Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Leaving the Heart of the Darkness.




 One nasty lesson I learned in my short time with Mephistopheles was that I have a long forgotten mean streak of  indifference and being aloof.  One more maladapted coping mechanism excavated from the archaeological dig of that seven months. My best guess it that it's from the need to hold my head up to  glares from strangers and from the Polaroid Avoid I acquired by stepping out of court house elevators and into a sea of flash bulbs and 16 millimeter lighting.  
At first I thought it was cool and I strutted like the King of Sweden.
It was later that I got that sinking feeling as I watched myself on the ten o'clock news and knew that every one from school was watching me too. 
 I made it a habit to lag behind. At court and in school.
The press  weren't looking for me. They wanted her.
Staying  away from her was to stay away from the press.
Living with her now, and after about the 100th time I told my mother to shut the fuck up, the malware revealed itself and began a full on collaboration with my operating system. 
Only in reverse. There is no more shrinking back from human bilge water. 
I don't like bullies. I have never liked bullies. 
Now I won't tolerate them. 
That'll probably be my epitaph, but I would rather go down swinging than to spend the day wishing I had said something to the overbearing fat bastard berating the kid sweeping up popcorn and tearing tickets at the Cinemark.
My no contact will be a three year gig on October tenth.  I have only stepped up twice. But when I do step up, it is with all the earnestness of Mike Tyson licking his chops for a bite of ear meat.

Having lived my adult life in the world of straight forward facts.  I say what I mean. And I mean what I say. And if I expect to bull doze a person, I expect to be bulldozed back. 
It's very simple. Childhood head banging be damned. 
As a kid I didn't possess the chutzpah to sell insanity like my parents. Sane people can't do it. It's embarrassing.
After I went to care for Lay Madre and she wanted to pick right back up where she left off,  it was game on.  I haven't wanted to turn it off since.
 It's really fun. 
People are used to getting their way because no one calls them on their blow hard shit. People like my mother.  She out crazies the craziest and people end up walking away. 
It's funny that standing up to my mother is harder for the public at large than standing up to some quaffed douche with a pencil thin mustache. 


I Dont Always - I don't always drink beer, but when i do i get put on house arrest

I don't always get in a douche bags face, but when I do, I do all I can to make him piss his pants.


 Attaching concrete memories of those chaotic days to the nebulous rhetoric gin-mill that is my mother, brought me all the way back to the beginning. 
Full circle.  
Right back where I started.
Only now I am an adult and I don't suffer fools.  Pathologically so. And whatever else my mother is, she is a fool. 
My current malaise is from the knowledge that my journey is about done. My war with this world is over. I am left with what I picked up along the way, and the need to reconcile the books into something that makes some kind of sense.  

If I regret estrangement from my mother, it is because I can no longer muse at what powers of darkness  claim her for their own.  Like the demise of a planet exploring probe, I have  reams of data to sift through, but there could have been so much more.  
The post spin analysis of her world is fascinating and frustrating.  It would make me dizzy even if I could take every thing she said as the gospel truth.  With her misrepresentations of fact, and me trying to compare it to the reality I know is the ultimate in crazy making.
There is my reality, the reality through the lens of a child. There is her delusional perspective. And  there is the truth.
What makes me crazy is that only she knows the real story behind it all.  But that bitch sits there and tells people anything that pops up in her head.
Gah! 
It's like listening to AM radio and driving in the desert.  I lose myself in some radio theater broad cast  as some 100,000 watt Mexican station blasts top forty out the fillings in my teeth.  Descending into the salt flats muddles the mix  with cross over from the Navajo chant channel. Throw in Morse code atmospherically bounced in from Siberia and it's just like having my mother in the car. 
I want to hear it all.  
I end up hearing pops and whistles.
It's a challenge between my simple mind and the desert of her narcissism.  I still must make it across  before my engine boils over and I end up face down in a pool of  toxic mine sludge.

Someone has to do it. Someone needs to understand how their mind works. If only to scribble hobo chalk marks for those who come behind.
Someone must be sacrificed so that others can live on. 
It's the cornerstone of civilization. 

  
I have left the House of the Barbarian. 
The House of the Barbarian has not left me. 
I am marked as the son of the beast.
Heed the warnings of the misanthropic oracle. 
As I go now
some day so shall you. 
It is hard to do the right thing. 
When right is obscured in darkness and evil. 
Run. 
Run and live another day.












12 comments:

vicariousrising said...

Damn me, but this post makes me think you and I are really alike.

And, wait, Sweden has a king?

Bess said...

:)

Gladys said...

It's what made me start a blog. We HAVE TO leave a bread crumb trail for those who come behind. Maybe they'll understand sooner, get out sooner. It's like a video game and we are leaving assorted picks and shovels (and tarps and duct tape and lye acid) - the tools they will need to get out and stay out.

We sacrificed ourselves, unknowingly - so they don't have to. Are you listening, you fresh-faced younger selves?(years on earth or years with a narc) - the only way THE ONLY WAY is to get out and stay out. Get gone and stay gone.

Kara said...

The problem with narcs is that they always look and sound as if "butter wouldn't melt in their mouth". It reminds me of a quote from a film I read in Kiki's blog that said:"Hey, when the devil shows up, you think he's gonna have little red horns and carry a pitchfork? No, he's gonna work for Amnesty International, and he's gonna give all his money to the homeless."
No kidding, all the narcs I know want to be seen as saints.
So yes, lets leave the biggest breadcrumb trail we can for those who come behind.

Adela Alba said...

"People are used to getting their way because no one calls them on their blow hard shit."

So fucking true it isn't even funny. But oh the shitstorm when somebody dares call them out. It's absolutely fascinating.

And I have a front row seat for the next show. Dear "Samantha" just got called out yesterday.

upsi said...

It will be three years at the end of October for me - that's when I started calling it like I see it. Haven't heard the end of it since, you'd think I murdered a child in front of them and ate the corpse the way they reacted.

I loved everything about this post and just want to give you a big old hug.

Tundra Woman said...

No wonder it was so difficult to NC: We didn't have a damn thing on our sides-like this technology to "educate" (warn)/support/encourage one another.
And that's still about all we have: The ties that blind are still in place by the current crop of NPs towards the next generations of (hopefully NC) AC's, the societal Myth of the Golden Uterus/Sacred Sperm persists a la, "But she's/he's your MOTHER!/FATHER!" (which actually isn't close to who they are including at times, genetically) and because their shit is often so covert who ya gonna believe? Your lying eyes and experiences or all the ingrained, culturally-derived and unquestioned Myths? People look at the "Parent" and as long as they're not drooling, cross-eyed, actively hallucinating or demonstrating behaviors you see on the subway that scream, "Nope. Not this car, keep walkin'" and decide there's not a thing wrong here. If "they" can't see it, "it" doesn't exist.
Even as adults, try explaining this close up and personal encounter over YEARS with the embodiment of your worst nightmare and I guarantee you, instant backlash. Total disbelief, tons of "But, but's" and explaining to US how our reality is somehow impaired: "He/She didn't mean it that way, I'm sure!" or, "Well, he/she is STILL your parent!" like we're not acutely aware of this "problem."
It's not even necessarily a series of discrete events (toe-nail curling as they actually are) so much as a pattern of nasty behavior to which we were on the receiving end for years. With no hope of relief or even respite. Except total NC which can be a damn lonely road but at least it's your own road, chosen after years of realizing there's nothing more you can do: Save yourself or sink further in the morass of nasty.
Wanna have a party on the 10th? I didn't realize it was only 3 yrs. q. Congratulations. Maybe a Post on what's changed over these last 3 yrs. if you're up for it would be good? 50+ yrs. of The Barbarian and 3 yrs. of relief: Gotta be some "Lessons Learned" or "After Action Reports" here. Maybe it's time to crank-up the letter writing machine/scanner to The Barbarian and neighbors in honor of the event as well ;)
TW

Anonymous said...

People like them should come with warnings. A tattoo on their foreheads, "Toxic".

Sis

q1605 said...

She had a dream about the king of Sweden,
He gave her things that she was needin',

He gave her a home built of gold and steel,
A diamond car with a platinum wheel.

He gave her his townhouse and his racing horses,
Each meal she ate was a dozen courses;
She had a million dollars worth
of nickels and dimes,
She sat around and counted them
all a million times.

Gladys said...

Q - I hope you are fine. Better than OK.

q1605 said...

It's funny to revisit this and realize on the very day I wrote it my ex wife was shoving the family assets into the pockets of her fat blue jeans.

q1605 said...

More like on the day I wrote this my ex wife was whispering in my mothers ear to hurry and die all fucking ready.