Daily Archive for May 2nd, 2008

Getting Older

Published on May 2, 2008 in For the Record and Humor. 7 Comments

When visiting Beauty’s blog I like to read the quotes on her sidebar. Here’s one I saw today. I’m sure she won’t mind me yet again snatching a quote from her. I even snatch the icons on her sidebar from time to time and send them to her as if I discovered it somewhere other than her blog. I send them in email as if she has no idea those icons and pictures exist. “Oh look what I found. I thought you might like this. I’m sure you’ve never seen it before.” Anyway so today I saw a quote that reminded me of a journal entry I’ve been meaning to write.

The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been. -Madeleine L’Engle

Yes but, you do lose the natural colour of your hair forcing you to use box dyes to cover up the horrible realization that you inherited your grandmother’s wirey gold/gray hair. Damn you Grandmama, Damn you!

I was going to blog about my new gray hairs but figured I’d get no REAL sympathy, just comments of how early you went gray and how some of you guys have lost your hair, etc. Basically I figured I’d get comments like “suck it up Austin, you could be me.” Well dang it I’m not you AND I’m going gray. Is there no justice in this world? I don’t mind getting older it’s just that my inheritance really sucks. After all I’ve been through 6 wirey gray/gold Grandmama hairs is too much to take. Why! Why must this happen? Is there no justice for me? Can I return my inheritance. Can’t my gray hairs be one colour or the other and maybe even a little soft? It makes me wonder what that one (and I do mean one) little hair on my chinny chin, chin is going to look like in a few years. I shave that thing off but will I wake one day with it growing wild, dotted in gray and gold, piercing the pillow leaving a hole for feathers to escaped? Oh the humanity!

This was not supposed to happen to me. So in addition to breasts that compete for who can touch the floor first I now have to contend with my Grandmama’s gray hair. Do you know how tired I am of rolling my breasts to put them in the “sling”? I do the bending over, shaking dance to coerce them into the “sling” but the girls just don’t want to stay. Inevitably they peak out above the “Just My Size” brace forcing me to again bend over and shake them back into the perfect roll they were in before their escape. I lay in bed and they fall to my arm pits. Then and only then am I flat chested. If I get up too fast from a sitting position I could hurt somebody. I’ll never jog now. One wrong turn and I could take out a whole city block. The news report would be that a heavy set black woman with gray/gold hair and one (repeat one) gray/gold chin hair has been jailed for a drive by boobing.

My God does it not stop!!!!

Austin

Letting Go

Published on May 2, 2008 in Abuse and PTSD. 2 Comments

(For Beauty -my thoughts on letting go, crying and allowing others to see us fall apart.)

The last time I broke down I started off by rocking a little bit. I was trying to pep talk myself, tell myself I’d be okay. My heart felt full and heavy. I could hardly keep my eyes open. My head felt heavy and I just couldn’t hold it up anymore. I hobbled to the bed, pulled the covers over me. They felt heavy, heavier than they actually are. My cat climbed up next to me as I lay on her teddy bear. I closed my eyes. I could feel my stomach churning, moaning and mourning, then the tears came. Strangely they left as quickly as they came. I felt like I’d not cried enough but I still wasn’t able to get up. I just laid there with the cat next to me and slept. When I woke up several hours later I felt somewhat better, not enough to make a huge dent in the grieving process but enough.

The difference it made was that I let go, even for a second or two I let go. Letting go wasn’t something safe for me, crying wasn’t safe. It meant getting hurt, getting laughed at, etc. So it’s not as if showing such strong emotion was rewarded. As a matter of fact showing vulnerability by crying or grieving got me hurt or got my sister hurt. Really then, what good did crying or grieving ever do me? Who was going to come and comfort me? Who cared if I was hurt or afraid or grieved? If my mother did answer the call it usually meant me paying for it in some way or another or her bringing it up mockingly for years on end. So what good did it do for me to show vulnerability or respond to horrible situations with natural responses like tears or panic? Continue reading ‘Letting Go’