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First, sorry for the lack of updates this past week. I've spent most of my every waking minute with my brother in the hospital. That said....
My dear David is dying,
Making my nuttiness less trying;
I'd kill to take his place,
And slap Fate in the face.
The heartsick can never be lying.
I'm sure that's pretty weak, I know. But I don't really give a damn and I'm sick to death of watching the few loved ones I have around me, suffering. You know, I'm used to this nonsensical shit when it happens to me, so why can't I just take on some more and have them left the fuck alone? They beyond deserve a break, some peace. And if I ever end up railing at 'god,' it'll be over the treatment rained down on Jaceson. A more angelic, righteous person there couldn't be, yet he's being plagued like Job.
So, come on heavens! Put all this shit on me instead. I'll bear it and spit out the refuse in its wake. It will NOT defeat them. But I'm here and more than happy to go head-to-head with their candy asses. Why? Because I have nothing to lose and I'd do anything to protect them.
~Kemi
P.S. I'm supposed to be moving ( ? ) to another blog, I think, and as soon as I figure that out, I'll let anyone know whose interested. Finally, I promise (I hope) to catch up on other posts and comments tomorrow. For now though, I'm back off to the doctor. Thanks to everyone for their concern.
Last post I explained what got my family all caught up into a 'Come to Jesus' meeting whirlwind and how that began with my grandfather's death, my mother being left alone in this world with nothing but me (not an accurate assessment, but one she chose non-the-less) and the prevailing attitude being one of nothing but fear.
Which leaves me to explain how I fell away. It really was a gradual slipping off the beaten path rather than an abrupt severing of ties. It went something like this....
First there was a bit of controversy (kind of like now with someone always being exposed somewhere doing something they shouldn't), but on a much smaller scale. This pastor was, in essence, dipping in the collection plate. That youth minister was dipping into the not-quite-legal Sally, etc. Second refrain same as the first. And that all got the ball rolling.
Initially, you could throw in a heaping dose of hypocrisy. As teenagers, we were supposed to forsake everything we knew ('secular' music, heavy petting, a sip of beer -- hey, we were tame), to walk closer to Him. Our parents (read: adults), on the other hand, didn't have to give up smoking, listening to Alabama (I know!), going to play bingo or dancing. We were going to head off to some Christian College. They did whatever they had to do for the betterment of their family. Amazingly, this always coincided with their own desires and the times that God had fallen mute on them attempting something to the contrary. Fortunately, our Heavenly Father made sure it was known what we were NOT allowed to do. You'd be surprised at just what all that covered.
Next, I wondered about the disconnect I saw espoused between the 'party line' and reality. Tons of people decried abortion loud and clear, said pro-life was the only way to be and handed out those heinous pamphlets with dissected babies on the front. However, these same people never did a damn thing about the babies once they were born. No volunteering, no offering shelter temporarily, no spending money in any context to help both mother and child. Thus I understood that lip service was easy (Murdererrrrrrrrrr!), but backing anything up with action (I'd love to adopt!!) was much more difficult.
Last (I think), was when I started college. My mother had always discouraged me from going, labeling it as nothing more than an effort to remain a kid ( = lazy, wild, irresponsible) for as long as possible, probably at someone else's expense. Regardless, I started at 25 and found out a wealth of information that no one had ever bothered to share so that an informed opinion could be founded. The first, I believe, had to do with Hammurabi's Code. See, I'd never in my wildest dreams think that there were stories, identical to the ones in the bible, written pre-Christianity. If, say, the tale of the baby Moses was true, why was there the same thing going on in another culture (and on and on), many moons before it happened the way we'd been taught?
And this seemed to be common and, furthermore, that the nigh-universal (from the perspective of an extremely naive woman in east Texas, USA) spread of Jesus, was just the latest in a long line of religions to be popular. Like those that are discounted now because they're too recent, yanno? Eh, I know that sounds tortured, but in my flustered state, that's about the best I can do.
After that, it was merely a chipping at the base. Nothing seemed to add up right any longer and I couldn't abide what I now saw as hatred. Plus, the fear was killing me and if I had one aspect that I felt was more responsible for my decline in mental health, it would have to be how my views on this were so fucked up. Above and beyond, I suppose any more spewing about this topic, is gonna hafta wait for a while until I calm back down and go watch Dogma or something. I hope this will, perhaps, give anyone fodder for psychoanalyzing me. 'Cause that's always fun.
When we meet again, let's discuss something a little less heady. How about nuclear disarmament?
Where I stand today is firmly on the side of Stevie. I couldn't say it any better than that.
Peaces in peaces,
~Kemi
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Image courtesy: www.amazon.co.uk.
[With kudos to the groovy old Reese's Peanut Butter Cups commercial of my youth. Also, as I have a lot of issues here, be forewarned that this may be rather humorless and that my personal experiences might be offensive to some. It is just background crap anyway, if you'd rather skip it. Regardless, if I upset anyone, I'm very sorry. I'm not trying to be disrespectful or blasphemous, simply honest.]
My intent is to establish how I got to be who I am. After cueing up that theme to whatever TV show that was; This is my story....
We only went to church sporadically when I was a kid. I can remember wearing too frilly dresses (ugh), hating going to the cold, clinical, separate building that was the Sunday school class and otherwise feeling itchy a lot.
The only positive thing, in my humble opinion, that came out of the whole brouhaha was getting to go to the very cheesy Pancho's on the way home. Oh, and we used to pass the Dallas fairgrounds and some company that had a couple of decrepit floats ( ! ) in their courtyard. That was always a treat too.
However, amazingly, we didn't hit the big, special holiday must-attend sermons. I'm not really sure why, unless it was another example of my mother's refusal to allow anyone to be in control, like God, but her. Although, I'm sure upon occasion we did indeed put in an appearance. All of this eventually dwindled down to less than a trickle by the time I was in sixth grade. Then all hell (pun intended) broke loose.
The year was 1980 and my maternal grandfather died. He'd led a good life and had reached the ripe old age of 82 when he passed away due to a heart attack. My mother was devastated because, until me, her father was the only person she loved beyond belief. And of course, faced with her own mortality, mom decided it was time to pay the piper on this earth before she had to do so in a much more mandatory and permanent fashion.
Thus began our journey, in earnest, into the religious abyss. And much of my pain.
Sadly for me, we weren't something a little more restrained. No, our flavor of opium fell distinctly on the side of non-denominational. Or read; what many refer to a fundamentalist Christians. That meant, in my context, a young earth creationist, PRO-lifer, Chick tract distributor, biblical literalist and rapture believer. Back in that day, Mike Warnke was actually considered funny and a espouser of truth. We listened to Stryper (see below),
The Premier Heavy Metal Christian Rock Band of the 80s
vowed chastity until marriage and thought homosexuality was a choice. From 13 until roughly 21, I never uttered a profane word. Thankfully, I've made up for it since then.
Anyway, I constantly feared I was still going to hell. Because I'd coveted someone else's Jordache jeans, allowed my boyfriend during my senior year to put his hand on my ass (see?), listened to Boy George or didn't carry the Holy Word (which translated to Not Standing Up For Jesus!) with me to school that day. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more. I might not get in yet, you know? What if I were run down by a bus in a parking lot somewhere and I died before I could confess that I'd lied about whether or not I'd finished my home work? Or had an embolism during the night and I though ugly things towards my dad during dinner? I just knew, that no matter what, I was screwed.
Then everything changed, and to quote R.E.M. (but I'm really wondering if perhaps Amy Grant should've sang this first), I lost my religion. Of course, even saying that back then would've induced much denial, frustration and disdain. When you are born again that's a whole different variety than anything else. You can't possibly be lumped in with something so unequal or worthy as your spiritual relationship with the Heavenly Father.
Tomorrow, I'm hoping I'll feel less bitter to expound upon the rest and exactly what the hell (hehe again) it was like to no longer have any faith and what that means for me now.
Like I said, this is a really touchy subject for me and I'm still trying to work stuff out a bit. I'm sure you could never tell, right? Again, I apologize for being such a downer. I promise that shortly I will return at cracking jokes at my own expense. Thank you for indulging me by reading "Kemi's Left Behind" series, chapter 1.
Graceless and, as always, in peaces,
~Kemi
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Image of Stryper courtesy: Metal Sludge
You tell I'm a bit over zealous by the title, huh?
That's 'cause today is an okay day. I actually got some sleep during the night. Who'd have thunk it? Because, you know, I'm usually worried about the apparent boogieman that's coming to steal my breath away, like from an episode of Buffy. Or something. And since I got my requisite 4 or 5 hours, I was up at a decent enough time to make a post on the same day as the time stamp. Woohoo! Snoopy happy dance indeed
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At least not with that asshole Insomnia as my partner. He has no rhythm and leads ass backwards, always out of step with everybody else on the floor! Dammit, that's why I prefer Sir Seroquel. He may be slow, but he's persistent with great amounts of stamina. Where is he when I want to nightly boogie? I can't help it, I'm just a party girl who demands a better suitor.
So yeah, I can't ever fucking sleep. I'm not sure how long this has been going on because it feels like forever, but pin pointing an actual genesis is difficult. One of my earliest memories concerning this was when I was probably six. The Exorcist had come out the year before and although it's something no one in my family dared ever see, you couldn't help but be confronted with images of Linda Blair's revolving head on each magazine cover you encountered (thank you National Enquirer). All that means that I was terrified of her and she was gonna come get me in the middle of the night. Hey, I am creative you know. I'd sit up in bed and stare through the blinds on the windows until my dad left for work at 4:00 am and then I could go get in bed with mommy (she was semi-okay then, although don't let me forget to tell you about the orphanage story sometime). There was my initial memory of insomnia. ::: sigh ::: That one had a reason though. Sort of
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Instead, she's more of a cross between Carrie''s
*courtesy www.impawards.com*
mom, G.W. Bush Jr. and Anita Bryant with her tinfoil hat. In more modern day terms, she'd be Roseanne's evil twin.
Why am I telling you all this
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I've had a couple of kind people ask me specifically what the hell I'm talking about, because I'd been remiss for not stating the meaning behind the clinical (well, for me) words and phrases and acronyms that I use. That just shows me what a dimwit I am with my presumptions.
So, while I bonk myself on the head a bit, here's some useful explanations courtesy Dictionary.com. I'll use the ones that seem most accurate regarding my situation. Sit back and pretend HAL is reading along to you. But don't be afraid, in cyberspace, the entire world can hear you scream. My amusing comments will follow in purple like Grape Ape. Farm? Get it?!
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Ever since I began dealing with this drain on my soul, I understood how the other half lived. Hell, I'd just recently been in the same universe. And after that, I spent the first year clinging to normalcy and the second (and part of the fourth and fifth, which is my polite way of saying I ran hot and cold in my abilities to cope), assuming it was still out there while viewing it from afar. Sometime during year four and completely for all of the fifth, I began to grow weary to a pathetic degree and I started losing sight. Oh, I knew productive, functional people existed, but unless I encountered them in their native habitat, I felt they were just mythical creatures somewhere out there in the wild.
I think this brings me up to around 2001-ish and my initial foray back into the land of the living. In this case, I really didn't have much choice. Because, I'd kind of taken the 'if I die during surgery or survive,' it's a win-win situation in answer to the ridiculous weight gain I'd incurred from not doing another damn thing in the world. Or as my mother so eloquently put it; "Food was not my friend." Anyhoo, upon completion, I was forced (or, ya know, I really would die and not by my chosen method -- plus Jaceson had put out all that money we didn't have [sadly, this meant only about $300] because his insure covered the rest, for he worked at that particular bariatric facility) to follow through
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Just a couple of the more endearing things I've noticed in my tenure of being PVT. Nutso. Enjoy! All the better to eat you with, my dear. I mean, amuse you! Yeah, that's it.
Don't make that 'loco' sign at me. Because I'm watching, even with the eyes in the back of my head. Just don't ask me who they belong to
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.... and join the circus? Although that didn't occur to me in the middle of last night, I wish it had. Seems the depression that overwhelmed me yesterday, teemed up with a slighter version of Rhoda, for some sort of full body assault. I did all those tricks that your therapist recommends and I visualized my utopia (Kevin Bacon in my bedroom with a glass of wine!), then did positive self-talk (Come on girl, you can do it! No really, you're smarter than you think and don't clean up too badly and, yeah, I don't do that exercise particularly well.), followed by focused breathing and hitting the hell out of a punching bag (if only mom would've been around) and finally, a hot bath. Nada. Even tossing in a bowl of macadamia brittle didn't make a scratch.
Therefore, I beat back the agoraphobia demon and drove away in my ancient Pathfinder. I'm not sure how I managed it, nor exactly where all I went. I can remember hanging out in the parking lot of Wal*Mart, watching the people who shop at 3:00 am. Which, let me tell you, on a good day is an interesting past time on its own. After that (I think), I drove off into the moonlight to the next town over and considering there's not a lot to do in Commerce during the day, you can imagine how much less there is before the sun rises. Besides, for reasoning unbeknownst to me, it was creeping me out. Other than that, I'm pretty clueless to the specifics of what transpired. I'll have to check the papers tomorrow to be certain I didn't steal any puppies or vandalize political signs (at the moment, they're all anathema to me, even of those I vote for) with devil horns. Oh wait, that last part might not be that bad of an idea
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Comment by suitably*wounded
on What popped your HORROR CHERRY?
Eternal Days; Author: Illness, M.
And to whet my appetite, I had those made-for-TV movies that would come on once I got home from school.... like The House on Greenapple Road (which I have no recall at all of now, except for blood smeared on a freezer) and Don't Be Afraid of the Dark, which is still incredibly creepy with its shrunken head-like creature monsters. I also loved the original Helter Skelter that came out in '76, although I'm not certain how much that qualifies in this category.
Other than all those, I'm a little remiss on what I saw on my own, alone, first run. I do know that I got my hands on The Exorcist as soon as I lived alone and I never missed any kind of mini-series (or special, for that matter) that could conceivably scare the living daylights outta me. =)
Lovely question. A perfect 10 from the American judges.