Teenagers‼️

Why does my heart bleed for teenagers when I never had any of my own? I try to give them (probably misguided) advice – see my reply to a young girl’s comment. I know: wisdom from the woman known as Karaoke Konnection on YouTube. It’s laughable.

Then, please tell me if it’s misguided. Because I really need to know. It’s profoundly, remarkably, achingly important to me that my words never damage these young people. I want them to excel and to thrive and to keep Humanity alive!

More than anything…

Please Watch if You Love a Teenager

I’m 54, and I feel like you’re telling my story. I know it feels like your father has betrayed all of you (because he did) and everything that once seemed so certain now seems terribly uncertain. And you don’t even get to be mad because you’re being such a little adult, keeping up your end of the deal, while the adults are abandoning their roles as if they never existed in the first place. I’m so sorry that the pressure has fallen on you during this time. My only advice for all of you teenagers who are hurting now is:
Please never bury the real and unique you that burns inside. You know your dreams and your passions and your heart in a way no other person does. Your circumstances will change frequently throughout your life, but your essence, your personhood, won’t. Please don’t EVER bury yourselves so much in your efforts to make others happy that you extinguish the beautiful flame that burns in each one of you❣️

P.S. Tell your parents a lady older than them said so‼️

I Thought the Traumas Aged Me

I thought my traumas aged me.

All the childhood crap, the losing of all my pregnancies, the searing betrayals, the fights with death and disease, the ongoing fights with death and disease, and the psychological fallout from all of the above.

Yada, yada, yada.

But no: nothing ages a person like wearing her (or his) heart completely exposed and unprotected on the prosaic sleeve; aware of the devastating effects of every tiny particle of dust and vaporous breeze that touches and then and has no choice but to scar it.

At which point you’re trying to fly low behind the radar, attempting to allude Cosmic Scrutiny and trying hard not to attract more pain than is unsurvivable.

Multiplied by the number of children you have.

That’s the Crucible that turns Ordinary Sitizens into Old Souls.

When You’re Old But Your Parents are Still Worried About You

Because I’m growing up… and out again. It’s time,

Thanks to Pops and Honey

For loaning me and helping me with my money.

I know my actions often appear quite “funny,”

And my presentation’s not always sunny,

But please don’t worry,

Don’t worry about my hurry,

I know it might look rather blurry,

But the winds of change have stirred me,

Into a better place.

And because of God’s and your grace,

I don’t plan to exit planet-space.

My goal’s now to finish This Race.

I can’t promise you no disgrace.

But I can promise you I’ll be okay.

Post Script for my Untrusteds:

I hate to mar this sweet post to my parents with ridiculous disclaimers that “there is no money.” How does a person get real and not alert people with less than admirable intentions that they only carry their exact lunch money? Because I’m being relentlessly stalked online and getting fed up with your evil intentions towards me. It’s not conjecture; it’s objectively true, and it makes me very sad. While raising my simmering ire in equal measure.

My First Post on My [Short-Lived] Blog, May 2010

11 and a half years ago, I “caught a wild hair” and started this thing called a BLOG while recovering from gallbladder removal surgery at aged 43 (I know – I just keep winning the genetic lottery!) Anyway, my virgin post is linked below. It made me laugh to realize I haven’t really changed that much – except for my new, single-minded dedication to blogging! It was a relief to discover I hadn’t “lost myself” as much as I thought. And to RE-discover I’ve always been a Geek, a Goofbeauxll, a flagrant flouter of conventional grammatical rules, and a serial repeat offender of “Exclampo Abuse!!”

http://deeporshallowthoughts.blogspot.com/2010/05/putting-pancreatitis-to-rest.html

Photo: 2010 (the Goldilocks years)

I Don’t Think I Believe You

Journal, 11/07/21

You just couldn’t stick around, could you? You really expect me to believe that YOU hurt after WE left? After going on your own vacation and cheating on us? After I’d just been born?

Well I don’t. I don’t believe you.

I’m surprised you even bothered to take the picture in the first place since you didn’t keep a copy for yourself. Come to think of it, I don’t remember ever seeing a photo of me in your home or office.

What’s that? You say you never felt seen as child, either? You felt misunderstood, even though you were an ‘only child’? I don’t imagine you’d much like being lost in a shuffle.

So once again, I’m not sure I believe you.

But who am I to say?

Only your daughter. Your second child of four. The only one you never wanted in the first place [second place, third place, last place]; the “fix it baby” who didn’t fix a goddamned thing.

(I’m sorry I couldn’t make the font smaller… I know you don’t like it when I’m too “here.”)

The Upcoming Anniversary of My Father’s Death

Journal 10/26/2021

The first anniversary of my father’s death is in 6 days, on 10/31/21.

It feels like all of the anger, shock, outrage, and righteous indignation have run their course. And now I just want to cry for a month straight.

About what we both missed as children. No one ever “mirrored” his emotions during his stoic West Texas childhood: how would he ever know to mirror mine?

How could he know that by silencing me, I never told anyone what I was truly feeling or what was truly happening?

It doesn’t change the fact that he left me alone to process a suite of emotions too complex for a small child to process on her own.

As a result, the arbiter of my worth was transferred from Me (worth self-motivated) to Whomever I Was With (worth tied to external approval).

My chaotic childhood turned me into a chameleon I often feared was dead and bone dry on the inside. I would now call that kind of person a “cypher.” Unfortunately, my emptiness isn’t easily filled. Some have tried, but none have succeeded (or stayed, for that matter). They never stay. I wish my emptiness was filled by a plain old human being, but it feels endless sometimes.

I already feel like I’ve cried enough. Isn’t 500+ months of crying enough?

Well, isn’t it?

For once, I honestly don’t know how I feel inside.

Torn? Conflicted? No.

Spent.

But still begging to be set free. Promising I’ll never tell. Pleading for my life.

Little Girl: You have nothing to say. Quit crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. And while we’re at it: you’re the most hopelessly unathletic AND the most self-centered person I’ve ever known. Look how you start every sentence with the word ‘I’” [insert ubiquitous eye roll of contempt].

You know what? I changed my mind.

YOU GO AHEAD AND STAY DEAD, Sweet Daddy.

Please just STAY IN HELL!

I beg you to leave me alone for a year – just a year!!

Please, could I have one last year?

It’s ALL I want left in this life: One Last Year of Freedom from Your Voice Before I Die.

I don’t give a DAMN about your money! All I want is for you to…

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

My Newest Suitor

I started up a conversation with God again yesterday. We’ve re-established a loose connection, but it’s by NO MEANS been anything regular. Yesterday, I feel like The Man had the GALL to suggest the lover I was looking for was Him. I laughed and gave him a ridiculous way to prove it, which himself opted not to do (no surprise there: it seems I always ask too much). Then he tells me maybe I should go to church today and I said: ‘Do you even SEE ME HERE? I am having an emotional breakdown in case you haven’t noticed (but I know you notice every fucking detail, so that’s not it). You’ll have to get me there yourself. Which you have not as of 9:29am, and I cried off my eyelashes yesterday and haven’t taken a shower in three days. So like: it’s not happening TODAY!” So like: foiled again. But I keep lowering the bar.

Then he says to me: all those things you wrote about in that sappy disgusting blog post you’re too embarrassed to post is how I feel about you.

I’m like: I call bullshit on that one! I’m waaay too “liberal” these days, and it’s not like I’m becoming REFINED BY FIRE here! No, your fucking fire is BURNING ME ALIVE!🔥😭🔥😶🔥

He somehow drops to His knees (kind of like a Disney prince, if I had to explain it) and he says: I’d wash your feet if you hadn’t gotten that pedicure on Thursday. But I can tell you how many hairs are on your head. [eye roll from me] 21,953. I said: how many DOWN THERE? He said: 10,291!! I shit you not!! The man actually said that! I personally thought the second number was a bit high, but who am I to argue?

So I said: I’ll be damned, I’d forgotten about your wicked sense of humor! He had the balls to say (after everything about everything): I adore every single thing about you.

To which I had to reply: if you want me to hear your voice by going to church, you have to get me there. I’m not going to make it. I knew you weren’t going to do it.

I knew I wouldn’t feel you today. I think I understand how the devil ended up down here. He started out good and got proud and betrayed you. I’m pretty sure I probably would have been the devil, too. It’s true. I would have probably been Lucifer himself if not one of the other angels who betrayed you and were also thrown out. Look at how much you loved him, and now you hate them all.

To which I didn’t expect a reply, to be perfectly honest. Because he’s already made his position known on the matter. And he’s pretty much always stuck to his story. But no, he pops back with: I still love the devil.

To which I said: I must call bullshit again, fine sir! What about those things that seem ridiculous over in Proverbs that say: “these things the Lord HATES”… something about a woman?

You say: I never stopped loving Lucifer. It’s possible to love and hate someone at the same time.

I didn’t have a comeback, but neither did he. We both know my down-here father died a year ago today. He didn’t need to elaborate.

I’m not sure how or if the conversation will progress.