Sunday, December 20, 2015

Damhnait Doyle.


I really love her version of this song. I have wanted to post it for a while but it's not manly enough and I felt vulnerable in posting it. But thanks to a commenter here I think the timing is right. 
For some reason it makes me think of all the ways my father degraded, debased, and demoralized himself at my mother's feet just for one more instant of her good graces.
 By selling himself out he took the rest of us with him. 
He had a choice.
We didn't
Or maybe it's because I never really understood the lyrics before now.  

On a really, really, good day my
mother could pass for this woman.
I would post a picture of my mother but I threw them all in the trash.
This woman looks like she has a soul.
My mother had eyes like a snake.
Dull, flat and unblinking.
By the time she was older it was like her face was frozen into this smirk that looked more like
she was biting into a lemon.
The way she looked the last time I saw her reminded me of that twilight zone in which on a New Year's Eve in which this old guy was about to die had his greedy relatives all flocked around like a  bunch of vultures.
He had them all put on these hideous masks and after the clock struck twelve, and the old man died,
 they pulled off the masks and their faces had taken on the same look

13 comments:

Tundra Woman said...

That's a really interesting interpretation of the original. It does make the words a whole lot clearer as well.
The last Holiday Horror Show I attended in NY at my CB "mother's" place was such a twisted, pathological event I knew I would never be safe-in any way-ever going back.
So I didn't. When I told her the next year I couldn't afford to come, did she offer any assistance whatsoever? OHHELLNO. I guess it wasn't more important than her Ebenezer Scrooge money hoarding (just to hoard). Sigh. And to think I worried myself half to death, used resources etc. I didn't have to accomplish this goal-to get there for Xmas. What a waste of my time and resources.
I think I told the ganglion cyst story and her absolutely insane response to it-and repetition is boring and doesn't make it any less disturbing :)
TW

Elli G said...

When I was about 7 it was close to the time my dad left. At the time he drove around Europe with his truck, so he would only be home for a short time every 2-3 weeks. The last gift that he brought me from his trip, before leaving for good, was a very cute clockwork clown doll. He didn't bring anything to anyone else. I felt what he meant was that I was the only one in that house who showed him a bit of genuine love. I would wind the clown and listen to the rythm, much like the song you posted, and watch tilt its head slowly, left and right. I've always believed in angels so I named the doll Angel. Watching the fake tear under Angel's eye and listening to that heart-breaking rythm I'd bawl my eyes out. The witch asked me why I was crying and I said "because you didn't get any gifts". What I meant was it wasn't supposed to be like that. They were supposed to love each other, brother was supposed to love dad as much as he loved mom, and we were all supposed to be happy checking out each other's gifts like a family. That was his goodbye gift to me, soon he was out of my life. The bitch kept talking ill about him, and brother kept hating him and calling him a loser. Whenever I'd try to stand up for him they'd tear me a new one.

I loved the song Q, and I bawled my eyes out, just like I used to back then,but it was fucking good. At least I have some human feelings left in me as opposing to the other two trolls. Thank you for sharing!

PS. I feel sorry for your dad to. He had a choice, but he didn't deserve any of the shit the Barbarian served him up. She drove him to craziness.

q1605 said...

TW You know they sit around and plot our demise and we are supposed to sit around and make it easy for them. Elli I don't think my mother put my father through much more than my first wife put me through and I left skid marks getting the hell away from her. my mother had my fathers head in a paint shaker that's for sure but how many times do you have to catch your wife in bed with a guy before you realize she's a faithless slut. And I promise you his suicide head fucked me over the years more than my mom head fucked him. He could get a divorce. I couldn't bring him back to life. I don't know if you know the details but he went and picked me up and did what he did before we barely made it back inside. So in my mind he wanted me to go through all that. Which makes even my mother's actions pale in comparison.

Elli G said...

Q,

I've read every post and every comment in your blog, some several times. I dug up the comment I wrote when I finished reading your story, we think exactly the same of your father's act of suicide. Just feeling sorry for this sad story. I've kept the comment from your post "Soul exchange" but the link is broken. I wrote:

Vindictively he wanted to make sure you would be there when he took his life. I think in his way he was trying to cause you trauma and guilt, he wanted to tell you this is because of you (meaning everyone present including u Q). It was his way of pointing the finger and blaming others for the situation he brought himself into. He kept talking to you about it because at some level he knew you knew about Barb’s foul behavior. He needed his kick in the ass by his kid to act as a responsible father, but no one dared to mess with Barb so he never got that. And somehow in his crazy logic this was your fault as well, your responsibility to tell him what to do. For him seeing was not believing, believing was seeing and he had repeatedly raped his mind into believing Barb’s crap. It must have been a living hell in his head, feeling like the biggest idiot of the century but it was too much to admit that all this was his fault. He wanted out of his self-inflicted misery but wanted to do it with a bang, to leave you all feeling guilty. And of course again feeling like a hero even post-mortem, supposedly helping you around as a ghost. He never loved himself, so he never saw this romantically, he could not love anyone else. Instead, he expected to feel loved to be fixed. A neglected 4 year old in an adult’s body, waiting for Barb to cherish him and after this never occurred for his teenage son to guide him. What a sad person he was. What an unlucky child you were.

q1605 said...

I've made the best of it that I could which is to say not much. I guess I might mythologize him as much as he did my mother. It's hard to think that someone you thought cared for you would leave you like that.....but it is what it is. All things being equal it makes him as bad as her. If he had not tortured us on the way out, it would be more forgivable. He did the same thing to my sister after my mother's arrest. Just when he finally went through with it I was still living here because I was younger and she was with her first husband living in San Diego.

q1605 said...

I went back and I guess I deleted that post. It takes me back a step to hear someone knows my blog that well. I used to get the feeling sometimes I was talking to a wall. Usually after I pissed someone off and getting trolled half to death...and usually asking for it. I have said some not very nice things to people over the years.

q1605 said...

I'm still all aflutter that Elli could quote comments and topics from a post that I deleted long ago. Blogging is inherently a narcissistic endeavor, but you don't have to be a narcissist to keep one up. When I first started I drank a bit too much at times and it poked big enough holes in my filter to just let it fly. The problem is to make it meaningful to yourself and to other people you have to bare your soul or what's the point? But the first time or two out of the chute you can really be leery of what you have said after you put it out there. You sort of feel like you have a sign taped to your back that instead of saying "kick me" it says "this is the freak with the insane parents". I grew out of that pretty quick, but the darker things are things that still throw me. My dad is a good example. I have been much more open here than in real life. There are people that think they know me well that are not from my home town that don't have a clue. I mean it's not exactly how one introduces themselves meeting someone new. Hi I'm Doug and my father snuffed it. People really would think you were crazy. But like I mentioned at the top if you don't plan on being candid why bother. There are lessons I learned the hard way and if you can relate it's great. And if you only can use it as a cautionary tale that's good too. I used to say there is a little of my mother in every narcissist. But you still hear people all hung up on the word sociopath and psychopath and NPD. I don't want to have anything to do with any of them. But that's just me. I know of one blogger who is still obsessed on the covert, overt, inverted, narcissist labels like there is a big difference. If you are any version of any personality disorder and I know or find out about it I will walk on the other side of the street whenever we meet ..... thank you very much. I think it would be a shame to learn what I learned the hard way, and not try to spread the word to others. I kind of think it's my duty to tell others that it could happen to you. It happened to me and it is going on somewhere as we speak.

q1605 said...

Sometimes Elli I am a bit slow on the uptake. I didn't realize that was your actual comment. I agree with all of it. Being there this time, there was an underlying tone of "look what you mother has done to me"..."Look at what she is making me do". He actually said that to me earlier in the afternoon when I first realized that this time he might be serious and was probably visibly coming unglued. I got a vibe off him that I never had before. There was a sense of resignation that this was his fate and on some level he knew what a clusterfuck he was leaving behind and this was his way of divorcing himself from responsibility for his actions. I wrote a post once about working at the grocery store and how kids didn't weigh enough to disengage the automatic doors. You would customers walk up and see the kid and know stepping on the pad probably was going to smack the kid and they seemed to think that fretting about it before they smacked him mitigated the terror the kid would experience if they went through with it and the door swung open and took the kid out. They were as predictable as waves crashing on the beach. They would come up to the door and you would see this fretful look come over their faces and this wringing of their hands like oh dear someone should do something before I step on the mechanism and engage the door and potentially hurt this kid. And it never failed they would take that last step and the door would whack the kid and for a couple of minutes all hell would break loose. I never did ask any of them why they didn't just walk the 6 feet to the other door and not smack the kid but that would require a little effort.

Elli G said...

Q,

I keep most of the comments that I write on your blog, not all but most. And I don't comment much anyywhere else. It just so happened and I found the writing style I was looking for here. No nonsense, just look at what they are capable of. I don't want to be rushed into acceptance of the situation, I want to be alarmed because I am still trying to incorporate in my set of beliefs the fact that a person who told me I love you so many times, gave me pocket money and sometimes even SEEMED to care, had a hidden agenda that didn't involve benefiting me in particular. Quite the opposite actually, if she could yield some benefits from me she'd be decent to me.

Dare I say, your sense of humor reminds me of how I used to be as a teenager. I liked my profanities, but not in a mean way, and my chops were busted so much about it that I did stop for many years. Now I am rediscovering myself and I swear much more, most of the times jokingly but because I think it's a unique form of expressing some feelings that are intense. So get this:

When I was about 15 I actively made a choice of fighting back their meanness with some rough humor. I was so happy, I thought I had found the answer. So it went to plan, and whenever they'd be sour, I would crack a silly joke that was always slightly insulting to the abuser. One day my brother turns to me and says in the most bitter tone of voice one can imagine: "What's up with you ridiculous clown, keep making stupid ass jokes that you only find funny and you think you have a sense of humor" I kid you not, it took me years to joke around him again, he had just upped the nastyness a level to shut me up. And it worked, but finally I am finding my true self and my silly sense of humor with lots of cussing in between.

Your sense of humor is very sophisticated though, I love your blog!

q1605 said...

What I really hate at this late date and after this amount of time is that I went through so much of my life thinking my mother was like a true mother and finding out now she didn't care for me anymore than a dog that is splattered on the side of the road. I had had enough of my first wife and got in my car and drove off and left her at a family reunion in Santa Barbara and I confided all my innermost thoughts about what happened and what I was thinking as it unfolded. Like drive down the Pacific Coast Highway and listening to the radio and realized as I was tapping the steering wheel with my hand that I still had my wedding ring on and I rolled down the window and threw it out on the 405. And basically sat around and called her a stupid bitch and no matter what she did to me I've always got Santa Barbara where I punctured the balloon of her fakeness in front of her family. I know now to my ex I was what I was to my father for my mother. Just some prop to use to make her appear normal to her other normal family members. I wondered what got up my wifes ass throughout our divorce and why it went from a almost amicable divorce into a blood letting grudge fest. Now I know it's because everything I told my mother went right to my ex wife's ears. I hope she fries in hell. That's another thing I hate about her. I am not the kind of person that goes around hating for no reason and now the one person that society tells me I am supposed to love above all others makes me gag every time I think about her.

Judith said...

Interesting use of a music box at the start of it -- like it's a child singing about her parent.

For some reason every time I see the artist's name, I think it says "dammit, Doyle!" Lol.

q1605 said...

Elli there is nothing more disconcerting than to think you are being funny and someone not getting the joke. It's part of the mask I wear. To have horrible shit going on around you and to appear unaffected. It's also part of my bullshit detector because sociopaths and personality disordered people are notorious for lacking a sense of humor.

q1605 said...

Yeah it makes me think of Dammit Janet! from The Rocky Horror Picture Show