t understand why I should feel like this…. everything is falling down like cards; false faces everywhere ….they turn pixel on me…. all of them

I wonder if my blood is real ….is there any left and what does it really say about who I am ….

then the terror or post apocalyptic life isn’t fertile ground to grow and 

I am in the mist of this sense of being desperately deplete and grip for distraction taping into my saved google notes which labels me

“demisexual”

it is a term …. as though it is a neurosis horrifies me and then

“demiromantic” hitched on ….

my sexual identity confusion is, I never could relate to other women. I never could follow their conversation. I never felt like one of them. They talk about such shallow things all day, it puts my brain to putty to be around them.

It is more complicated but this begins some of my struggle to find who I am because if I can’t relate to my own gender then how can I be one of them?

I find males attractive but only if they do not look anything like the men who warped me and are not too masculine and have a sensitivity or femininity but they cannot be women either because of what my sister did to me—I can never be sexually attracted to a woman …. but they are always attracted to me because they say I am the boyfriend they always wanted — they are disgusting 

I am feminine, yes—but with a masculine mind; but only intellectually, not as far as progenitive; I’d never want their anatomy but I like to borrow it when I’m in the mood and ….if they actually really connect to me, otherwise I am too bored to care. I find these men who have stalked me are vile animals. I am tits and cunt to them but I don’t see this when I look at myself ….yet when I have sex it is clearly the other who is the man and I am glad of my gender at that moment ….but I am not a pussy; I am not a cunt; I will not be reduced to this if you get me in bed and many have tried but not one fit me right because they never measured up

I don’t need a man to tell me I’m this or that but I would love one who could know how to be my friend and my lover at the same time