Sometimes, not every time but often enough, when I go to a funeral home, I get vaguely aroused. I feel so alive, so vibrant, so liquid. If not right in there, then later. The room is so grey, the gloom so overbearing, the people so sad. There’s this part of me that wants to defy death, to say fuck you, you ain’t got nothin’ on me.
Death is on my mind this time of year, and this year of course was something extraordinary. I know now that when I cry I do so because of my loss, because of the presence that is not there anymore. The person is gone, nothing I can do about it. I cry over my own inability to deal with the void. But I also know that by thinking about the ones that are gone, I keep them alive, I keep them in my heart.
I say cry, but they’re silent tears. I say cry, but they rarely get out. Rarely roll down my cheeks. My lack of empathy, my lack of interest in others, my avoidance of situations where feelings might get out of hand. That’s a burden, and a blessing. So much shit I dealt with as a kid, so many times I closed my eyes on situations I should not have gone through as a child.
In our house: junkies, thieves, dealers, dancers (hookers most likely, didn’t really question this), used syringes, empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays, loud music at 4 in the morning, people sleeping or having sex in the living room at all hours of the day, no food in the fridge, mom’s weekly new boyfriends (and sometimes babysitters).
Me then: serving as DJ starting at 6 or 7 y.o., walking over bodies to get to the bathroom, having breakfast at the neighbour’s, stealing change in unconscious people’s pockets, spending weekends at my aunts’, grand mother’s (maternal and paternal) and sometimes at my dad’s (when he was not in jail), avoiding touchy-feely guests (surprising how many men are interested in prepubescent girls), waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of the unhooked phone, finding my “babysitter” stoned out of her mind, asleep, drooling, I couldn’t wake her up, I put down the phone and went back to bed (I was 5). I could go on, but it serves no purpose.
Me now: Cold sometimes, unaffected, indifferent. I don’t want to feel too much, don’t want things to get to me. A fucking wall, at which I’m clawing now. I’m not sure I want to tear it down, not sure how much I want to let in.
But I’ve felt so much in the last few months. I’ve felt. Hurt, loneliness, depression, hope, love, lust, friendship. I felt them each separately, individually, not in a mush of self absorption, not like usual, brushing it off as self pity. There is no such thing as too much awareness, I understand that now.
I’ve felt. I want to feel more. I can handle it, now.
great post.
i long for the day when i ‘can handle it’.
Man, it feels like 1000 years ago when I crossed over to the “right side of the tracks”
But so easily remembered. You seem to have a knack for using just the right phrase, atleast with me. I dont remember the first time someone told me that I had built so many walls that I never let anyone in, but at the same time I can’t remember the last time someone has said it to me.
I know that the walls are still there.But poeple, certain people, still get in. I’m still trying to figure that out. I could go on for ever with this comment, but I wont. heh lucky you.
Have a good New Years Swan_pr.
🙂
Goddamnit write a book… 😉
Father of mine
Tell me where have you been
You know I just closed my eyes
My whole world disappeared
Father of mine
Take me back to the day
When I was still your golden boy
Back before you went away
I remember blue skies
Walking the block
I loved it when you held me high
I loved to hear you talk
You would take me to the movie
You would take me to the beach
You would take me to a place inside
That is so hard to reach
Father of mine
Tell me where did you go
You had the world inside your hand
But you did not seem to know
Father of mine
Tell me what do you see
When you look back at your wasted life
And you don’t see me
I was ten years old
Doing all that I could
It wasn’t easy for me
To be a scared white boy
In a black neighborhood
Sometimes you would send me a birthday card
With a five dollar bill
I never understood you then
And I guess I never will
Daddy gave me a name
My dad he gave me a name
Then he walked away
Daddy gave me a name
Then he walked away
My daddy gave me a name
Daddy gave me a name
Daddy gave me a name
Then he walked away
Daddy gave me a name
Then he walked away
My daddy gave me a name
Father of mine
Tell me where have you been
I just closed my eyes
And the world disappeared
Father of mine
Tell me how do you sleep
With the children you abandoned
And the wife I saw you beat
I will never be safe
I will never be sane
I will always be weird inside
I will always be lame
Now I’m a grown man
With a child of my own
And I swear I’m not going to let her know
All the pain I have known
Then he walked away
Daddy gave me a name
Then he walked away
My dad gave me a name
Then he walked away
My daddy gave me a name
Then he walked away
My daddy gave me a name
Then he walked away
Then he walked away
Then he walked away
Your post made me think of this song for some reason. Then it makes me think of a lot of Metallica songs to.
I try not to comment on content: I try to comment only on the writing, and the effect it makes. I think that’s because I feel like I know enough about writing, that my commentary might be worth something. With content, on the other hand, I often feel just too out of my league to say anything relevant.
Your writing, as always, wow’s me.
You take dangerous and uncomfortable subject matter like this, and make me feel like you’re sitting on the floor next to me, passing the wine and just talking to me as if I’ve known you for a million years… As if our comfort level outweighs the uncomfortableness of content.
Veronica
face: thank you. I think you’re getting there 🙂
spyder: we get used to the walls, and so do the people around us. that’s probably why they don’t mention it anymore. you think people are getting in because you let them, or because they found a crack? thank you, you have a great new year yourself 🙂
jeliel: I love that song 🙂 and I think Metallica is one of the most introspective metal bands of all time. at any time in my life, at any age, there was always something I could relate to in their songs.
veronica: it’s a nice Merlot. drink up, we’ve got lots to talk about. and your insight is *always* welcome. thank you.
I have to agree with Veronica. You do have a gift of making one feel comfortable.
Your you now and my me now have a lot in common.
stephaine: you know, I think that whatever we go through, a lot has to do with age, or at least the stages we are at. regardless of our childhood or teenage years, being a mom and a wife at such a young age, and for so long, it sure messes up our heads 😉