For all of you who are tired and bored with Ms. Moon having the perfect life of a perfect wife with the perfect house, yard, husband, children, and amusing pets, let me just say-
IT'S SUNDAY AND I'M WITH YOU!
Just when I think I have conquered yet another form of personal insanity, I find that I have not.
I have never liked Sundays. Sundays were never fun days. Sundays were the day I was most likely to be found and fondled by dear old Stepdad. And then we went to church! Haha! What a joke.
And family time on Sundays was generally the rule, making it that much more convenient for Mr. Creepazoid to get his hands on me, to emotionally rape me and for us all to pretend that we were a loving, darling, normal family going out on the boat, taking a picnic, enjoying the great outdoors together, oh yes!
(Don't worry. You can change into your bathing suit right here. I'm your father now. That makes it okay....)
Hate. Yes. I still hate. Don't even try to talk to me about forgiveness on a Sunday.
Yes. I see the irony.
Anyway, and la-di-dah, I had had a fantasy of how today would go. It was going to be so laid-back, so nice.
And then plans got changed and they involved a boat. On a Sunday.
Yeah. No thanks.
Which made me feel ungrateful and mean because I knew that really, if I got on a boat today, even with some of the people in this world I love the most, I would experience something that I don't care to experience. It was just a perfect storm of day-of-the-week, a perceived priority, a personally made plan, and that clang, clang, clanging of the childhood bell. (Thank-you, Yoko Ono.)
My stepfather's boat license number was FL6955T.
I will probably lose that bit of memory on my deathbed.
If I'm lucky.
Why? Why do I remember that and not my son's work number?
You tell me.
So. Here I sit on a most beautiful Sunday when I could be out in a boat, probably seeing dolphins and going to lunch and eating a grouper sandwich and laughing with my husband and my daughter, stewing in bitter juices, knowing that in the name of all which is holy and logical, I am being neither holy nor logical.
No. I am being crazy.
I am eating chocolate cake. I am feeling like maybe there is a small, frantic, angry, tantrum-throwing two-year old inside of me, clawing her way out with fingernails, teeth, and the tiny blade of a found pocket knife.
Me. She is screaming. Me.
What about ME?
Well, going out on the boat would have included me. Yes, it would have.
But I know the me it would have included and this me does not need to go there today. This me needs to stay right here and ride it out. Because there is no other way. Believe me. The real me. The one who knows. The adult.
Ride it out with whatever that takes. The yoga mat is three feet away from me. I should unroll it. I should breathe, I should stretch. Maybe I will.
I do have some control over this feeling. It may not feel like it (can you feel a certain way about a feeling? oh yes you can) and even if I don't have much control, even if I know I have to just ride it out, wait it out, doing some yoga wouldn't hurt me at all. Would not hurt a thing.
When I was a child, sometimes this feeling would be so strong that I would bite myself on the meaty part of my hand below my thumb so hard that it would leave marks and a bruise for days. No one ever noticed.
I understand kids who cut. If I had known about cutting, I probably would have done that.
People should not underestimate the power of a child's feelings. Ever. And they should not ignore them. And if I have done that with my own children (and I am sure I have) I beg their forgiveness until I die.
I don't bite myself any more and I'm certainly not going to take up cutting. Okay. So I ate some chocolate cake, so I was a bit of a bitch about not going out on the boat. I'm not drinking vodka and I'm not screaming. I folded and stacked chairs. I watered plants. I am doing laundry. I am sitting here calmly, writing this. In my office because it makes me happy to be in here. The dogs are with me. Even Pearl whom I thought surely might die in the night from an overabundance of yummy people-food she ate yesterday. She seems fine today. Or as fine as she gets these days.
I look around me at all of the things I have collected over the years of my life and put in here because they are mine and no one else's. Because they bring me pleasure to look at, whether they are pictures of me and my family or of Johnny Weismuller or of mermaids and madonnas and egrets and friends and a garden gnome and a map of Cozumel and John and Yoko and Tulum and beautiful things my children have made me and favorite books and, and, and...
And I calm myself and I comfort myself and I know that even if the crazy comes back to strangle the fucking breath out of me on a Sunday sometimes, it doesn't happen very often.
And that if I were truly, utterly, really crazy, this would not be my life.
I let out a breath and I realize that in just sitting here, in just writing this out, I have let go of some of it. I have calmed the child-crying-inside.
Thank god because I can't eat another bite of chocolate cake.
And thank-you for letting me tell the truth. That I am SO not perfect. That I have flaws and I am so very human and that there are parts of me so dark that they must look like the slime left by mushrooms after they have formed and died and melted in a basement with no windows.
That when I write about this life I lead, I am NOT lying. It is generally and usually the blessed life I never-dreamed-possible.
But that there are times.
There are times.
This is one of those times.
It will pass. It always does.
That was then. Now is me.
Not always the me she'd like to be.
Somehow this number rhymes with
(And just now two dear neighbors stopped by and they helped me in more ways than one and I am reminded, once again, how very lucky we humans are because we can reach out hands, we can reach out hearts. DAMN but sometimes this universe makes me wonder.)
oh how i understand. i bit myself too. and slapped myself. so sad, and so amazingly glad that both of us escaped and found real love.ReplyDelete
I love the honesty. It's brave. :)ReplyDelete
I struggle with such things too.ReplyDelete
I'm just not so nearly perfect any time.
Ms. Moon I have never found a more accurate description of that state of mind.ReplyDelete
On occasion I find myself irrational, angry and hurting but at the same time feeling guilty for feeling that way. I'm thankful those days don't come very often.
Hugs to you Ms. Moon and sending hope that these feeling will soon evaporate.
Bless your heart dear one.ReplyDelete
I've got my own demon memories and understand.
Reaching hands and heart across cyberspace to you. Sit down and have a cup or glass of tea with me. Read a little in a book or magazine. Aahh, now that is a little better, non? Big hugs from here. x0 N2ReplyDelete
Do you really know how wonderful YOU are (I know you know how wonderful your loved ones are -- your husband, your children, your friends), but do you really know how essential you are and how deeply you matter, even to those who haven't met you? I hope you do.ReplyDelete
Ah thank you. I am learning with my brother about why Sundays are so full of horrible anxiety for me for us. It seems it has little to do with Mondays. I think feelings and emotions are different though. I know they are. And they demand different types of healing. I haven't found those ways of healing yet. I do not reach out my hands or heart in order to salve myself not easily almost never. I get in the boat and hate and hate and hate.ReplyDelete
So glad you're in your writing place, with all your things around you, taking care of the little girl in you. I wonder, reading this, if the reason you don't love the island you wrote about a while back is because you have to access it by boat. And by the time you get there, even with your beautiful family around you, your demons are kicking. And I wonder, too, if the new detente with your mom has stirred things up in crazy ways. it's probably natural that you would be reeling a bit. It's so good you can write it out, and we are here listening, bearing witness with you, holding you close with love.ReplyDelete
You made it, sweet Mary Moon. You are still here and so loving and so loved.
"Why? Why do I remember that and not my son's work number?"ReplyDelete
Because traumatic memories are formed in different ways. But despite everything, what a beautiful life you have carved from the entirety of who you are. Of all the details you've recounted of the past few days, something that stands out to me is the kindness and consciousness you and Mr Moon matter-of-factly extended to burying the Unknown Cat while preparing for a wedding. You folks make the world a better place.
to so many of the things you said up there:ReplyDelete
me, too. i bit, i cut. i kept quiet for a long time.
Have you ever heard the song Confide by Meryn Cadell? It's out of print but it goes a little like this: (it's better to hear it sung)
If you won't confide what eats you up inside
you will die
This is a secret that's not yours to hold
Spit it out, watch it corrode the ground
the sidewalk a long molten stream
sulphurous stenching and choking our eyes
Watch it slip into the sky
Don't cut up your arms and then cover
with reasons you've used for too long
Scream it out, it will burn as it flies
Watch it slip into the sky
this, with the Sinead O'Connor song "This is to Mother You" and a whole lotta Yoko--powerful medicine.
The Indextronaute, who surely soon will become legit in the blog world
Giving voice to things that were forced to be secret for so long is so therapeutic in and of itself.ReplyDelete
You are one of the strongest people I know, even when you feel crazy and not so strong.
Love you mucho,
Maggie May- If we had been kissed enough, we might not have had to hurt ourselves. Oh. Maybe. I don't know. I'm just so glad we're where we are.ReplyDelete
Nichol- Honey, I have to do this. I have to.
Jeannie- And that's why I know how lucky I am.
Mel's Way- One great thing about aging is knowing how quickly things pass. And they do.
Andrew- And I am sorry for that. But glad you're here.
N2- Much better. Thank you, love.
Elizabeth- Oh god. I hope that some of this can be mean something to others. That it's okay to feel this way and know that it will pass. I love you so.
Madame King- I used to do that. Get in the boat and hate and hate. Now I know better. Shit. It's only taken me all this time to figure this out.
Angella- Oh hush your mouth. I can't even tell you how much those words mean to me.
A- I have so many teachers in this regard. And they all resound in my soul with YES! Thanks, honey.
Indextronaute- AS always, you leave me on my knees. Thank-you.
I'm reading backwards.ReplyDelete
I'm glad you didn't go on the boat. It was the right choice, but you can't help the anger and all the crazy it brought on anyhow.
You did good to write it out.
I didn't have this horrible happen to me, and can't even fathom what it would've done to my soul.
You astound me in a million ways.
I'm sorry for the Sundays.
I'm sorry for the suffering.
Love to you.
It is sad that sick people chose to hurt you. I am glad that you took care of yourself and ate cake. We cope how we can.ReplyDelete
You are always and forever in my heart Ms MoonReplyDelete
I love you
So sorry you had this sort of day. You were right to stay home.ReplyDelete
I love you.
I bit my hand too, when I was anxious as a child.ReplyDelete
Hugs to you, Ms. Moon, and much love from Indiana.
It's ugly and beautiful this life...
Bethany- But who knows? Maybe with the horribleness came skills to deal with things. Who knows?ReplyDelete
Syd- And ain't that the truth?
Michelle- And same-same to you.
Ms. Bastard-Beloved- Thanks, baby.
Lora- And did anyone ever take note? Oh, I am sorry.
deb- Yes. Both.
Dearest Mary, I'm sorry this happened to you. You must do what makes you happy. None of us are perfect. But you are wonderful xxReplyDelete
You are lovely and you don't need to be perfect.
My childhood was shitty in different ways but I think probably less bad.
I still bite myself sometimes. But not as hard any more.
I love you.