The Update - 06/06/06

It's been almost a year since my last update. It seemed only right that 6/6/6 was the day I should return to the necessary evil of blogging. During this most recent bout with Major Depression, I have made more progress than I would have previously anticipated. I guess the magnitude of self realization that I experienced caused some type of overload, because this was by-far the worst occurrence to-date...(with Dysthymia you can at least still pretend to function on a regular basis, but not being able to get out of bed is a different story altogether...)

Though I have been somewhat 'out of it', there have been numerous positive occurrences along the way, and that is where I would like to pick up the blog and move forward. I have concluded that in order to 'move forward', I must put the past where it belongs; behind me.

I do not for one moment believe that I have made complete peace within myself regarding my childhood. I simply now have enough counter-intelligence to proceed, albeit cautiously, into the unchartered territory of adulthood. With this new thrust of direction I hope to eventually be able to claim not only peace within, but also peace with those who hurt the child that I have forever since been.

The blog will now become more of what it was intended to be in the first place, a journal of my daily struggle. I hope to post something everyday, but in reality I'll be lucky to get three posts a week. I will endeavor to focus on the positive, but as usual, I won't pull any punches either. }-(

In the near future, topics will cover a wide range of topics including: The 'Old Man' (God), the diet (75 lbs lost), depression, the new piano, the new songs (and CD), and suicide... join me...

-b

The Unforgiveness

I am really struggling lately with unforgiveness. Specifically regarding the sexual abuse at the hands of my brother. I try but fail to explain that it was more than molestation. It was predatory. His actions were done with malicious forethought. He intentionally humiliated me. Repeatedly. He was, and I think still is, a predator. He was, and I think still is, a pedophile. My first inclination is that I should be PUTTING HIM IN JAIL!

I guess the reason that it seems to 'suddenly' be a problem is because I am finding myself able to identify some of the lingering effects of that early victimization in my daily life. I see how it sometimes dictates my moods and the direction of my overactive mind, regardless of the amount of effort I put into the facade of "being in a good mood" or ignoring obsessive compulsive thoughts. I see how it drives me from contentment to depression and back, seemingly at will.

My faith declares that in order to be forgiven, I must forgive those who have wronged me. Some may say my faith is weak, but I have to be honest, I just do not see how I will ever be able to offer forgiveness to my mother's son, Ray. He is a pig; a swine; the filthiest of all animals.

Brainfart! I just had a memory of an incident where he enticed me into the bedroom with an offer of money. He told me there was six dollars in this little Conestoga-shaped penny bank that he kept quarters in. I had always wanted that little bank even though it said Pioneer Bank on the side. It was just the coolest thing. I bargained with him until he agreed to give me the bank as well as the six dollars.
It doesn't bother me now that I bargained with him for the bank. I knew IT was going to happen anyway, regardless of what happened in the mean time. What bothers me now is that I was such a gullible little idiot back then that I believed him.
After his normal pressuring techniques, he tired of my rejection and forced me to go down on him. When he was done he laughed and threw the bank at me for spitting on him. I ran out, and when I came back later the bank was there, but empty. So, not only am I a whore, I am a reluctant, ripped-off whore. I swore I would never fall for the money trick again. I was 9 years old.

Tell ya' what. I'm between a rock and a hard place, and I want your help. I have a dilemma that I will explain, and I'd like for you, whoever you are, to leave me a comment and tell me what you think. Anonymous if you like. Please, it means allot to me. OK?

Situation:
1) I have discovered that in the state of Louisiana (where I lived as a kid) the statute of limitations for Sexual Assault of a Minor, after the minor turns eighteen, is one year from the date of discovery, regardless of age at the time of discovery.
2) I have a nephew who was victimized by the same person. I have yet to talk to him, but I believe that he will back me up.
3) I am afraid that they would not allow the law in my case based on the "discovery" part.
4) I do have a Plan B. - Go to Michigan myself and spy his ass out. I can be discreet, and I can take telephoto photographs.

what do you think?


-b

The Storm - Katrina

A word about Katrina.

My heart goes out to all those who have been displaced. The tragedy is immense. I am mortified by the lackadaisical response. On the other hand, I am equally mortified by the sub-human lawlessness that reared it's ugly head to take advantage of the situation. Another case for Total Depravity.

For the record, I am completely against forcibly removing people from their home. If the home is safe to live in I don't see why the people would have to leave. If the city condemns the property the owner has the right to bring the home into compliance. I should stop this now, it's never good when I talk politics.

If you've read my other blog, you know that I have been looking for my father in New Orleans. He hasn't shown up on any of the survivor lists that I have found. In case you haven't read the other blog, I have never met my father, and only know for sure that he lived there in 1963. So, he could be living somewhere else or already deceased for all I know.

-b

The Song - Jaded - by Black Heart

I am finding it very difficult to express myself again. I sit down to write and nothing comes. I decide to look for provocative (non-erotic) images that may illicit some emotional somersault that will birth self-expression, but find none. I contemplate particular abusive situations that have historically been very effective generators, yet they produce nothing. Am I complaining? No Way !!!

In an odd way, life is better now than it ever has been. I will not pretend to be "over" my childhood, but I can honestly say that I am recovering and recognizing growth. I want to savor this moment of accomplishment, knowing it will be a relished memory and a principle learned in the days to come.

I have been spending allot of time at the studio, both recording myself and mixing others. I love being there. There is a certain vibe in that room that I have never felt anywhere else. I have a couple of new songs that I am working on, but the one I feel led to share tonight is a reflection of my realization that many, many people have felt the devastating effects of child abuse. It's called Jaded.

Jaded
When I lay me down to sleep
I pray my dreams don’t make me weep
For innocence I could not keep
I’m jaded

There comes a time in every life
To reconcile the pain inside
I never knew the reason why
Now I know

I’m jaded
I’ve been degraded
Humiliated
A life masqueraded
Assimilated
Alienated
So jaded

Passing people on the street
The smiling face they flash at me
Can’t hide the stain of history
They’re jaded

In every face I see a trace
Of hidden tears of trust betrayed
I slowly turn and walk away
‘Cause I know

They’re jaded
They’ve been degraded
Humiliated
A life masqueraded
Assimilated
Alienated
So jaded

Hiding in your darkened door
Won’t make the pain stop anymore
Like the thousand times before
You’re jaded

Four out of five silently cry
A multitude who live the lie
Can’t deny the pain inside
We all know

We’re jaded
We’ve been degraded
Humiliated
Our lives masqueraded
Assimilated
Alienated
Intimidated
Invalidated
Obliterated
Jaded
©2005 Fishspit Music

-b

The Interim

Contrary to popular belief, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I am in an interesting place right now; trying to sell the house and move; trying to find work....

I did start a new blog. It's called More To Say About Nothing, and I'll use it to write about everything unrelated to the recovery process. The current post, also a few days old now, discusses the first few steps I've taken in finding my biological father (I know, I know, I said unrelated to recovery, but...). I have a link to it under Blogs I Read.

I also decided to fill-in some of the blanks in my Swiss-cheese knowledge of the family history. On both sides. I will be interviewing my oldest sister AND my mother! There have been some developments in the Brothers From Hell piece as well, so that is forthcoming, and could turn out to be life-changing for a certain predator. We'll see...


-b

The Poem - Child Of Abuse - by Straw

I spoke with my oldest sister last night. I had known for some time that she was a poet, but due to technical difficulties I had been unable to see her work until this afternoon, when right out-of-the-blue, for reasons beyond human comprehension, her web server suddenly decided that I was, in fact, worthy to view her website.

She laughed when I told her that the following poem was about me. I cut her off with a heavily exaggerated laugh of my own as she started in with the old standard "well, we didn't have a mama like you did" garbage, and that shut her right up. I proceeded to shed a little light on the wounded little boy in the corner. Just a sliver. I knew if I told her too much that she would be appalled. The last thing I want to do is alienate those few who were a refuge to me. She was speechless. I got the impression that she never even suspected.

Child Of Abuse

Crying in hunger,
Crawling in filth.
Why is this child not cared for?
Is there not one who loves him?

His Mom is away,
In another world.
Drugs have taken his place.
A shell of a Mom is there.

Neighbors cannot see,
He needs attention.
They hear the cries of hunger,
Yet they fear the Mom on drugs.

No family near,
Alone in this world.
His cries are heard through the night.
Morning dawns without a sound.

Laying in filth,
Shivering with cold.
No strength to cry or crawl.
Shallow breaths come and go.

Laying cold and blue,
Forgotten baby.
No longer crying for you.
Taken away by God's grace.

Never alone any more.

Straw ©2005

thanks Sis... I love you

-b

The Mother, The User - Part 1

My mother, Lori, is a complicated woman. Over the years my feelings for her have been a seesaw of emotions; an ebb and flow of love and contempt; hate and affection. As I attempt here to capture those thoughts and feelings through the miasma of my childhood memories, I will not pretend to actually KNOW her, only to parlay information in a factual manner, as I recall it. Unfortunately, she is a very private woman, and I do not know much about her family or her childhood. She never shared, and she never invited sharing.

She was born during the Depression in a Podunk town in North Louisiana. I'm not sure what the family business was, but if I had to guess, I'd say her daddy was a logger. Her mother's family were farmers, a simple but proud lot, who owned a nice-sized chunk of the countryside. I don't know for sure, but I suspect that her father was an alcoholic. In fact, I often wonder if he may have been abusive as well but that is just speculation. It's just as possible that they were very close, and in a healthy, functional relationship. Either situation could have caused her to go hog-wild when he died.

She was fourteen when it happened. Before her fifteenth birthday she had a husband; by her sixteenth, she had a baby. They say country folks move-in for the kill quickly; it must be so.

'Old-Man' Haggard was twenty-five when he swept Lori off her feet. When I was young I had the freedom of thinking that he had taken advantage of her. In my contempt of him it was an easy thing to believe. As I've grown in reasoning, I've come to understand that my mother, even at the tender age of fourteen, was the very type of person that I despise most. The user.

I had not planned on stopping here, but suddenly I am in the wrong frame of mind to discuss this. I realize that I am feeling empathy for her. I know she was hurt as a child, but she chose not to stop the cycle. She chose to abandon me. She chose to beat me. She chose to look the other way and allow me to be molested repeatedly.

I gotta go...

-b