I believe this blog is supposed to be somewhat cathartic... I believe it was created for sharing my story, that I believe can be constructive, informational or inspirational for others. I also believe that it is one way of expressing myself with the written word and hopefully at times creatively.
I'm not a fiction writer. And the reason I'm not a fiction writer is because I have extreme difficulty inventing stories. I do believe that many writers express and deal with their greatest concerns, fears and traumas in a finctional manner in order to separate it from themselves while also working them out. It could be a constructive form of dissociation; let's say conscious dissocation... or maybe it isn't conscious. I also believe that some writers project their fantasies about who they wish they could be and who they aren't upon their characters and in a way live vicariously through their characters. As that person who may have wished they could have been a writer (when pulling the "career" or talent or creative possibilities down from the sky), the idea of creating a Ross that isn't or wasn't could be very enticing. But, I am not that person, that writer either.
I believe in fantasy. But only to a certain extent.
But, back to the blog and this brief note...
I have only one life. It is the life I've lived. I don't know any other life. Nor do I know any other people than those I've met and possibly known over the past 45 years. I've struggled many years with encountering my truly greatest skills, talents or attributes that could create economic and personal stability for creating a secure and successful future. I don't have time or the economic luxury for playing games... I believe that in order to become a successful fiction writer, one must devote much time, energy and money to that endeavor without ever having the guarrantee of being published and rewarded economically living with great social (seeming very self-centered and not devoting enough time to those who wish for more interpersonal time) and economic risk (not taking more economically secure jobs that require the time necessary for developing stories and following creative inspiration). At this point in my life I don't feel I have that luxury; not for writing creatively; not for developing a body of painted works for developing myself as a professional artist...
I have time for developing myself, for nurturing my relationship with Margarita and for creating what I call "home"...
A few weeks ago I found myself caught up in a very long-term struggle with my "family"... And I wrote a series of "new" pieces basically communicating directly with them... However, although the writings are factual, having them on the blog "burned holes in me"... so I returned them to draft form, meaning that they are saved on my blog, but not for public view. It wasn't where I wanted to be... within what I wanted to be obsessing. I have many other much more productive interests, such as my current exercise regime and studying progressive nutrition and health... The past holds us back. It weighs us down... It is real. It is what we lived. It may not have been lived the same way by those who shared space and time and aspects of experiences with us. All we truly have is today and how we project ourselves foward. I believe in a productive, progressive and proactive life. I don't "like" sharing time and space with people who I don't find inspirational who are trapped in their modalities, fantasies/illusions and who aren't progressive and proactive... I don't mention productive because many people who are "stuck" are also productive...
If you aren't interested in what interests me, then why waste your time with me? If what worries me, doesn't worry you, then maybe I'm not that important to you... So, why waste your time with me?
I would have liked to be famous; successful in that form. But, I must ask myself, Ross, truthfully, what is the need driving that desire for fame? And I found the answer: To prove to everyone who didn't believe in me or that I was worth something that that wasn't true. But, with that response to that introspective moment I burst the bubble of a useless fantasy, desire.
One must do what one truly enjoys and desires and not because of what they project upon known and unknown others; not because of what they believe will be someone else's response. If I don't love my painting, then it doesn't really matter what the other person says... When I love the run, it isn't because of how I imagine they see me running. When I enjoy a book, it isn't because of the information I will share with others leading them to say how well-read I am.
When I think of myself and who I am and what I have to share with others, truthfully, I don't know just to what extent they will appreciate me. Truthfully, I don't have any control over whether another person will want to spend quality time with me. And, I can't guarrantee the same for another person. That difficult lesson began very early in my life:
I learned that I couldn't keep my father from dying or giving me his genes. I didn't have control over my Uncle Stan's or Sheri's behaviors to me in early childhood. I couldn't keep my mother from becoming how she became with my father's death. I couldn't make my Uncle Henry my Father (don't believe for a moment that that was a fantasy; but he was the closest adult male role model I had; very sporadic and distant). I couldn't prevent my elementary and middle school peers from picking on me. I couldn't prevent Beth from doing what she did... All of my confronting my mother in adolescence and young adulthood and later on in adulthood was basically fruitless because she is how she is. I wish I could have understood all of this 25-30-35 years ago. I would have saved myself a hell of a lot of time and energy. But I didn't.
Life is a learning process. An evolutionary process... sometimes slow and "boring"... seemingly fruitless. Sometimes incredibly rapid and intense. But, truly tying things together and understanding what you should truly be doing with your time and energy (and money) at the moment me not occur until just before your 45th birthday...
And maybe my mother and sisters and other family members are calling me BASTARD! But, when you truly look up that term in the dictionary... or, better yet, you see it referenced in characters of very important novels, you realize that that is exactly what my mother made me... Bastard isn't truly a boy who doesn't know who is his father or who knows his father, although his father doesn't know him or accept him... It is also the son of a man who died when the boy was very young and the mother acts in ways that truly negate the importance of that boy's father and at the same time neglects and/or abuses that boy.
So, read about the trajectory of the bastard boys and how they grew up and overcome their bastardness and become successful men... if they actually become successful men. It all depends upon what you consider success.
And this brief not has suddenly become not so brief.
Pico de Orizaba
Taken from Huatusco, Veracruz, the closest town to Margarita's family's ranch.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Duck? Duck? GOOSE! "YOU'RE IT!" Guilt? Guilt? no RAGE... (Part One)
Guilt? Guilt? No... RAGE... I believe the child inherently senses injustices... However, they do not know about confronting those injustices or confronting the perpetrator/s... or the situation or the people or the person in question or the group that maintains the system and situation within which the child is inhibited from expressing themself clearly. Or maybe, just maybe, the intensity or the craziness of the person, people or group or situation oppressing the child is such that the child never finds themself in a position of re-grouping for responding to or within the situation in a more healthful manner; more healthful for that child because the human being inherently wishes for living within a healthy situation.
The rage...
...is the result of the inability of changing a prolonged unjust situation.
Rage...
... is the event of unresolvable pent-up tension. It is not healthy, although it is not unnatural. Meaning...
Rage...
... is understandable if people wish for truly understanding what happens within the lives of other people and what happens around them.
Guilt? Guilt?
At what age does a child cease being innocent?
At what point in the child's experience of trauma (sudden loss of a parent, major surgery for removal of a large organ from the child's body due to the inheretance of a disease that killed the child's parent--and remember all of you who have experienced major surgeries and other indepth medical services,
--surgery and many of the related examinations are extremely intrusive/invasive; one must alter their existential perspectives in order to not feel (in the moment of the surgery or examination) themselves violated, although that is NOT the intention of the doctors, surgeons and medical staff--
having to appear--spend extended periods of time--within the home of an adult who has decided to be violent towards him in the midst of the dying of his father...)
STOP
not as in saying, "enough is enough"... No, it is for pausing a moment... and returning to the beginning of the paragraph...
At what point in the child's experience of trauma...
does the child's reaction to that trauma and possible injustice qualify them as being guilty?
At what point does the child become guilty for their reactions towards injustices incurred against them?}
Return to "At what age does a child cease being innocent?
When that child's father suddenly becomes ill and dies and while the father is ill, dying and dead, that father's brother becomes violent towards that child (the only child of the ill, dying and deceased man) and that poor child's poor suddenly widowed mother is not prepared for such a drastic and horrible situation (a situation mind you that no one would negate is TRAUMATIC for the widow, although they spend their adulthoods claiming that the same situation wasn't traumatic for the child, although who is more vulnerable, at risk?) so she becomes very unhealthy, depressed, even suicidal (although no one would know that if she hadn't told them) and becomes emotionally unavailable (if not much worse than emotionally unavailable) towards the child...
In the movie "The Railway Man", based on the autobiographical book by Eric Lomax, Eric Lomax screams to his Mother "Mother, why have you deserted me?!!!" when he is delirious in the middle of being water boarded. And then, decades later speaking with the orchestrator of his torture, he says, "During the war I was writing letters to my mother, not knowing that she had died..:" Ironic. During times of insecurity, risk, tragedy or extreme suffering, the boy within the man cries for his mother... The need is based upon security. Trauma is caused by being disconnected from all posibilities of being protected.
It doesn't matter what happened to my mother when I was 4.5-years-old, when she was 29.5-years-old... It doesn't matter if she was a victim or a survivor or both or even if she was mentally ill NEVER TO SEEK THERAPY although she had suffered so much from early childhood into adulthood... although she was a registered clinical therapist... And I'm not saying that I don't understand what happened with her. But, the problem is that she has NEVER existed within a personal society of adults who don't understand what she went through; it's been a wonderful support system.
But, when that 4.5-year-old suddenly finds himself unprotected and accosted..., neglected; his most important needs ignored and when that 4.5-year-old is now 8-years-old, having lived the first 3.5 years of unexpected, unimaginable horror (for a child of that age; what would be a suddenly "orphaned" 4.5-year-old child's most inherent needs?
Emotional support and the sense of being felt, heard, cared-for and understood.
Do you think I am incorrect?
My mother said, as you may have read in my first blog writings, "But, I was alone too!"
But, does that really matter?
She could hop in a plane with her young children and her best friend and her daughters and fly to Jamaica right after the funeral. And, her father would visit them there in Jamaica. And two weeks after the funeral she could enroll in the community college and begin her appearance as being the super-hero to her friends, collegues, friends of her daughters, sons-in-laws, nephews, wives of her nephews... etc.
"What? Marsha did wrong? How is that possible? Look what she did against all odd! We can only put her on a pedistal and not metaphorically behind bars as it seems you are doing..." And again, STOP.
Reverse... Go back to the difference between the 4.5-year-old and the 29.5-year-old and ask yourself what the 4.5-year-old could have done to change the situation...
And that's where if you are a sensitive, sensible, and thoughtful person you would understand my point.
Must I say that I couldn't have gone to college, studied for a career for obtaining employment so that I could guarrantee economic stability for myself now that my father was suddenly dead and my mother had become emotionally unavailable?
She will tell you repeatedly that she was very immature for the situation; she wasn't prepared for what suddenly happened and that no one was there for her. But, if that was the case, how is is that she has everyone cheering her merits, defending her when they know that something else was happening at the time too?
No, I wouldn't place my mother in jail for neglect or child abuse back then. But she, as a life-long MSW knows damn well that Children's services could have had us removed from her home had they known what happened in the household or outside of it when she was there or when she wasn't there. But, who would have told them? The 4.5--8---12-year-old boy?
At what age does the child have the right to state his claims and to demand services, justice?
If you can honestly answer this question, you should understand that the child can live many many insupportable years enduring events and situations beyond what is considered normal and healthy. But, if the child does not have the right or the understanding of how things should be within the court of law or better yet for their healthy development (for many years they just sense things and receive the insensitive if not hostile and abusive responses towards their complaints and concerns), what can the child do? What will the child do?
Rage?
Rage is feared by the society, since it is unexpected and tends towards being violence.
Was my mother non-violent?
As you may have read in earlier pieces, she claimed she was much more violent towards Beth than towards me. But, why so violent towards Beth? What did Beth do?
Truthfully, I don't know what Beth did to warrant my mother's violence. I know what Beth did to me. But, I just can't imagine what she did to my mother.
But, that's just it and why a family member has no right to violently negate the expressed experience of the other family member; because many things happen within the same nuclear family home that no one else knows about, and maybe didn't experience.
To be continued...
...seemingly weeks later, since I started this sometime last week and as things go, other things pop up, generally less stressful and probably more constructive...
The rage...
...is the result of the inability of changing a prolonged unjust situation.
Rage...
... is the event of unresolvable pent-up tension. It is not healthy, although it is not unnatural. Meaning...
Rage...
... is understandable if people wish for truly understanding what happens within the lives of other people and what happens around them.
Guilt? Guilt?
At what age does a child cease being innocent?
At what point in the child's experience of trauma (sudden loss of a parent, major surgery for removal of a large organ from the child's body due to the inheretance of a disease that killed the child's parent--and remember all of you who have experienced major surgeries and other indepth medical services,
--surgery and many of the related examinations are extremely intrusive/invasive; one must alter their existential perspectives in order to not feel (in the moment of the surgery or examination) themselves violated, although that is NOT the intention of the doctors, surgeons and medical staff--
having to appear--spend extended periods of time--within the home of an adult who has decided to be violent towards him in the midst of the dying of his father...)
STOP
not as in saying, "enough is enough"... No, it is for pausing a moment... and returning to the beginning of the paragraph...
At what point in the child's experience of trauma...
does the child's reaction to that trauma and possible injustice qualify them as being guilty?
At what point does the child become guilty for their reactions towards injustices incurred against them?}
Return to "At what age does a child cease being innocent?
When that child's father suddenly becomes ill and dies and while the father is ill, dying and dead, that father's brother becomes violent towards that child (the only child of the ill, dying and deceased man) and that poor child's poor suddenly widowed mother is not prepared for such a drastic and horrible situation (a situation mind you that no one would negate is TRAUMATIC for the widow, although they spend their adulthoods claiming that the same situation wasn't traumatic for the child, although who is more vulnerable, at risk?) so she becomes very unhealthy, depressed, even suicidal (although no one would know that if she hadn't told them) and becomes emotionally unavailable (if not much worse than emotionally unavailable) towards the child...
In the movie "The Railway Man", based on the autobiographical book by Eric Lomax, Eric Lomax screams to his Mother "Mother, why have you deserted me?!!!" when he is delirious in the middle of being water boarded. And then, decades later speaking with the orchestrator of his torture, he says, "During the war I was writing letters to my mother, not knowing that she had died..:" Ironic. During times of insecurity, risk, tragedy or extreme suffering, the boy within the man cries for his mother... The need is based upon security. Trauma is caused by being disconnected from all posibilities of being protected.
It doesn't matter what happened to my mother when I was 4.5-years-old, when she was 29.5-years-old... It doesn't matter if she was a victim or a survivor or both or even if she was mentally ill NEVER TO SEEK THERAPY although she had suffered so much from early childhood into adulthood... although she was a registered clinical therapist... And I'm not saying that I don't understand what happened with her. But, the problem is that she has NEVER existed within a personal society of adults who don't understand what she went through; it's been a wonderful support system.
But, when that 4.5-year-old suddenly finds himself unprotected and accosted..., neglected; his most important needs ignored and when that 4.5-year-old is now 8-years-old, having lived the first 3.5 years of unexpected, unimaginable horror (for a child of that age; what would be a suddenly "orphaned" 4.5-year-old child's most inherent needs?
Emotional support and the sense of being felt, heard, cared-for and understood.
Do you think I am incorrect?
My mother said, as you may have read in my first blog writings, "But, I was alone too!"
But, does that really matter?
She could hop in a plane with her young children and her best friend and her daughters and fly to Jamaica right after the funeral. And, her father would visit them there in Jamaica. And two weeks after the funeral she could enroll in the community college and begin her appearance as being the super-hero to her friends, collegues, friends of her daughters, sons-in-laws, nephews, wives of her nephews... etc.
"What? Marsha did wrong? How is that possible? Look what she did against all odd! We can only put her on a pedistal and not metaphorically behind bars as it seems you are doing..." And again, STOP.
Reverse... Go back to the difference between the 4.5-year-old and the 29.5-year-old and ask yourself what the 4.5-year-old could have done to change the situation...
And that's where if you are a sensitive, sensible, and thoughtful person you would understand my point.
Must I say that I couldn't have gone to college, studied for a career for obtaining employment so that I could guarrantee economic stability for myself now that my father was suddenly dead and my mother had become emotionally unavailable?
She will tell you repeatedly that she was very immature for the situation; she wasn't prepared for what suddenly happened and that no one was there for her. But, if that was the case, how is is that she has everyone cheering her merits, defending her when they know that something else was happening at the time too?
No, I wouldn't place my mother in jail for neglect or child abuse back then. But she, as a life-long MSW knows damn well that Children's services could have had us removed from her home had they known what happened in the household or outside of it when she was there or when she wasn't there. But, who would have told them? The 4.5--8---12-year-old boy?
At what age does the child have the right to state his claims and to demand services, justice?
If you can honestly answer this question, you should understand that the child can live many many insupportable years enduring events and situations beyond what is considered normal and healthy. But, if the child does not have the right or the understanding of how things should be within the court of law or better yet for their healthy development (for many years they just sense things and receive the insensitive if not hostile and abusive responses towards their complaints and concerns), what can the child do? What will the child do?
Rage?
Rage is feared by the society, since it is unexpected and tends towards being violence.
Was my mother non-violent?
As you may have read in earlier pieces, she claimed she was much more violent towards Beth than towards me. But, why so violent towards Beth? What did Beth do?
Truthfully, I don't know what Beth did to warrant my mother's violence. I know what Beth did to me. But, I just can't imagine what she did to my mother.
But, that's just it and why a family member has no right to violently negate the expressed experience of the other family member; because many things happen within the same nuclear family home that no one else knows about, and maybe didn't experience.
To be continued...
...seemingly weeks later, since I started this sometime last week and as things go, other things pop up, generally less stressful and probably more constructive...
Friday, June 20, 2014
cumpleaños cuarenta y cinco
No tengo mucho tiempo para escribir porque tenemos cosas que hacer; preparación de una celebración con amigos mañana. Hoy es para Margarita y yo... y, desde llegue a Las Cañadas con ella hace 11 años y 4 meses, todo ha sido para nosotros dos. Afuera de fantasias y ilusiones, no existe otra vida, solo en memorias pesadas y destructivas...
Pensando en escribir bien ésto y en inglés, veo que no tendria tiempo por las cosas que tenemos que hacer. No, no hay tiempo suficiente, ni para las cosas que tengo que hacer para mi mismo, cómo leer todos los libros que quiero leer, hacer las investigaciónes de salud y alimentación, ¿pintar?... pero, sí tengo tiempo para correr 39 minutos y contando...
Si tengo suerte, regresaré a la tema...
Pensando en escribir bien ésto y en inglés, veo que no tendria tiempo por las cosas que tenemos que hacer. No, no hay tiempo suficiente, ni para las cosas que tengo que hacer para mi mismo, cómo leer todos los libros que quiero leer, hacer las investigaciónes de salud y alimentación, ¿pintar?... pero, sí tengo tiempo para correr 39 minutos y contando...
Si tengo suerte, regresaré a la tema...
Linkin Park - In The End
It's funny... I was writing (in Spanish; we'll see if I get around to writing in English) in my blog on my 45th birthday when this video/song appeared basically saying what I was writing... or at least where I was going with the theme... 45 years. Birthdays are progressive--a momentary step (illusion) into the future. But, 45 years (marked as a history)... And as Chester says, "in the end it really doesn't matter..." It does. But, truthfully, what is most important in the end is what you are doing at the moment and the future towards which you are carried or carrying yourself. As you know, there is no future, since we are in a constantly evolving present with an immensely growing past. The future is a projection of our aspirations... much hope in the future. But we never find ourselves there. The moment of almost crossing that line into the projected future we notice that our expectations, aspirations, dreams have changed... the ante has been up-ed... our needs have evolved... the present is constantly evolving, meaning that we are constantly evolving and being evolved... a random statement, a sudden inspiration... who did what and how we responded... and then we respond to ourself... constantly learning from situations, from others... and from our responses and reactions... and how others respond to us...
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Another response to letter written to James 7 years ago...
No, I didn't design or construct those streets. But I did walk them. And how I walked them. And, at the time, that was what was most important, my artist's strut, with the long green coat, open and flowing or fluttering and the music playing in my headphones and the buildings and houses passing by, often veloz (at high velocity--velocidad), weeving between the other pedestrians, especially if I were dropping down 6th avenue towards the Village or lower Manhattan or between cars stopped in traffic, j-walking one of my favorite hobbies... how to cross the city unperturbed by crosswalkes and stoplights... a flow... And, yes, this was part of me, although I didn't design or construct the city. No, the city didn't make me and that's why I'm still me thousands of miles away from New York City in a Mexico without great cities. And maybe the lack of great cities and streets for gliding or floating or strutting translates in boredom. But, it doesn't translate in decrease calidad (quality) of me. Granted, I have greatly reinvented myself in certain ways. In New York City (I believe 40% latino) I didn't have to speak Spanish. In fact, "they" had to learn English. In fact, they didn't want to practice their Spanish with an English-speaker just as I, here in Mexico, don't want to practice "my" English with a Spanish speaker. But, what happened here a long time ago is that Spanish became my first language, meaning that Ross has become Rosendo... has evolved greatly. And maybe I don't need great cities and wonderful streets and communities for hipstrutting for illuminating myself as someone interesting or vital or important. I don't need to paint myself on the canvas of your hypothetical mind.
And here I had turned on the computer because I must return to my research for understanding our diets and the corresponding health consequences, learned that Casey Kasen the voice of Billboard etc, died at the age of 82 and I wonder about the disease that ultimately killed him and how the disease (a form of neuro-muscular) was connected with what he placed in his mouth. And, yes, he achieved the ripe old age of 82. So, what's there to be concerned about? And, while reading about the death of Casey Kasen, I read that a certain German publisher (Frank Schirrmacher) died of a heart attack at the age of 54. But you've gotta see how his neck flows over his well-ironed shirt collar and well-tied tie, causing the appearance that his neck is wider than his head. He was considered one of the great German Intellectuals of his time. But, why wasn't he smart enough to know that his diet would cut his carreer and life so short? There's a point in an intelligent person's lifetime when they realize that they can be a bit healthier and can sacrifice some of the luxuries they ingested all their life so they can enjoy other things equally worthy, such as better health, better appearance, better movement...
Yesterday we passed by a used bookstore and bought some short stories by Alexander Solschenitzen, "Zula" by Toni Morrison and a novel or memoirs by Frank McCourt, author of Angela's Ashes. This morning after preparing and eating Mahi-Mahi with roasted red pepper and habanero butter and while drinking black coffee without a cigarette butt in my mouth (no beautiful blue smoke wafting up towards and infront of my eyes; I haven't smoked a cigarette in exactly 11 years), I returned to "In the First Circle", Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's scathing description of Stalin's Soviet Union, with its incredible hypocracy. It's a very densely written novel (incredibly realist, which makes the reading much slower than had it been fantasy designed for removing us from our own skin...) designed after the first section (Inferno or Hell) Dante's "Divine Comedy" where the First Circle refers to the first circle of hell where the Greek Philosophers find themselves since, having been born before "Christ" they are deemed hethens and can't enter heaven...
No, no, no... No more street strutting in long flowing green coats with long hair imitating the flow of the coat in the wind of my stride, vitality partially constructed upon a fantasy of who I may have dreamed I was becoming at that time; a crazy artist one day to be discovered. As we all know, the title artist (like actor or writer or producer or designer or singer or musician or chef...) justifies or exonerates the crazy within our modern day heroes. As long as one is successful, it doesn't really matter their supposed diagnosis. Well, I've never fit well in cookie-cutter society, meaning that there must be something "wrong" with me... I could play the game. But, if I could cook well and paint well...?
Living in Mexico, it doesn't matter what, who or how I am; I'm a foreigner, a "Gringo"... I am trapped within their fantasies and I know that it has truly nothing to do with me. So, I can be who I am. I can't be their heroe. So, I must be mine.
And, thanks to James, I continue responding... first seven years ago. And now, yesterday and today. And being that I don't get very far within the reading of "Bad Bad Leroy Brown and Don Juan's Reckless Daughter" before writing something divergent and semi-long, I must return to the piece and become inspired repeatedly and see what else comes out on "paper"... Since there is so much more to mention... since this writing truly is about a certain crossroads, transition of the time and now I have 7 years more infront of my eyes and what occured and how I've responded. No, we don't have to go back 37 years to something that Beth created and conveniently blocked from her mind, since her image of herself is more important than the truth and the why and how...
Thanks James.
And here I had turned on the computer because I must return to my research for understanding our diets and the corresponding health consequences, learned that Casey Kasen the voice of Billboard etc, died at the age of 82 and I wonder about the disease that ultimately killed him and how the disease (a form of neuro-muscular) was connected with what he placed in his mouth. And, yes, he achieved the ripe old age of 82. So, what's there to be concerned about? And, while reading about the death of Casey Kasen, I read that a certain German publisher (Frank Schirrmacher) died of a heart attack at the age of 54. But you've gotta see how his neck flows over his well-ironed shirt collar and well-tied tie, causing the appearance that his neck is wider than his head. He was considered one of the great German Intellectuals of his time. But, why wasn't he smart enough to know that his diet would cut his carreer and life so short? There's a point in an intelligent person's lifetime when they realize that they can be a bit healthier and can sacrifice some of the luxuries they ingested all their life so they can enjoy other things equally worthy, such as better health, better appearance, better movement...
Yesterday we passed by a used bookstore and bought some short stories by Alexander Solschenitzen, "Zula" by Toni Morrison and a novel or memoirs by Frank McCourt, author of Angela's Ashes. This morning after preparing and eating Mahi-Mahi with roasted red pepper and habanero butter and while drinking black coffee without a cigarette butt in my mouth (no beautiful blue smoke wafting up towards and infront of my eyes; I haven't smoked a cigarette in exactly 11 years), I returned to "In the First Circle", Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's scathing description of Stalin's Soviet Union, with its incredible hypocracy. It's a very densely written novel (incredibly realist, which makes the reading much slower than had it been fantasy designed for removing us from our own skin...) designed after the first section (Inferno or Hell) Dante's "Divine Comedy" where the First Circle refers to the first circle of hell where the Greek Philosophers find themselves since, having been born before "Christ" they are deemed hethens and can't enter heaven...
No, no, no... No more street strutting in long flowing green coats with long hair imitating the flow of the coat in the wind of my stride, vitality partially constructed upon a fantasy of who I may have dreamed I was becoming at that time; a crazy artist one day to be discovered. As we all know, the title artist (like actor or writer or producer or designer or singer or musician or chef...) justifies or exonerates the crazy within our modern day heroes. As long as one is successful, it doesn't really matter their supposed diagnosis. Well, I've never fit well in cookie-cutter society, meaning that there must be something "wrong" with me... I could play the game. But, if I could cook well and paint well...?
Living in Mexico, it doesn't matter what, who or how I am; I'm a foreigner, a "Gringo"... I am trapped within their fantasies and I know that it has truly nothing to do with me. So, I can be who I am. I can't be their heroe. So, I must be mine.
And, thanks to James, I continue responding... first seven years ago. And now, yesterday and today. And being that I don't get very far within the reading of "Bad Bad Leroy Brown and Don Juan's Reckless Daughter" before writing something divergent and semi-long, I must return to the piece and become inspired repeatedly and see what else comes out on "paper"... Since there is so much more to mention... since this writing truly is about a certain crossroads, transition of the time and now I have 7 years more infront of my eyes and what occured and how I've responded. No, we don't have to go back 37 years to something that Beth created and conveniently blocked from her mind, since her image of herself is more important than the truth and the why and how...
Thanks James.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
One response to letter written to James 7 years ago...
Rage and "releasing boys from our souls..." and I stopped painting and drawing seven years... and I gained weight not dropped for 11 and all the related physiological stress... and I picked up the paints and pencils again 4 years ago and painted and drew like never before... and that dream dissipated... the boy flew the coop as a bird and as he flew, his wings dried up and fell off. Plunged from the sky the boy once bird fell into a deep dark sea and began swimming, developed gills and the ability of breathing below the waves. I stand on the shore and watch him swim by... The boy maybe once I... Or maybe these are just the illusions we use for understanding who we aren't or maybe who we dreamed of being, when we were boys. Or maybe I am looking at the boy I truly am but don't accept or understand. And as I don't paint for 7 months now and don't dream of being that heroe I realize that there is so much more to life and living than who we think we should be... And as I stand on that beach on the edge of that deep dark sea, I see myself emerge from the surf, on all fours, gasping for breath as I've decided it's time I learned to breath again. My gills dry up and seal over... And I run into the arid mountains; a hairless Aztec dog, "ixuintli" silent and intense pursuing the moments that inevitably convert into the past although I'm running towards the future. 3 months have passed since I awakened to a different physiological possibility and am much healthier than before. And those pounds gained over 11 years? Say good-bye...
But maybe we don't understand so much (until tomorrow which is now today, which is now yesterday and we still don't understand so much until tomorrow). And maybe it doesn't matter that I don't write so slap stick, hip hop, spoken word or stream of conscious as I had 7 years ago. Maybe my writing isn't so cool and slick or sly (are those tears in my dry eyes? no, "baby don't cry") as it had been in Brooklyn walking the streets and crossing the boroughs... But, I didn't construct or design those streets or boroughs I walked. They weren't me.
Maybe it doesn't matter what others do to themselves... and that they don't listen... or they don't take heed... or that they don't understand the concepts or ideas you share... Maybe we shouldn't expect so much from them (And don't for one moment believe I'm talking about blood relatives... Life is much greater than the boxes within which others may live...) and relegate those expectations towards ourselves...
The moment we say, "I didn't understand that about..." we've begun gaining that understanding; moment worth a momentary celebration.
Reading this letter to James, written 7 years ago, I realize that 24 years have passed since those days of those fantasies possibly shared... when he took me to Greenwich Village for the first time. And I know that there was something I may have sacrificed. But, maybe what I sacrificed wasn't truly mine. Maybe it wasn't what I truly wished for. Maybe it was a reaction to a very difficult situation... a distraction... the writing, the painting... the dreams of becoming THAT heroe... Sacrificing a style or a being that was a replacement for what I wasn't... a dream that couldn't be... But, maybe it is and we unwrap it little by little... A gift of ourselves that maybe couldn't be offered to us as we thought the gifts were given to everyone else.
There is a place towards which we journey. And maybe there is a place from which we are journeying... And maybe the past holds onto us, although maybe we wish that it stopped weighing us down. But, we are formed and informed by all that passed. And as we journey, what we see in the distance approaching changes perspectives and passes us as it slips into the past and we continue seeing an evolving horizon. And maybe what we thought we were journeying towards isn't truly what we had expected. But, what we left behind us continues slipping further away...
And James? Nice fantasies, not necessarily shared, as each was a very personal and separate or individual experience. Visit me in Mexico? We're not friends; his decision 3 years ago. But, how do you qualify friendships? When were we friends? And what does that mean anyway?
We weave illusions. Nos alimentamos con fantasias... (we nourish ourselves with fantasies)some ideas are better written in Spanish... And then one day you awaken to the realization that all you ever truly had was reality and that that is all that you will ever have... weaver of dreams or not... And maybe you awaken to all you've done and what you have and are doing at that moment and the people who share your life with you and you realize that it is really good; possibly much better than what many others have. And maybe you don't own your own house and have financial stability guarranteed until death do we part, or a Hollywood movie life and I'm not publishing or selling my paintings. And I'm not famous. Nobody's heroe... Nobody's role model. Don't have kids. But maybe it's much better than what others have. Because I have myself and am true to myself, although maybe this bores you...
So many years priding myself on my cooking, international... What is another person's fantasy, I can reproduce in my kitchen. Then suddenly I realized that removing simple carbs from my diet was the ticket to health and a youth I thought was long passed. And WHAM, so much of my cooking repetoir and all those culinary fantasies of creating in the kitchen and eating or sharing with others... GONE... Remove the simple carbs and what do you have of a Chinese or Thai or Russian or Italian or Indian or Middle Eastern or North African or Mexican or Caribean culinary fantasy? But, what is better? to be thin, svelt, healthy, energetic, attractive (many ways of defining this beyond what is commonly judged as attractive) and content... or eating all of the possible fantasies you can reproduce in the kitchen? And, no, it may not be about self-control or about measurements...
Reading "Big Bad Leroy Brown and Don Juan's Reckless Daughter" I found myself very impressed and yearning for that writing again. And I thought I was inspired to write something much different from what came out... But this is what came out. Boy how I've evolved! Damn!
But maybe we don't understand so much (until tomorrow which is now today, which is now yesterday and we still don't understand so much until tomorrow). And maybe it doesn't matter that I don't write so slap stick, hip hop, spoken word or stream of conscious as I had 7 years ago. Maybe my writing isn't so cool and slick or sly (are those tears in my dry eyes? no, "baby don't cry") as it had been in Brooklyn walking the streets and crossing the boroughs... But, I didn't construct or design those streets or boroughs I walked. They weren't me.
Maybe it doesn't matter what others do to themselves... and that they don't listen... or they don't take heed... or that they don't understand the concepts or ideas you share... Maybe we shouldn't expect so much from them (And don't for one moment believe I'm talking about blood relatives... Life is much greater than the boxes within which others may live...) and relegate those expectations towards ourselves...
The moment we say, "I didn't understand that about..." we've begun gaining that understanding; moment worth a momentary celebration.
Reading this letter to James, written 7 years ago, I realize that 24 years have passed since those days of those fantasies possibly shared... when he took me to Greenwich Village for the first time. And I know that there was something I may have sacrificed. But, maybe what I sacrificed wasn't truly mine. Maybe it wasn't what I truly wished for. Maybe it was a reaction to a very difficult situation... a distraction... the writing, the painting... the dreams of becoming THAT heroe... Sacrificing a style or a being that was a replacement for what I wasn't... a dream that couldn't be... But, maybe it is and we unwrap it little by little... A gift of ourselves that maybe couldn't be offered to us as we thought the gifts were given to everyone else.
There is a place towards which we journey. And maybe there is a place from which we are journeying... And maybe the past holds onto us, although maybe we wish that it stopped weighing us down. But, we are formed and informed by all that passed. And as we journey, what we see in the distance approaching changes perspectives and passes us as it slips into the past and we continue seeing an evolving horizon. And maybe what we thought we were journeying towards isn't truly what we had expected. But, what we left behind us continues slipping further away...
And James? Nice fantasies, not necessarily shared, as each was a very personal and separate or individual experience. Visit me in Mexico? We're not friends; his decision 3 years ago. But, how do you qualify friendships? When were we friends? And what does that mean anyway?
We weave illusions. Nos alimentamos con fantasias... (we nourish ourselves with fantasies)some ideas are better written in Spanish... And then one day you awaken to the realization that all you ever truly had was reality and that that is all that you will ever have... weaver of dreams or not... And maybe you awaken to all you've done and what you have and are doing at that moment and the people who share your life with you and you realize that it is really good; possibly much better than what many others have. And maybe you don't own your own house and have financial stability guarranteed until death do we part, or a Hollywood movie life and I'm not publishing or selling my paintings. And I'm not famous. Nobody's heroe... Nobody's role model. Don't have kids. But maybe it's much better than what others have. Because I have myself and am true to myself, although maybe this bores you...
So many years priding myself on my cooking, international... What is another person's fantasy, I can reproduce in my kitchen. Then suddenly I realized that removing simple carbs from my diet was the ticket to health and a youth I thought was long passed. And WHAM, so much of my cooking repetoir and all those culinary fantasies of creating in the kitchen and eating or sharing with others... GONE... Remove the simple carbs and what do you have of a Chinese or Thai or Russian or Italian or Indian or Middle Eastern or North African or Mexican or Caribean culinary fantasy? But, what is better? to be thin, svelt, healthy, energetic, attractive (many ways of defining this beyond what is commonly judged as attractive) and content... or eating all of the possible fantasies you can reproduce in the kitchen? And, no, it may not be about self-control or about measurements...
Reading "Big Bad Leroy Brown and Don Juan's Reckless Daughter" I found myself very impressed and yearning for that writing again. And I thought I was inspired to write something much different from what came out... But this is what came out. Boy how I've evolved! Damn!
Big Bad Leroy Brown and Don Juan's Reckless Daughter (Revisited); Letter to James, Xalapa, 2007
How long have we struggled to write my friend? 17 short years growing shorter with age... Is it possible that in my prolonged silences you think that I forget your hipswing poems of NOLA? I don't forget myself although I forget details. Every day another detail lost to the wind and I wonder how it ever was that I thought I would write more with experience. But with experience the experiences fade in memory. I remember your jeep and your crazy driving on the sidewalk passing traffic in Manhattan and maybe you thought you were Dean Moriarty and your babe from the cape Mary Lou. But maybe you were just yourself better expressed in a book, yet only if you're looking for that illusion. How things change over time. I don't struggle to write anymore. I am the pen and the paper. My feet scratch out the words in the sand or pavement, concrete as I pass and that's my story damn it! Fuck this fantasy screams out as I crumple up another manuscript of mind and toss it in the waste-paper basket of life. Why must we be heroes? As I'm inspired to write as I write you now, I feel sad. Because there is truth in the short and subtle rage at releasing boys from our souls and turning off the big screen tv of our minds. Open the door and step out into the light of the street and there you are, you. And I wonder about you who taught me about stream of consciousness which became my best writing... What a flow Jack! For the moment no more monkey on my back. Stanley took off with the plan and left me thinking about Leroy Brown somewhere in middle America and that's who we are when we're not flying. Just big dark and heavy figures beating down the fears we harbour and hopefully we don't terminate as he terminated... Rise above the rooftops of our limits and find more free space not so thick aired suffocation... And where did I go? I'm still here. 17 years later. Walking my story, loving my story, anticipating my story. And when I die the book will close and how many pages had I written?
I ran early in the day. In the sun, you don't float. You cut. For me, it's the duty to complete the run and hope that somewhere during the process I start floating or loafing like a gazelle... But, I accept the difference between almost 38 and that of being 31 and that maybe it's sufficient to reach the end heavy and panting. 3.5 years of apple cake, chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese toppings and fillings, giant cookies and all the pickings and tastings weighing me down. How wonderful it will be that day when I don't live with pastries... I never wanted to bake, but I wanted to make a life here with Margarita and that was the message that entered my mind and I still can't explain how it happened. We were sitting on a park bench in the middle of an enchanted couple of days where I was receiving information about what we were about to do... And suddenly it was time to bake and how way baked. From June 2003 to almost May 2007 we baked. You may ask why that's important when bakers bake or they're not bakers. But that's just it. I'm not a baker and never will be. Just as I'm not a historian nor am I a Jew nor a Gringo... Why not? Society places labels but the person has the rite to define themselves. And maybe it's not a rite so much as a will... I have a will to be clear about myself. I'm not a baker. Maybe I am a Gringo because that's a name placed on an object outsider and can't be chosen... Robert says that they fear him. But maybe it's not so much fear but awe... Do they fear me? No, because I'm short. But maybe it's not fear. Maybe it's down right awe. Robert hops on his steed and he's off, a cowboy riding high and they hop on his back with their eyes and they go for the ride of their mind... I think we're crazy and I fear crazy. But maybe it's not fear but apprehension and you and I never became close friends due to that apprehension. But now who is the more conformed with the baby on the way? But one day you will visit me and I'll still be apprehensive, worried about the pressures towards samba and hipswings and dancing in the streets... But all that lives within me plastered below thousands of pounds of concern about control and security... Is it my mother that rides on my back? I remember when I left in that Grehound Bus for the south of the south, knowing that I was jumping off a diving board into an abyss. My mother wasn't sitting with me, nor did I think about her. And I don't remember the best memories of the transformation from American boy to... The passing through Virginia at night and Tennessee during daylight then crossing through Oklahoma at night and Texas in the daylight... Seeing pewter green 57 chevy colored rivers crossing below the highway hundreds of miles north of Laredo... Listening to Joni Mitchel's Don Juan's Reckless Daughter for miles and then switching to Plant and Page and back to Joni, Plant never could hold Joni's hand as he wished... I knew I was leaving and there was no way back... Why wait for physical death to experience rebirth? And I'm a ghost reaching into your dream causing more memory returns... I can still hear the songs playing over the radio while calling for subscriptions at the Flemington Democrat. It's as live as that as mundane an experience as could have been. But we were together, weren't we? I remember that parking lot at night and saying good-bye until tomorrow. But I don't remember getting you the job. Just that you were there and I imagine it was through me... At the same time I had a friend who fashioned himself after Charles Bukowsky and taught me how to love a cup of black coffee with nothing, no sugar, but a cigarette butt as an accompaniment in the mouth, beautiful smoke crossing my vision, pouring from my nostrils, one cup at a time in refill diners and I was too young to have appreciated him and his experience or to have known him and I regret never making him more important. But I remember him talking about writing in the first person and how I tried to pawn Sue off on him... It was time for me to move on and she was very clingy. Did I pawn her off on you? Or did I know better? How can I be a writer if I can't remember those things? You went down to Vineland no? You went off into that dream and I let you go... I couldn't enter your risk. It was time for me to stop cliff hanging. I am afraid of heights although I've never truly admitted it. I've done some crazy cliff and top of the ladder rung, third story house eave hanging stunts and I don't remember being afraid. But I couldn't go with you and what a shame, because after all was said and done, it's who I was all along... And now we're married. And what does that mean? I'm your older brother. Maybe you knew that and maybe that's what maintains the distance also...
And here I am and I haven't written anything... How about that. We're always traveling but doesn't it seem that we're walking on a treadmill? When will the journey truly begin? And what must we do to be able to fully set off on that one? Do you ask yourself that question? Robert, Michael, Jonathan, James... One real man will always be journeying and his wife may not always understand. The Alchemist was written by a man so it was easy for the bedouin woman to tell her lover that it was his nature to journey and, understanding that, she would always be waiting for his return. So romantic. But I don't believe that women are so accepting and understanding of men's journey needs, since that's not their story... And you marry and blame the limitations on your wife when they were the limitations you sought because it's nice to have someone intimate to come home to, a reason not to be so alone and on the road, because on the road you are a bunch of un-tied ends seeking a knot... I knew that I was meeting Margarita somewhere below the South. I knew the journey wasn't to be had so alone. But as you don't know, I've learned the truth of our separateness and the silence I experience journeying so close to another... Here in Mexico I speak two languages and with so many people and we joke around a lot and plan and talk... But the silence is profound and there is no one to confide in as maybe I had confided in before. Sometimes we don't truly know the levels. That maybe you reach an age and you start becoming more silent regardless of the language and regardless of how much you may talk and laugh... It's a profound silence where I expect decreasingly that another person can understand. And I accept it as my journey alone... It's a meditative journey. And the glory isn't so much in the sharing as it had been in the past... And I am happy for my friends and what they experience and accomplish. But I don't enter their lives or their paths even if we're sitting in the same bus looking at the same mountains...
Monday, June 9, 2014
Confessions, trials and strange court settlements; the child incest victim steps down from witness stand and she walks away from history
No one wants to condemn themselves, no matter how guilty they feel about what they did to someone in the past... Feeling guilty doesn't mean that they can't live with themselves and enjoy life and be successful. But, maybe their conscience says to them, "had I not done this, or had we not done this, maybe he or she wouldn't have suffered so much, maybe they would have a much different success story..." I worry that the person says, but there is nothing I can do... what was done was done... I can't change the trajectory... I'm sorry they feel as the feel, but what do we gain by my destroying what I have created for myself saying things that will not return the life potential of success for them. We can't bring them back to early childhood and rebuild..."
It's best to continue and leave the refugee formerly found caught in the crossfire of smart bombs and lazer-guided missiles, chemical warfare and foreign forces seeing infidels and terrorists in ever shadow and shadow of every first declared guilty innocent face... leave that refugee sifting through the destruction of their homes and hospitals and local markets where they once encountered ingredients for buying and preparing nurturing meals for their loved ones, now only finding rats rumaging through long rotten food...
But what would have happened had my mother said, look, Ross has a point... or get off his case and stop lauding me as being an incredible person and incredible survivor who did the best I could under the circumstances... the truth is looking back at things, I did a lot of things I really shouldn't have done, especially to Ross... Yes, I was more violent with Beth because her room was next to mine... But, Ross lost much more than any of us, even if I hadn't pushed him away and constantly belittled him and smacked down every fantasy of success he mentioned to me...
My mother is a certified clinical social worker, meaning that she is trained to offer therapy to people with social problems, interpersonal problems, mental illness... If anyone in my family should be sensitive to the risks of developmental problems/social issues caused by neglect, physical and emotional child abuse, that person should be my mother... We're intelligent human beings, no Mom? Intelligent enough to be able to add 1 + 1... if the 4.5-year-old boy suddenly loses his father and his mother pushes him away saying that she didn't want to fall into the risk of developing an incestuous relationship with that supposedly beloved son because that existed in her extended family and at the same time his Uncle Stan beats on him "in order to break his spirit" (THANKS SETH!") then the children in elementary school pick up on the psychological energy caused by those traumas and pick on him from the age of 8 until the age of 16 and the older sister and the older sister's male friends on the busstop corner in the mornings or the older sister and one of the male cousins or the older sister by herself in the house without the mother controlling the situation... wouldn't he develop in ways no one would wish?
When the psychiatrist in White Plains NY told Marsha, your son will be in and out of hospitals all his life... way back when he was cutting himself in 10th grade or when Mary Beth told her, you're going to have to take care of Ross all your life. Because? Because he is uncurable? A true fuck-up, someone who can't take care of himself, can't live independently... (That was what my mother told me upon graduating Hampshire College) You did it! You showed them!
I did what mom? I showed who? What do you mean?
And she explained to me that some people in the family told her that she would have to take care of me the rest of my life... But, why didn't she tell the psychiatrist or the family members, Look, you've gotta understand, there is a missing piece Dr... people... My son wasn't born defectively. He wasn't a hyperactive, aggresive child. And truthfully, he is inherently incredibly caring and concerned, especially for social justice. You should see how he defended and protected Mrs. Hague's son when Ross's friends were picking on Jeffrey because he couldn't hit the ball and Ross said, lets go home Jeffrey, we don't need this... or how faithful he was to his friend Danny Stahl top of the class school geek with thick glasses and who also didn't play sports or have the popular social skills for excelling amongst his peers... He loves sports and what normal kids love. But he's horribly depressed and angry and we've gotta look into what I did and what was done to him by others... He lossed his father for GOD SAKE and I pushed him away and all the rest I did or didn't do or should have done... I can't change that. But we can give him the respect and consideration he deserves and possibly a different assessment...
Have you ever heard the statement it's never too late?
But I was 15-years-old when they threw me in the garbage for good... when my Uncle Henry stopped talking to me because I was acting out... and was causing additional problems for his sister. And some therapists say that cutting oneself or what seems like suicide attempts are cries for help. Unlike Beth, who needed Doug to help her confront my mother's rigidness or lack of affection towards Beth (although my mother gives Beth and her children so so so much more) at the age of 43, I was confronting my mother throughout high school, seeking a dialogue between she and I so that we could reconstruct things... and she was responding sarcastically and with guilt trips I know! I'm the worst mother. I'm such a bad mother. Such a horrible person. I didn't play catch with you... Didn't give you birthday presents or birthday parties. Such a bitch. I never did anything good for you Ross... wasn't with you in the hospital with you during your surgeries? Didn't get you Ron Tindal, your big Brother; how Jealous Sheri and Beth were, you were so privileged, they weren't (I didn't have a father; they had their mother, didn't they? and why Beth bought her house next to Mom. And Ron Tindal didn't replace my father visiting with me once every two weeks, nor did he replace my mother who intentionally pushed me away etc.) send you to Rutgers Prep so you could get a more personalized education. You should have me SHOT I was so horrible!
It was through my desire for dialogue with my mother and understanding the situation directly connected with the urgency I felt for repairing the situation, especially since I knew there was a bunch of injustice in my history and I needed a retrial and a healthy council and healthy judge, although I knew inherently that I was innocent and this was actually a trial where I should find myself on the side of the plaintiff and not the defence, hoping that my mother would confess so that we could "start over again" everyone, it wasn't just about my mother and I. It was about how the whole family related towards me... what led to my Aunt Esta's foolish comment in 2006 and my intense response... why I asked questions and made statements or complained or exploded when she responded sarcastically... How she knew how to derail the situation... expert button pusher... Sheri learned it... So did Beth... How to manipulate...
It was through my desire for creating a dialogue and understanding and healing the past that my mother told me about pushing me away when my father died... You think I invent this shit?
But that's what they say to the female sex abuse victim, especially if it was child abuse, when she is on the stand accusing her father or her uncle or her brother or... that she is inventing stuff... It becomes her word against the whole family. She ceases being the victim and suddenly find herself the guilty party, guilty of mental illness, seeing things, lying or inventing and lack of control, lack of ability towards adjusting within the greater society and maybe she should be institutionalized. And don't you worry. She will be institutionalized because her mental stability is in question after her personal security was repeatedly compromised and all of the people who should have come to her aid, placed her in the corner with the dunce cap and ostacized her... So, maybe she will be better off closed in a room with white walls and 24 hour vigilance in the off case that she will hurt herself... No, no one harmed her. Her mind harms her. Isn't that the case?
But, what is the issue folks? My mother won't confess her part of the history and no one else in the family will step forward and say
I think Ross has a point and maybe we should read what he's written and consider his words... and maybe apologize sincerely...
Doug, don't believe I don't understand that and that I am rehashing because I haven't come to terms. No, I live thousands of miles away from you guys and there is a reason I live so far away from you guys. Everyone has showed me I have a reason for not wanting to be within reach of the family and why it is convenient for me living in Mexico and the difficulties of Margarita entering the U.S. with me...
But, truthfully what am I doing here in Mexico 11 years? Living off mommy and daddy? off the dole? Am I not working? Am I in a dysfunctional relationship/marriage. 11 years with my only wife and not anywhere near divorce. Our economy is stable and something I created with my own mind and without advice or economic assistance from the family. Not totally true. Back in August 2007 I asked for a loan from my mother and Bruce and wouldn't have received that loan had I not promised to pay them 50% interest... And when they visited in March, I paid for Margarita and my "bungalow" and insisted upon paying for half of the meals... Why? Because one gets tired of being treated like a leech (in my Aunt Esta's words) or a pariah... But, also, one gets tired of feeling the pressure of having to show them that I am the engine that could Had Beth followed through with her part 4 years ago, we would have put aside what we were doing and money meant for the future downpayment of a house and met her in Playa del Carmen near Cancun. But, she suddenly stopped responding to my emails about my friend who lives in Playa del Carmen and works in sales of timeshares etc in resorts and needed to know the dates and how many people. But, Beth never responded to my emails that began with her wanting me to meet her new boyfriend and the girls.. How is it that she forgot that conversation? Or was it that it was enough for her mind or conscience just to say that she suggested the visit thinking I would reject her offer and when she realized that I took her seriously, she disappeared from the conversation, and I didn't talk with her for 4 years until she was diagnosed with rectal cancer? Had I rejected her proposed visit she could say,
Have the Jury note that I wanted to let past be past and he rejected the offer of peace."
No, this isn't about childhood injustices, neglect and abuse... I'm not saying that I expect what I hoped for in the past. No, these people will not do what Spike Lee says is "the right thing"... I accept that. And I accept that I moved on when I moved through Mexico with Margarita. But there is this confusion about family responsibilities and the responsibilities of a son towards his becoming elderly mother and I entered the process of visiting the family with Margarita. Truly approaching that very intense situation that, truthfully, I never wanted to enter again without having encountered unrefuteable success that no one in the family can topple; I needed to arrive in New Jersey a superstar. But, the truth of the matter is that to be their superstar, I would have to be someone else. So, maybe it's best to put all of the cards on the table and end the situation once and for all. I am me in Mexico with Margarita. They can't take that away from me.
I want to walk out on the trial I started and relax and enjoy my life; A life I've never enjoyed with YOU. Why try creating that enjoyment with you after 40 years of never sharing enjoyment and health?
If our relationship was truly important to you, you would sincerely tell everyone involved and still living, Look, I have something to tell you about Ross regarding me... and if you still truly respect and revere me afterwards, I ask that of you towards Ross too...
But life isn't a Disney movie or a Hollywood happy ending.
There is a difference between what you see in the cinema and what was actually experienced in the real world.
There is a great difference between fantasy and reality. While fantasizing of dreams coming true, reality repeatedly smacked me in the face. And that reality is that you and I shouldn't share any form of space because our relationships can only be unhealthy, especially if everyone in the family puts more stake in protecting images through denile...
Take care and relax. It's all water under the bridge and then we die...
It's best to continue and leave the refugee formerly found caught in the crossfire of smart bombs and lazer-guided missiles, chemical warfare and foreign forces seeing infidels and terrorists in ever shadow and shadow of every first declared guilty innocent face... leave that refugee sifting through the destruction of their homes and hospitals and local markets where they once encountered ingredients for buying and preparing nurturing meals for their loved ones, now only finding rats rumaging through long rotten food...
But what would have happened had my mother said, look, Ross has a point... or get off his case and stop lauding me as being an incredible person and incredible survivor who did the best I could under the circumstances... the truth is looking back at things, I did a lot of things I really shouldn't have done, especially to Ross... Yes, I was more violent with Beth because her room was next to mine... But, Ross lost much more than any of us, even if I hadn't pushed him away and constantly belittled him and smacked down every fantasy of success he mentioned to me...
My mother is a certified clinical social worker, meaning that she is trained to offer therapy to people with social problems, interpersonal problems, mental illness... If anyone in my family should be sensitive to the risks of developmental problems/social issues caused by neglect, physical and emotional child abuse, that person should be my mother... We're intelligent human beings, no Mom? Intelligent enough to be able to add 1 + 1... if the 4.5-year-old boy suddenly loses his father and his mother pushes him away saying that she didn't want to fall into the risk of developing an incestuous relationship with that supposedly beloved son because that existed in her extended family and at the same time his Uncle Stan beats on him "in order to break his spirit" (THANKS SETH!") then the children in elementary school pick up on the psychological energy caused by those traumas and pick on him from the age of 8 until the age of 16 and the older sister and the older sister's male friends on the busstop corner in the mornings or the older sister and one of the male cousins or the older sister by herself in the house without the mother controlling the situation... wouldn't he develop in ways no one would wish?
When the psychiatrist in White Plains NY told Marsha, your son will be in and out of hospitals all his life... way back when he was cutting himself in 10th grade or when Mary Beth told her, you're going to have to take care of Ross all your life. Because? Because he is uncurable? A true fuck-up, someone who can't take care of himself, can't live independently... (That was what my mother told me upon graduating Hampshire College) You did it! You showed them!
I did what mom? I showed who? What do you mean?
And she explained to me that some people in the family told her that she would have to take care of me the rest of my life... But, why didn't she tell the psychiatrist or the family members, Look, you've gotta understand, there is a missing piece Dr... people... My son wasn't born defectively. He wasn't a hyperactive, aggresive child. And truthfully, he is inherently incredibly caring and concerned, especially for social justice. You should see how he defended and protected Mrs. Hague's son when Ross's friends were picking on Jeffrey because he couldn't hit the ball and Ross said, lets go home Jeffrey, we don't need this... or how faithful he was to his friend Danny Stahl top of the class school geek with thick glasses and who also didn't play sports or have the popular social skills for excelling amongst his peers... He loves sports and what normal kids love. But he's horribly depressed and angry and we've gotta look into what I did and what was done to him by others... He lossed his father for GOD SAKE and I pushed him away and all the rest I did or didn't do or should have done... I can't change that. But we can give him the respect and consideration he deserves and possibly a different assessment...
Have you ever heard the statement it's never too late?
But I was 15-years-old when they threw me in the garbage for good... when my Uncle Henry stopped talking to me because I was acting out... and was causing additional problems for his sister. And some therapists say that cutting oneself or what seems like suicide attempts are cries for help. Unlike Beth, who needed Doug to help her confront my mother's rigidness or lack of affection towards Beth (although my mother gives Beth and her children so so so much more) at the age of 43, I was confronting my mother throughout high school, seeking a dialogue between she and I so that we could reconstruct things... and she was responding sarcastically and with guilt trips I know! I'm the worst mother. I'm such a bad mother. Such a horrible person. I didn't play catch with you... Didn't give you birthday presents or birthday parties. Such a bitch. I never did anything good for you Ross... wasn't with you in the hospital with you during your surgeries? Didn't get you Ron Tindal, your big Brother; how Jealous Sheri and Beth were, you were so privileged, they weren't (I didn't have a father; they had their mother, didn't they? and why Beth bought her house next to Mom. And Ron Tindal didn't replace my father visiting with me once every two weeks, nor did he replace my mother who intentionally pushed me away etc.) send you to Rutgers Prep so you could get a more personalized education. You should have me SHOT I was so horrible!
It was through my desire for dialogue with my mother and understanding the situation directly connected with the urgency I felt for repairing the situation, especially since I knew there was a bunch of injustice in my history and I needed a retrial and a healthy council and healthy judge, although I knew inherently that I was innocent and this was actually a trial where I should find myself on the side of the plaintiff and not the defence, hoping that my mother would confess so that we could "start over again" everyone, it wasn't just about my mother and I. It was about how the whole family related towards me... what led to my Aunt Esta's foolish comment in 2006 and my intense response... why I asked questions and made statements or complained or exploded when she responded sarcastically... How she knew how to derail the situation... expert button pusher... Sheri learned it... So did Beth... How to manipulate...
It was through my desire for creating a dialogue and understanding and healing the past that my mother told me about pushing me away when my father died... You think I invent this shit?
But that's what they say to the female sex abuse victim, especially if it was child abuse, when she is on the stand accusing her father or her uncle or her brother or... that she is inventing stuff... It becomes her word against the whole family. She ceases being the victim and suddenly find herself the guilty party, guilty of mental illness, seeing things, lying or inventing and lack of control, lack of ability towards adjusting within the greater society and maybe she should be institutionalized. And don't you worry. She will be institutionalized because her mental stability is in question after her personal security was repeatedly compromised and all of the people who should have come to her aid, placed her in the corner with the dunce cap and ostacized her... So, maybe she will be better off closed in a room with white walls and 24 hour vigilance in the off case that she will hurt herself... No, no one harmed her. Her mind harms her. Isn't that the case?
But, what is the issue folks? My mother won't confess her part of the history and no one else in the family will step forward and say
I think Ross has a point and maybe we should read what he's written and consider his words... and maybe apologize sincerely...
Doug, don't believe I don't understand that and that I am rehashing because I haven't come to terms. No, I live thousands of miles away from you guys and there is a reason I live so far away from you guys. Everyone has showed me I have a reason for not wanting to be within reach of the family and why it is convenient for me living in Mexico and the difficulties of Margarita entering the U.S. with me...
But, truthfully what am I doing here in Mexico 11 years? Living off mommy and daddy? off the dole? Am I not working? Am I in a dysfunctional relationship/marriage. 11 years with my only wife and not anywhere near divorce. Our economy is stable and something I created with my own mind and without advice or economic assistance from the family. Not totally true. Back in August 2007 I asked for a loan from my mother and Bruce and wouldn't have received that loan had I not promised to pay them 50% interest... And when they visited in March, I paid for Margarita and my "bungalow" and insisted upon paying for half of the meals... Why? Because one gets tired of being treated like a leech (in my Aunt Esta's words) or a pariah... But, also, one gets tired of feeling the pressure of having to show them that I am the engine that could Had Beth followed through with her part 4 years ago, we would have put aside what we were doing and money meant for the future downpayment of a house and met her in Playa del Carmen near Cancun. But, she suddenly stopped responding to my emails about my friend who lives in Playa del Carmen and works in sales of timeshares etc in resorts and needed to know the dates and how many people. But, Beth never responded to my emails that began with her wanting me to meet her new boyfriend and the girls.. How is it that she forgot that conversation? Or was it that it was enough for her mind or conscience just to say that she suggested the visit thinking I would reject her offer and when she realized that I took her seriously, she disappeared from the conversation, and I didn't talk with her for 4 years until she was diagnosed with rectal cancer? Had I rejected her proposed visit she could say,
Have the Jury note that I wanted to let past be past and he rejected the offer of peace."
No, this isn't about childhood injustices, neglect and abuse... I'm not saying that I expect what I hoped for in the past. No, these people will not do what Spike Lee says is "the right thing"... I accept that. And I accept that I moved on when I moved through Mexico with Margarita. But there is this confusion about family responsibilities and the responsibilities of a son towards his becoming elderly mother and I entered the process of visiting the family with Margarita. Truly approaching that very intense situation that, truthfully, I never wanted to enter again without having encountered unrefuteable success that no one in the family can topple; I needed to arrive in New Jersey a superstar. But, the truth of the matter is that to be their superstar, I would have to be someone else. So, maybe it's best to put all of the cards on the table and end the situation once and for all. I am me in Mexico with Margarita. They can't take that away from me.
I want to walk out on the trial I started and relax and enjoy my life; A life I've never enjoyed with YOU. Why try creating that enjoyment with you after 40 years of never sharing enjoyment and health?
If our relationship was truly important to you, you would sincerely tell everyone involved and still living, Look, I have something to tell you about Ross regarding me... and if you still truly respect and revere me afterwards, I ask that of you towards Ross too...
But life isn't a Disney movie or a Hollywood happy ending.
There is a difference between what you see in the cinema and what was actually experienced in the real world.
There is a great difference between fantasy and reality. While fantasizing of dreams coming true, reality repeatedly smacked me in the face. And that reality is that you and I shouldn't share any form of space because our relationships can only be unhealthy, especially if everyone in the family puts more stake in protecting images through denile...
Take care and relax. It's all water under the bridge and then we die...
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Thinking about unconditional love and cutting umbilical chords...; a letter to my birth Family
I've been thinking much about what I wrote Doug... and then what I posted on this blog last night and subsequently returned to a draft... Rehashing past horrors or past injustices... and the possible responses lacking deep thought... My intense reaction approaching renovating Margarita's passport for continuing her American tourist visa process... for visiting the family with her... participating in family events etc...
One must live through the experiences of family and what the adults do or don't do or what the older cousins or the older siblings do and have a strange form of patience. Patience, if the child is being sexually abused should he or she have patience for arriving at that day when they are big enough for flying the coop? A big dilemma. And what if it wasn't sexual abuse but neglect, physical abuse o emotional abuse?
And no one from my family ever wanted to hear it. And I've found myself repeating and repeating and I guess hoping someone will say they understand or understood. But then what? When it comes down to it, everyone just wants to live in today towards the future.
You may think I enjoy rehashing the past. But, the truth is that you are the past and you insist upon interjecting yourself into my present and my future.
And what if nothing happened. Mom, I know you know the truth, although you wish for everyone to think you were the only true victim and that you are a saint. That's fine too.
Because, truthfully, I don't like you. I've never liked you. I don't like Beth, nor Sheri, nor Craig, nor Seth. And why not? Aside from what was done to me, what they did or what you did and what you didn't do, I don't like any of your personalities... Maybe it's all connected, my dislike for your personalities and what you did or didn't do. Or maybe it is all of your denile and dishonesty etc, that shaped your personalities into forms that I find detestable. In the end, it is all the same.
The problem arrises from fantasies projected upon the children or upon the society of unconditional love and family ties. So, one feels inherently guilty if they don't participate in family events or if they can't say "I love you too!" To their mother or to their sister, although they know that their sister has the tendency towards being horribly superficial and signing "Love---" actually means nothing more than she wishes there was actually something more profound between the two..., although unwilling to listen to the other party, like when she said, "I'm sorry for not reading what you write. I just have little patience for reading." Well, sometimes if the person is truly important to you, you decide to change your tendencies, no? Maybe you would be interested in what that person feels, believes or says... But, that's just it; superficiality and fantasies of the other and having those fantasies projected upon my person, doesn't interest me. If she isn't truly interested in me, I have no interest in her. But, that's actually besides the point. A person who doesn't like to read or doesn't have the patience for reading is totally dependent upon television or radio news or hearsay for what they understand about the world. And as we know, those people don't add to the society or relationships, because they tend towards being shallow. Which would you prefer diving into; a 3 foot shallow pool or a 13 foot deep pool that gives you space for gliding through the water and turning upward before your head hits the concrete bottom?
What would happen if I said to my mother, "Mom, I'm enjoying my life without you. I accept that what I wished for from you as a mother and from our relationship can't possibly be, you haven't evolved much and you continue insulting me directly or insulting my senses. Truthfully my life is better without you. Enough with foolish fantasies and your hurtful, offensive and manipulative games." But, I have too strong a conscience and I feel bad for hurting her, no matter that she didn't feel regret for all that she said and did to me as a child and a young adult.
The problem is, and something she and my sisters understand about me, is that I tend to be easily forgiving (in the moment; don't confuse the moment when I say, Ok, I'll give you what you want... with rehashing the past when I realize that I've been taken advantage of again and made the fool). No, I don't want to rehash the past and the only way that I can be freed from the past is freeing myself from people who don't evolve. I saw/see a different side of my mother than all of those who rush to her defense and claim she is an incredible person especially having survived the aftermath of the death of my father. But, everyone ignores how surviving the aftermath of that same death was for me, and the role my mother played in that aftermath for making things much more difficult for Beth and I... different for each child. I mention Beth so you can understand that I was also there listening to Beth's screams those Saturdays or Sundays, me cringing in the corner of the living room downstairs, worrying that I would be next... I remember trying to leave the house as early as possible before I could cross my mother... before she could grasp me. But there was also Sheri to fear. And it wasn't just about my mother's violence, but her promiscuity; the revolving doors of random lovers mixed in with those lovers who were long-term... I remember best because each new lover was a potention father-figure and baseball catch partner for me... I can't imagine how horrible it was for them having me ask them to have a catch with me in the back yard. Worst was my mother's horrible statements belittling me, ostracizing me, humiliating me, intentionally emasculating me and destroying any possibility for developing self-confidence; all because she was afraid she would develop an incestuous relationship with me after my father died, since I had become the "Man of the House" at the age of 4.5.
And now that she has decided that she has gotten past that era of her life, she believes that we can exist together as if nothing happened...
I slipped into the past again. I believe it's inevitable.
But, putting aside how my mother related or relates to me, I see her as a master of denile, horribly sarcastic, manipulative and a gold digger. From how she has changed her story regarding her relationship with my father and how she related to Bruce before their marrying and afterwards, it is clear that my mother is a user, a gold-digger. She used my father for escaping the "ghetto" of Queens and must have been incredibly resentful towards her prince in shining armour who suddenly turned into a corpse. Maybe it wasn't only the worry she explained to me when I was around the age of 20 (the reason she pushed me away after daddy's death) that she would develop an incestuous relationship with her only son, because incest ran in her family, but she must have hated me, since I was the greatest representation of her worthless Doctor husband. If you were to follow her behaviors towards me from my father's death until I left for Mexico, you would see them as incredibly hateful behaviors. You may say, "A mother hating her child?" Have you never heard of child abuse by mother's towards their children?
If there wasn't child abuse in my mother's house, why would she have said to me, "But I was so much worse with Beth than with you!" Maybe she was more violent with Beth than I. But, emotional abuse and neglect have much longer lasting affects. They hit deeper... They are more destructive, since they destroy the child's will.
She used Bruce for saving herself from a desperate economic situation since she wasn't willing to accept a degraded salary due to early 90s downsizing... But, not all of us can find someone to pay all of the most difficult bills and the dinners out and all the vacations every year and spoiling the grandchildren etc...
No, I don't like my mother. I don't enjoy the time spent with her. I don't appreciate her shallowness and her random sarcasm and her incapacity towards listening to things that aren't about inter-personal relationships, since those issues don't exist here for me and I don't have any interest in her family...
But, I have been influenced by the issue of family duty and I have found it difficult coming to terms with the issue of visiting or not visiting, being in contact or not being in contact. And that issue with family duty tends towards momentarily burying the truth that I don't have any true desire for being in my mother's family circles and I must accept that truth and let them stay where they have decided upon staying; a place I intentionally left 11+ years ago and to which I never desired returning. The problem is that someone always appears and pulls upon those out-dated "heartstrings" connected with a very strong desire during childhood, adolescence and young adulthood to be accepted and included by them without someone deciding that today is humilliate Ross time, or ignore Ross time or exclude Ross time. No Craig, Sheri, Marsha, Bruce?
But we do grow up and we do realize who we are and where we belong and what we appreciate and what we don't appreciate. And I don't appreciate you... because you've repeatedly acted in ways that make you less than appreciable. And it doesn't matter what other people think or say about you... Curl up with those people and accept what you've done and how you've behaved and, truly, what it was that motivated your behavior towards me and leave me be.
Thank you.
Ross
One must live through the experiences of family and what the adults do or don't do or what the older cousins or the older siblings do and have a strange form of patience. Patience, if the child is being sexually abused should he or she have patience for arriving at that day when they are big enough for flying the coop? A big dilemma. And what if it wasn't sexual abuse but neglect, physical abuse o emotional abuse?
And no one from my family ever wanted to hear it. And I've found myself repeating and repeating and I guess hoping someone will say they understand or understood. But then what? When it comes down to it, everyone just wants to live in today towards the future.
You may think I enjoy rehashing the past. But, the truth is that you are the past and you insist upon interjecting yourself into my present and my future.
And what if nothing happened. Mom, I know you know the truth, although you wish for everyone to think you were the only true victim and that you are a saint. That's fine too.
Because, truthfully, I don't like you. I've never liked you. I don't like Beth, nor Sheri, nor Craig, nor Seth. And why not? Aside from what was done to me, what they did or what you did and what you didn't do, I don't like any of your personalities... Maybe it's all connected, my dislike for your personalities and what you did or didn't do. Or maybe it is all of your denile and dishonesty etc, that shaped your personalities into forms that I find detestable. In the end, it is all the same.
The problem arrises from fantasies projected upon the children or upon the society of unconditional love and family ties. So, one feels inherently guilty if they don't participate in family events or if they can't say "I love you too!" To their mother or to their sister, although they know that their sister has the tendency towards being horribly superficial and signing "Love---" actually means nothing more than she wishes there was actually something more profound between the two..., although unwilling to listen to the other party, like when she said, "I'm sorry for not reading what you write. I just have little patience for reading." Well, sometimes if the person is truly important to you, you decide to change your tendencies, no? Maybe you would be interested in what that person feels, believes or says... But, that's just it; superficiality and fantasies of the other and having those fantasies projected upon my person, doesn't interest me. If she isn't truly interested in me, I have no interest in her. But, that's actually besides the point. A person who doesn't like to read or doesn't have the patience for reading is totally dependent upon television or radio news or hearsay for what they understand about the world. And as we know, those people don't add to the society or relationships, because they tend towards being shallow. Which would you prefer diving into; a 3 foot shallow pool or a 13 foot deep pool that gives you space for gliding through the water and turning upward before your head hits the concrete bottom?
What would happen if I said to my mother, "Mom, I'm enjoying my life without you. I accept that what I wished for from you as a mother and from our relationship can't possibly be, you haven't evolved much and you continue insulting me directly or insulting my senses. Truthfully my life is better without you. Enough with foolish fantasies and your hurtful, offensive and manipulative games." But, I have too strong a conscience and I feel bad for hurting her, no matter that she didn't feel regret for all that she said and did to me as a child and a young adult.
The problem is, and something she and my sisters understand about me, is that I tend to be easily forgiving (in the moment; don't confuse the moment when I say, Ok, I'll give you what you want... with rehashing the past when I realize that I've been taken advantage of again and made the fool). No, I don't want to rehash the past and the only way that I can be freed from the past is freeing myself from people who don't evolve. I saw/see a different side of my mother than all of those who rush to her defense and claim she is an incredible person especially having survived the aftermath of the death of my father. But, everyone ignores how surviving the aftermath of that same death was for me, and the role my mother played in that aftermath for making things much more difficult for Beth and I... different for each child. I mention Beth so you can understand that I was also there listening to Beth's screams those Saturdays or Sundays, me cringing in the corner of the living room downstairs, worrying that I would be next... I remember trying to leave the house as early as possible before I could cross my mother... before she could grasp me. But there was also Sheri to fear. And it wasn't just about my mother's violence, but her promiscuity; the revolving doors of random lovers mixed in with those lovers who were long-term... I remember best because each new lover was a potention father-figure and baseball catch partner for me... I can't imagine how horrible it was for them having me ask them to have a catch with me in the back yard. Worst was my mother's horrible statements belittling me, ostracizing me, humiliating me, intentionally emasculating me and destroying any possibility for developing self-confidence; all because she was afraid she would develop an incestuous relationship with me after my father died, since I had become the "Man of the House" at the age of 4.5.
And now that she has decided that she has gotten past that era of her life, she believes that we can exist together as if nothing happened...
I slipped into the past again. I believe it's inevitable.
But, putting aside how my mother related or relates to me, I see her as a master of denile, horribly sarcastic, manipulative and a gold digger. From how she has changed her story regarding her relationship with my father and how she related to Bruce before their marrying and afterwards, it is clear that my mother is a user, a gold-digger. She used my father for escaping the "ghetto" of Queens and must have been incredibly resentful towards her prince in shining armour who suddenly turned into a corpse. Maybe it wasn't only the worry she explained to me when I was around the age of 20 (the reason she pushed me away after daddy's death) that she would develop an incestuous relationship with her only son, because incest ran in her family, but she must have hated me, since I was the greatest representation of her worthless Doctor husband. If you were to follow her behaviors towards me from my father's death until I left for Mexico, you would see them as incredibly hateful behaviors. You may say, "A mother hating her child?" Have you never heard of child abuse by mother's towards their children?
If there wasn't child abuse in my mother's house, why would she have said to me, "But I was so much worse with Beth than with you!" Maybe she was more violent with Beth than I. But, emotional abuse and neglect have much longer lasting affects. They hit deeper... They are more destructive, since they destroy the child's will.
She used Bruce for saving herself from a desperate economic situation since she wasn't willing to accept a degraded salary due to early 90s downsizing... But, not all of us can find someone to pay all of the most difficult bills and the dinners out and all the vacations every year and spoiling the grandchildren etc...
No, I don't like my mother. I don't enjoy the time spent with her. I don't appreciate her shallowness and her random sarcasm and her incapacity towards listening to things that aren't about inter-personal relationships, since those issues don't exist here for me and I don't have any interest in her family...
But, I have been influenced by the issue of family duty and I have found it difficult coming to terms with the issue of visiting or not visiting, being in contact or not being in contact. And that issue with family duty tends towards momentarily burying the truth that I don't have any true desire for being in my mother's family circles and I must accept that truth and let them stay where they have decided upon staying; a place I intentionally left 11+ years ago and to which I never desired returning. The problem is that someone always appears and pulls upon those out-dated "heartstrings" connected with a very strong desire during childhood, adolescence and young adulthood to be accepted and included by them without someone deciding that today is humilliate Ross time, or ignore Ross time or exclude Ross time. No Craig, Sheri, Marsha, Bruce?
But we do grow up and we do realize who we are and where we belong and what we appreciate and what we don't appreciate. And I don't appreciate you... because you've repeatedly acted in ways that make you less than appreciable. And it doesn't matter what other people think or say about you... Curl up with those people and accept what you've done and how you've behaved and, truly, what it was that motivated your behavior towards me and leave me be.
Thank you.
Ross
Return to Unconditional Love and Cutting the Umbilical Chord;what Allen Leslie Goldstein and Carl Henry Nacht wouldn't have wished for their sons...
When I left New York City for Mexico, I wasn't planning on returning to the U.S. Not because I can't return to the U.S. Not because I am running from the law. But, because I was leaving people I've been wanting to leave behind for a very long time; people who work hard at showing others they are healthy, although they really aren't. All show, appearances, in-crowd performances. And when you don't like who you see in the mirror and you worry about what the people most important to you will say (not your children), you give yourself a facelift.
I spent my childhood hearing my mother say that she wished she hadn't had me. Sometimes she wished that I was dead. When I had dreams about the future or wanted to share with her something I felt I did well, she would say something sarcastic and offensive. 3 years ago, when I first wrote about these issues, James suggested I stop writing about my family (which I did) and forget about them and heal myself. But, that's what this writing is all about. It isn't just about expressing myself. It is about working these felt things out, "putting them onto paper" so to speak and really understand what happened and what was occurring when I was writing. The truth is that I subconsciously heeded James' advice and lost interest in the personal stuff. If you look through my blog from June of 2011 through June of 2014, you'll notice that there was very little written in 2012 and 2013. 2014 has been dedicated to writing about health discoveries and has been incredibly inspiring, satisfying. Doug, don't believe that just because I wrote you so much personal stuff about my family these past 2 days means that that's all I've been thinking about all of these years... Truthfully, my reaction about approaching of Margarita and I visiting the family in New Jersey greatly took me by surprise. And like what I said about responding to things felt through my writing, I must try and understand why such an intense reaction to the idea of Margarita gaining a U.S. Tourist Visa for visiting the Family...
Lets go back to late February, early March. I was immersed in trying to understand why I continued having hypothyroid-type problems with fatigue, high BP, peripheral neuropathy and brain fog, although I was sleeping through the night without having to go to the bathroom due to the J-Pouch. I wasn't thinking about painting, just about all the new information I stumbled across about wheat and simple carbs (and later on Omega 6 & vegetable oil along with Fructose). And I was planning on celebrating Margarita's 39th birthday in Sayulita as we had the previous year; a very special place for us. Granted, home in Guadalajara is very special to us, although we don't own the house. We live very well and productively together, aside from other things. However, my mother wrote me saying that Beth's daughter Hannah was having her Bat Mitzvah in May and that Beth had sent Margarita and I an invitation. Now, how could she send us the invitation and say that she hoped we could come, if she knows that Margarita can't enter the U.S. legally? I mentioned that to my mother who should know better and should have mentioned to Beth what I've mentioned how many times... For Margarita to enter the U.S. she must enter the visa application process that takes minimally one year. So, my mother asked me if I would come alone, which I responded
"Definatively NOT; You know how I feel about leaving Margarita behind. I won't return to the U.S. until Margarita can enter legally with me. Plus, don't you remember what happened 9 years ago when I got tired of the family asking the same damn question that I had answered repeatedly and in depth and said, 'look, we can solve this problem where both sides are happy: we need a loan of $40,000 so that we can establish our bakery in a community where the people will pay the value of our product so that Margarita can offer the U.S. Department of State what they need for giving her a Visa for visiting you. As I said, it will be a loan that I can guarrantee paying back because the response to our product is incredible. The problem is that the middle-class doesn't take us seriously selling "in the street". We need to place a gourmet bakery where they would wish to visit for gourmet baked goods. I'm not asking for a lot of money, considering if everyone pooled what they could, that didn't harm their finances...'"
And you would think that the family would have been totally supportive about helping us open a nice cafe-bakery, since that's one of the things they love sharing with others: the new bakery, the new restaurant, the new cafe, the new gourmet supermarket, the new catering business, the international market... But, my aunt Esta who had instigated the suggestion by writing me, "when will we see you and your beautiful wife here in the U.S.?" responded saying that I was a leech on the family... And everyone fell in line behind her. And I wondered why she said such a thing, if I have never asked anything of anyone. Truthfully, it took a lot of nerve making the proposal, since I've never liked asking anything of anyone, not like my younger sister Beth. But, Beth ALWAYS got what she asked for and I heard those coaches saying "you must learn to ask for things Ross. If you don't ask, you don't get." Which was true. So I asked...
And you know the rest of the history if you were reading my blog entries from June and July of 2011.
A few days later my mother wrote me that she and Bruce wanted to visit us and what was our work schedule. I mentioned that we were free all of March and the first week of April or from late May until late July and that I was planning on celebrating Margarita's birthday (March 7th) in Sayulita if they wanted to fly into Puerto Vallarta. She said that she had to think about it and asked me how was after March 20th... So, I changed Margarita and my reservation (not to be celebrating her birthday) so that we could accomodate my mother and Bruce etc.
But, lets reverse things and be clear: Every time my mother says she wants to visit us (5 days once almost every two years), I experience a feeling of dread. I wish I could say NO, don't visit. It just causes me more stress... Plus she and Bruce have the tendency towards saying things to me about the family that maybe they shouldn't share, since I'm not there and did not or haven't or can't participate in that... And I'm left wondering "what the FUCK!"
But I don't want to hurt her. It doesn't matter what she's done to me. But, I don't want to hurt her...
I do what I can to plan the best visit for them. But, it's a hell of a lot of stress and confusion and, truthfully, we don't really get along. They ask questions about life here or my health etc. But, they don't want to hear the actual response. My mother isn't interested in my health discoveries. You've gotta see Margarita and I 3 months later. So many health issues have disappeared and we actually look GREAT, after 11 years of struggling with our weight gained during the baking business in Xalapa.
For me, it doesn't matter that my sisters have 2 daughters each. They aren't my nieces and I am not their uncle; not the children's fault. But, I'm not there, haven't been there. And, as Margarita says, it seems that everyone plays games with themselves and with me when they ask when we will visit, although they know just how complicated that is for us or when they talk about planning a business with me (Sheri and Donald) or plan a trip to Mexico with the girls and the new b-friend she wanted to introduce to me 4 years ago (Beth) and I did my part and wrote them with the information and the planning and they didn't respond to ANY of my emails... Now is this a joke? Or when Craig repeatedly sends me a friend request and doesn't have the decency to respond to a comment or a question such as when I wrote next to a photo of him beginning a half-marathon, "You look GREAT! So young. I'm happy for you!" You may ask, why bother? And I ask myself the same thing. But, truthfully, their fantasies of family and the realities they've shared with me aren't much of an incentive.
Margarita and I live well together here in Mexico far away from the family. We have a wonderful relationship. And I don't spend my days thinking about them, which has been a great relief, especially since I don't experience symptoms of depression the 11 years living here..., in as difficult and dangerous the situation is and has been. I'd rather be here in the hell of Mexico with Margarita than in the Heaven of the U.S. with my family
Just before my mother and Bruce were about to visit, my mother informed me that Beth was diagnosed with Rectal Cancer and must have a J-Pouch surgery, just as I had had on October 31st 2001 in NYC... and that there was a good possibility that they would have to cancel the trip. So, I decided to contact Beth for the first time in at least 4 years and talk to her about my experiences with the surgery and the J-Pouch and certain discoveries that may make it easier for her...
In the end, my mother and Bruce were able to maintain their original plans, since Beth's surgery was scheduled for the day after their return. And I was in contact with Beth until a few days ago.
I get confused. And I find myself planning a visit to the U.S. with Margarita one day. And then I start sensing the risk: someone will say something that they shouldn't have said, and I will find myself and Margarita very far away from home and in a very difficult situation: how do we remove ourselves from this situation? and how much time and money did we waste for giving them something that they supposedly wanted?
And that's been grating on my head as we approached Margarita's interview for renewing her Passport so I could continue with her U.S. Tourist Visa application... And, I realized that none of what the family supposedly wants is worth our losing what we always sought from life, but I didn't encounter in the U.S. with the family... So, once and for all it's time to cut the umbilical chord and leave these people playing the game with themselves.
If unconditional love existed, why did my mother do what she did to me all of those years that was in my worst interests and from which it took me at least 35 years to recover? As one psycho-theorist wrote:
Love is the inherent desire for helping the other person accomplish what is best for them. It is not about you, although you gain the pleasure of seeing the other person growing/evolving and healthy.
Love is the life you share and grow together. And when that life stops growing, one of you has either died or moved on. You've gotta accept it, especially if it is a good thing. Death isn't a bad thing. It is just what happens... Illness is one of the ways we die. So, we've gotta accept that too...
I've lived 40.5 years with the death of my father.
Has anyone wondered what Allen would think if he knew what his only sibling and brother did to me when he was dying at Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and afterwards? and what my mother did to me to emasculate me and destroy my self-confidence throughout childhood all because she was afraid of developing an incestuous relationship with me because those relationships existed in her extended family because, with my father's death, I would become "the man of the house" AT THE AGE OF 4.5! Did she think I would jump in her bed, pull out my weenie and start singing, come on, come on, come on now Touch Me Baby, You know that I am not afraid... And squirt lovejuice all over her? Must I run down he list of the things that were done and not done that no father who loves his young son, would wish for that son after the father dies... Stan wouldn't have wished that for Seth and Seth wouldn't wish that for his son, Henry wouldn't have wished that for Asher, Bruce wouldn't have wished that for Alan and Alan wouldn't wish that for his son, Craig wouldn't wish that for his sons and Doug wouldn't have wished that for his son either. So, why is it so difficult for everyone to understand this?
This wasn't the life I chose... Not my father's death... Not my mother's craziness... Not Sheri's jealousy and throwing her weight around to control things or rob our rights of existing comfortable in the same house from us. Not how Beth ruined our relationship with what she learned from mom and all of her boyfriends and those who sexually abused her throughout her childhood. Maybe she truly loved me and was so messed up in her head that she didn't know how to express or control her love. But I was the one who became fucked up. Not her... Granted, that's all in the eye of the beholder. And when someone puts so much energy into denile and image or limiting themself, making them very inflexible, they tend to lose in many other ways. But, the problem is that most people just look at what is on the surface, what the person in denile offers, like a facelift or Smile so you and others will feel happy... no matter what is truly going on within and without you...
I spent my childhood hearing my mother say that she wished she hadn't had me. Sometimes she wished that I was dead. When I had dreams about the future or wanted to share with her something I felt I did well, she would say something sarcastic and offensive. 3 years ago, when I first wrote about these issues, James suggested I stop writing about my family (which I did) and forget about them and heal myself. But, that's what this writing is all about. It isn't just about expressing myself. It is about working these felt things out, "putting them onto paper" so to speak and really understand what happened and what was occurring when I was writing. The truth is that I subconsciously heeded James' advice and lost interest in the personal stuff. If you look through my blog from June of 2011 through June of 2014, you'll notice that there was very little written in 2012 and 2013. 2014 has been dedicated to writing about health discoveries and has been incredibly inspiring, satisfying. Doug, don't believe that just because I wrote you so much personal stuff about my family these past 2 days means that that's all I've been thinking about all of these years... Truthfully, my reaction about approaching of Margarita and I visiting the family in New Jersey greatly took me by surprise. And like what I said about responding to things felt through my writing, I must try and understand why such an intense reaction to the idea of Margarita gaining a U.S. Tourist Visa for visiting the Family...
Lets go back to late February, early March. I was immersed in trying to understand why I continued having hypothyroid-type problems with fatigue, high BP, peripheral neuropathy and brain fog, although I was sleeping through the night without having to go to the bathroom due to the J-Pouch. I wasn't thinking about painting, just about all the new information I stumbled across about wheat and simple carbs (and later on Omega 6 & vegetable oil along with Fructose). And I was planning on celebrating Margarita's 39th birthday in Sayulita as we had the previous year; a very special place for us. Granted, home in Guadalajara is very special to us, although we don't own the house. We live very well and productively together, aside from other things. However, my mother wrote me saying that Beth's daughter Hannah was having her Bat Mitzvah in May and that Beth had sent Margarita and I an invitation. Now, how could she send us the invitation and say that she hoped we could come, if she knows that Margarita can't enter the U.S. legally? I mentioned that to my mother who should know better and should have mentioned to Beth what I've mentioned how many times... For Margarita to enter the U.S. she must enter the visa application process that takes minimally one year. So, my mother asked me if I would come alone, which I responded
"Definatively NOT; You know how I feel about leaving Margarita behind. I won't return to the U.S. until Margarita can enter legally with me. Plus, don't you remember what happened 9 years ago when I got tired of the family asking the same damn question that I had answered repeatedly and in depth and said, 'look, we can solve this problem where both sides are happy: we need a loan of $40,000 so that we can establish our bakery in a community where the people will pay the value of our product so that Margarita can offer the U.S. Department of State what they need for giving her a Visa for visiting you. As I said, it will be a loan that I can guarrantee paying back because the response to our product is incredible. The problem is that the middle-class doesn't take us seriously selling "in the street". We need to place a gourmet bakery where they would wish to visit for gourmet baked goods. I'm not asking for a lot of money, considering if everyone pooled what they could, that didn't harm their finances...'"
And you would think that the family would have been totally supportive about helping us open a nice cafe-bakery, since that's one of the things they love sharing with others: the new bakery, the new restaurant, the new cafe, the new gourmet supermarket, the new catering business, the international market... But, my aunt Esta who had instigated the suggestion by writing me, "when will we see you and your beautiful wife here in the U.S.?" responded saying that I was a leech on the family... And everyone fell in line behind her. And I wondered why she said such a thing, if I have never asked anything of anyone. Truthfully, it took a lot of nerve making the proposal, since I've never liked asking anything of anyone, not like my younger sister Beth. But, Beth ALWAYS got what she asked for and I heard those coaches saying "you must learn to ask for things Ross. If you don't ask, you don't get." Which was true. So I asked...
And you know the rest of the history if you were reading my blog entries from June and July of 2011.
A few days later my mother wrote me that she and Bruce wanted to visit us and what was our work schedule. I mentioned that we were free all of March and the first week of April or from late May until late July and that I was planning on celebrating Margarita's birthday (March 7th) in Sayulita if they wanted to fly into Puerto Vallarta. She said that she had to think about it and asked me how was after March 20th... So, I changed Margarita and my reservation (not to be celebrating her birthday) so that we could accomodate my mother and Bruce etc.
But, lets reverse things and be clear: Every time my mother says she wants to visit us (5 days once almost every two years), I experience a feeling of dread. I wish I could say NO, don't visit. It just causes me more stress... Plus she and Bruce have the tendency towards saying things to me about the family that maybe they shouldn't share, since I'm not there and did not or haven't or can't participate in that... And I'm left wondering "what the FUCK!"
But I don't want to hurt her. It doesn't matter what she's done to me. But, I don't want to hurt her...
I do what I can to plan the best visit for them. But, it's a hell of a lot of stress and confusion and, truthfully, we don't really get along. They ask questions about life here or my health etc. But, they don't want to hear the actual response. My mother isn't interested in my health discoveries. You've gotta see Margarita and I 3 months later. So many health issues have disappeared and we actually look GREAT, after 11 years of struggling with our weight gained during the baking business in Xalapa.
For me, it doesn't matter that my sisters have 2 daughters each. They aren't my nieces and I am not their uncle; not the children's fault. But, I'm not there, haven't been there. And, as Margarita says, it seems that everyone plays games with themselves and with me when they ask when we will visit, although they know just how complicated that is for us or when they talk about planning a business with me (Sheri and Donald) or plan a trip to Mexico with the girls and the new b-friend she wanted to introduce to me 4 years ago (Beth) and I did my part and wrote them with the information and the planning and they didn't respond to ANY of my emails... Now is this a joke? Or when Craig repeatedly sends me a friend request and doesn't have the decency to respond to a comment or a question such as when I wrote next to a photo of him beginning a half-marathon, "You look GREAT! So young. I'm happy for you!" You may ask, why bother? And I ask myself the same thing. But, truthfully, their fantasies of family and the realities they've shared with me aren't much of an incentive.
Margarita and I live well together here in Mexico far away from the family. We have a wonderful relationship. And I don't spend my days thinking about them, which has been a great relief, especially since I don't experience symptoms of depression the 11 years living here..., in as difficult and dangerous the situation is and has been. I'd rather be here in the hell of Mexico with Margarita than in the Heaven of the U.S. with my family
Just before my mother and Bruce were about to visit, my mother informed me that Beth was diagnosed with Rectal Cancer and must have a J-Pouch surgery, just as I had had on October 31st 2001 in NYC... and that there was a good possibility that they would have to cancel the trip. So, I decided to contact Beth for the first time in at least 4 years and talk to her about my experiences with the surgery and the J-Pouch and certain discoveries that may make it easier for her...
In the end, my mother and Bruce were able to maintain their original plans, since Beth's surgery was scheduled for the day after their return. And I was in contact with Beth until a few days ago.
I get confused. And I find myself planning a visit to the U.S. with Margarita one day. And then I start sensing the risk: someone will say something that they shouldn't have said, and I will find myself and Margarita very far away from home and in a very difficult situation: how do we remove ourselves from this situation? and how much time and money did we waste for giving them something that they supposedly wanted?
And that's been grating on my head as we approached Margarita's interview for renewing her Passport so I could continue with her U.S. Tourist Visa application... And, I realized that none of what the family supposedly wants is worth our losing what we always sought from life, but I didn't encounter in the U.S. with the family... So, once and for all it's time to cut the umbilical chord and leave these people playing the game with themselves.
If unconditional love existed, why did my mother do what she did to me all of those years that was in my worst interests and from which it took me at least 35 years to recover? As one psycho-theorist wrote:
Love is the inherent desire for helping the other person accomplish what is best for them. It is not about you, although you gain the pleasure of seeing the other person growing/evolving and healthy.
Love is the life you share and grow together. And when that life stops growing, one of you has either died or moved on. You've gotta accept it, especially if it is a good thing. Death isn't a bad thing. It is just what happens... Illness is one of the ways we die. So, we've gotta accept that too...
I've lived 40.5 years with the death of my father.
Has anyone wondered what Allen would think if he knew what his only sibling and brother did to me when he was dying at Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and afterwards? and what my mother did to me to emasculate me and destroy my self-confidence throughout childhood all because she was afraid of developing an incestuous relationship with me because those relationships existed in her extended family because, with my father's death, I would become "the man of the house" AT THE AGE OF 4.5! Did she think I would jump in her bed, pull out my weenie and start singing, come on, come on, come on now Touch Me Baby, You know that I am not afraid... And squirt lovejuice all over her? Must I run down he list of the things that were done and not done that no father who loves his young son, would wish for that son after the father dies... Stan wouldn't have wished that for Seth and Seth wouldn't wish that for his son, Henry wouldn't have wished that for Asher, Bruce wouldn't have wished that for Alan and Alan wouldn't wish that for his son, Craig wouldn't wish that for his sons and Doug wouldn't have wished that for his son either. So, why is it so difficult for everyone to understand this?
This wasn't the life I chose... Not my father's death... Not my mother's craziness... Not Sheri's jealousy and throwing her weight around to control things or rob our rights of existing comfortable in the same house from us. Not how Beth ruined our relationship with what she learned from mom and all of her boyfriends and those who sexually abused her throughout her childhood. Maybe she truly loved me and was so messed up in her head that she didn't know how to express or control her love. But I was the one who became fucked up. Not her... Granted, that's all in the eye of the beholder. And when someone puts so much energy into denile and image or limiting themself, making them very inflexible, they tend to lose in many other ways. But, the problem is that most people just look at what is on the surface, what the person in denile offers, like a facelift or Smile so you and others will feel happy... no matter what is truly going on within and without you...
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