Time and Tide

I am moving from San Diego to Maryland.  In 36 (ish) hours, I will pack up my car with my husband and two dogs and drive east, hoping that my household goods meet me in my new town.  I am leaving my son.

How dramatic that sounds.

I was a single mom, working my ass off making his life as whole and amazing as I could.  I did a great job.  He was my priority at every turn.  Mistakes were made in MY life – never, ever in HIS.  His needs, his emotional health, his boundaries, his LIFE were the holiest protected treasures.  I was a goddamned warrior at the gate.  And now?  HE LIVES.  He lives his life swinging both arms hard – he breathes in and out and stomps a fine steel-toed boot.  He apologizes and opens doors and says ‘fuck off’ and laughs from his belly.  He saves a lot of money and spends a little of it loosely.  He reads voraciously and talks talks talks to me until I am overwhelmed with it.  He wears me down and lifts my spirits.  He is 20-years old.  He is perfect.

He is a US Marine.

I want to cling to him.  He is still 8-years old!  I want to sob and wail and gnash.  Drag him by his (purchased by his own damned cash) pants.  I am forcibly removing his goods from his (admittedly filthy) bedroom and launching him unceremoniously into the yonder, wild and blue.  I am wracked with guilt.  I am light as a feather and happy as six (SIX!) clams.  I am on both sides of the fence.  Sort of.

He has become who he was meant to be.  I raised an independent child.  He is now a very independent man.  He has two investment accounts.  He has plans.  He can shoot a rifle with damned fine accuracy.  He is confident as two bears.  He has wings, and isn’t afraid to use them.

He has a girlfriend, lovely and true.  She takes no crap and loves him alive and wide.  She is sunshine and grass and rain.  Their children would be beautiful and I would not mind if the future held that truth.

I DO want to cling.  Or rather, I want to WANT to do so.  But, on the other hand, he is flying, soaring high with his wings.  He is strong and proud and amazing and it is time for him to write the story of his own life.  I am proud.  I am proud of ME.  I didn’t fuck it up.  I stopped history in its tracks.  I am proud of him.  He took the helm of his life from my hands and pushed me into a spectator seat.  Disrespect?  HA.  This is the way the book was meant to be written.  His story is now in his hands.  And I cannot wait to read it.

truth

Nobody in my world tells the truth.  The truth about people – the man behind the curtain.  I guess when I talk truth it probably sounds like I am badmouthing everyone.  Gossip.  But it’s the post-game wrap up that I like to do after a party or gathering.   I am not speaking of the gossip that most women endure/participate in – who is fucking who and what shoes and her hair and his drinking problem.  NO.  I am speaking of the narcissists and passive-agressives in the group.  The disrespect and blatant encroachment over boundaries that happens underneath hihowareyou and whatanadorablepurse and youaresofunny. 

What I really want is for someone, anyone, to see what I see.  To see SEE what really is there.  What was truly being said with that glance – with that shrug.  To recognize, like I recognize, that the veneer of civility is JUST THAT.  Am I the only one who can see that the emperor is nekkid?  

It’s odd that I never felt crazy – that I always knew that I could see and smell what others ignored.  There is so much NOT said.  People stop short of saying the truth.  I want to SHOUT the truth.  The truth about the truth tho, is that it is usually very negative.  Because people don’t usually hide SWEET behind the veneer of SHIT.  It is always, in my experience, the other way around.  The dung ball in a nice candy coating.  And NOBODY will talk about it.  It spreads negativity!  No, it spreads the truth. 

I have no one to speak the truth to.  Nobody will listen, and nobody sees it.  I need a partner who can see the truth, and who will speak it to me.    I do not care (much) about your shoes.  I care about my soul.  You are sucking on it.  Please to remove yourself. 

On Little Cat Feet

After reading all this information about narcissists and all – knowing I was raised by two of them, one more gave birth to me – all of my decisions have been shaped by this.  My whole life had been shaped by these people.  They still rattle around in my head.  I thought I was through.  I have just begun.  I feel like I see them everywhere right now – but I also look back and see that I have been punching at them all my life.  Anyone who tries to manipulate ME is suspect and I have hated – yes, HATED and cursed and tried to poison and rip and tear.  I don’t know if it is hyper sensitivity or if it is hyper awareness.  Can it be both?  I may just have sensitive feelers, little silica hairs, that tingle at the first sense of these people. But maybe these alarms are too sensitive – like a cat walking across a car at night.  It trips the alarm but the cat is not stealing or bruising the car.  The cat is an annoyance of fur and footprints, but is not the reason the alarm was set in the first place.  Does my metaphorical car attract these metaphorical cats?