Envisioning myself as I might be, had I not been told how stupid I was, is futile but fun.
I sense - think - feel - intuit my parent's motives not unique but a reprise what they had been taught by their parents who in turn . . . you get the picture? A legacy/bequest of stupid people; ignorant of the consequence: their projections upon the virgin soul/mind/self of their children passed forward. As discipline or tutelage to cope with my adulthood.
I fear nothing for myself yet retain a growing concern for our world lead by those who seem Pontifical/Patriarchal, more nearly 'God-Like' as my parents seemed to me from infancy thru early adulthood.
Held back going forward from the fourth to fifth grade in elementary school. I was relatively happy, then maladapted thereafter; absent my friends. Additionally I was regularly banished during summer school vacations to my maternal grandmothers home 1,000 miles distant. Where I'd been parked at five for a year during my parent's search for a new residency after World War II.
At seventy two, in November, and looking back, I now realize my intention in loving mother was never to seduce her sexually but emotionally into loving herself. After many failed similar relationships I now know it doomed to failure to attempt loving someone else into loving themselves . . . I might as well asked for the $500,000. bequest she gave equally divided to my sister and myself at twelve in advance.
Or to have asked for the keys to her car. I was successful at age fourteen professing a desire to show my friends at band camp mothers 'new to her' Cadillac. Thirty minutes later I drove at approximately 110 mph down the back roads of Durham New Hampshire. Oblivious of my three silent friends. Boy, oh boy, I thought reading was fun but driving a car swiftly became numerous vehicular misadventures; my childhood tricycle long forgotten.
The Cadillac was mother's only compensation for working 24/7/365 until she divorced dad twenty seven years later. Receiving half his wealth through Connecticut's communal property divorce laws. There had been other items of compensation: trips to places foreign dad was curious about; often they'd return separately. And in death dad left me nothing. I started working for him at age thirteen leaving at twenty eight since my then wife thought them both alcoholics; they were.
I have memories and reminders from dad that while mother was brilliant she equally was insane. He, always dumb and stupid, though charming, witnessed my being ridiculed and beaten from infancy until I grew too large and wise too her moods for her continuance.
Unbeknownst to me until I requested my (six years-younger-than-I) sister what her first memories were; "Mother beating me nearly to death when I was in the third grade. . " That was around the time we were accused of incest. Instead of being beaten I was banished -- in place; mother refusing to speak to me for a year or more -- I ran away. Dad found me wandering within Innis Arden Golf Club in Old Greewich then; God knows how. Thereafter he 'protected' and enslaved me into a similar pursuit of his love equally impossible. If I use the word slave I know of what I speak for in marriage -- the mother of my two dead children and the one we adopted abandoning us -- we were unable to find affordable residence within seventy five miles of my 'parents' (read 'dads') business.
Current events in my life have helped to focus my thoughts towards those of us who were similarly trashed. By present and pass events. Dominated or Dictated by materialist who are essentially sociopath's; if not actually psychotic.
Cynics, they know the cost of everything and the value of nothing.
And for we the people of PTSD Co-Dependence and any who could easily qualify for 12 Step Help. I will continue my efforts to detail the how and why we must get healed or at the very least better. Especially now that I've been thrown out of Mesilla Valley Hospice service. It became clear that I could help those in living death; not merely those about to die.
120919 11:14 envisage
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment