I was digging through a stack of old disks containing old files, and found a few snippets from days gone by. Thought I would put up a couple of the things I found that I wrote.
May 9th, 2001
What is a friend? Let alone a best friend? How many people know the
heartache of being totally alone in a roomful of people? How many people
have spent the holidays alone, dining on a cold turkey sandwich, and a
bottle of cranberry juice, (just so it could be called a holiday dinner)
from some oriental market where the clerks christmas spirit was in direct
relation to the number of dollars they would make by being the only store
open on Christmas Day?
How many people know what it feels like to be so isolated even amongst
family that the pain of being alone is less than the pain of being with
other people? Those of us that have been there know exactly what I am
saying, those that haven't are left with a blank look on thier face because
there is no way they can relate.
So of us look around and see the people around us going about thier lives,
and try to imagine ourselves in thier circumstances (if only for a moment)
that we might know and understand the happiness they seem to be
experiencing. We see the lovers in the park, or the elderly couple holding
hands as they walk, or the young mother or father pushing thier baby in the
stroller, and we are envious, because for us, any normal relationship seems
impossible because we have been conditioned to feel worthless, or somehow
unworthy of happiness. We know that these relationships means opening
ourselves up to more pain, and we just cannot do that anymore.... so we
remain, always, somehow, inevitably set apart and alone.
We look to others for companionship, often as not unable emotionally to
develop real friendships, we end up in taverns and bowling alleys reaching
out for people, hoping for just one moment of intimacy, one moment of
acceptance, yet somehow, no one sees us, and they walk on by. As solace we
substitute the kinds of companionship we find in these places for the real
thing. We know the bartender is just being polite and doing his or her job,
yet without pause, and lubricated by the large number of drinks we have
consumed, we proceed to dump our entire life story on the bartender, who
smiles, and politely listens, and continues cleaning the bar. We feel better
having mistaken his or her seeming attentiveness for some sort of false
intimacy.
Some of us, over time realize that these are just false friendships, and
rework our thinking. We quit trying to be a part of other peoples worlds,
and ives, and disassociate ourselves from them, withdrawing further into
ourselves, thus hardening our exterior shell as it were, and further
emphasizing our "aloneness".
Yes, I believe I can remember the exact moment in time when I knew that
having friends would not be a part of my life. I was about 10, and one
playground buddy and I had had a fun day, playing and just being boys. But
then the realization sunk in that Mom's rules were clear... I was not
allowed to play with kids unless she approved. So I told them I would have
to ask my mom if they could be my friend. That is the way it is with kids. I
opened myself up about one little aspect of my life, and was ridiculed by
kids at school for weeks following that. Call it what you will, it hurt.
I learned not to trust my peers.
The cost of companionship was too high. So I gravitated toward the older
kids, and even adults, and said little about where I was from, and said
nothing to my parents.
I learned at an early age how to lie.
I remember many things about growing up, and what I learned along the way. I
recall getting in trouble with a group of kids, seems I did not fit in, so
became the target for abuse. I tried to fight back, but often as not, I was
outnumbered ten to one. We are trained to believe that our parents will
protect us, so like most kids,I ran home, thinking Mom would protect me.
I come running screaming into the yard, and there she was, standing on the
porch, hair up in curlers, coverered in that little plastic bonnet, wiping
her hands off on her apron. She stopped them from ganging up on me, but her
and Dad stood there watching as the kids lined up, and each one took a turn
beating the shit out of me. I am certain that there was fifteen kids, and
fifteen ass whuppings, but the truth may be slightly less, perhaps only five
butt kickings, and a fairly sizable audience.
I learned that one must depend on oneself.
(I also later learned how to fight. Later still I learned how to fight and
win at least occasionally).
The irony is that after the "Blood on the Lawn Fest" I got to go inside and
be punished for whatever it was I did to piss off so many kids. I think I
would have prefered to have all of the kids whup on me again.
I learned not to trust my parents.
A year later, following a large and increasing number of fights at school,
my parents and teachers had had enough. I was sent away to private school,
several hundred miles away. I did not see my parents for a year. The system
allowed that I had become uncontrollable and needed to be placed where they
were better prepared to handle me.
I learned not to trust the system.
