I was wrong.

The words that I avoided saying all my life have become common themes. I used to feel too exposed to tell people that I love them. It's still hard, but I do it often. I used to think that the only love that really qualified for verbal expression were family and romantic. Everything else was considered just friendship or lesser association. After finding so much comfort in friendship and so little from family and romance during the brief time I've spent in this body and mind, the realization of the depth and variety of love was not really a dramatic "ah ha". It was more of a "duh". I have a fairly large group of friends that I truly love. The passage of time and differences in spirituality, priorities, lifestyle or whatever the world throws in between us don't affect how I feel. In fact, a friend to whom I have given my love will still have it despite betrayal. I can love them from a distance. They don't have to love me back.

Since being separated from my thirteen year buoy, the job that figuratively and perhaps literally saved my life, I've failed and fallen on my ass really really hard and ugly. I was heartbroken and desperate to feel security. I didn't find it. I clawed and scratched my way to nothing. I was very angry about that. I took a lover and abused him. I gave just enough of myself to keep him around and denied anything he asked. When he presented me with an ultimatum, I told him (in not so many words) that there was a whole world of women out there who would be willing to respond to his requests. I was wearing my armor, so either he wanted to battle or he was of no use to me. I was incapable of removing it. There was no discussion. When he returned to withdraw his ultimatum a few weeks later, I turned him away. That was probably the most merciful thing I could do. I didn't let anyone in close enough to love me. It's not that I felt undeserving. I was tired of being hurt. I am tired of it. I've had a life full of unreciprocated unconditional love. The wellspring is tapped. At least that's what I thought.

I walked around feeling down and awful. I wondered why everything had to be such a struggle. I thought every easy acquisition was some sort of trick. I believed, during this entire transition, that I was being crushed, broken down to the barest foundation so that I could rebuild. I  release you, sob story. You were a lie. All this time I thought that I was clinging to my sanity, but it was the armor that I exhausted myself trying to clutch. Now, I am naked. It's uncomfortable. I feel too exposed. I feel a bit embarrassed by how exposed I am. I want to cover myself up, but I know that the effort is useless. I don't have to fight anymore. Good, because I don't want to. I have no expectations. I have no plan. I have no goals. I have no direction. I have no focus. I have no motivation. None of those things served me. I release them all. I release them and accept the one thing I am certain that I do have - this moment. Maybe it can be enough.

The Left Behind

I've held religion in such contempt most of my life. The idea of organizing people to pray together should be beautiful, but it has been defiled so completely that even the word itself makes my skin crawl. I understand now that it isn't fair. My opinion is extremely biased. I've been surrounded by God pushers all my life. I have only met a handful of true devotees, and, looking back, I think they mostly just felt bad for me because I was lost and too far gone to recognize much less accept anything resembling guidance. They were right.

No, I do not plan on joining a church, although now that I'm putting it in words maybe I should. I just want to acknowledge that I was wrong. Just because something powerful has been used to abuse and control people doesn't make it evil. It was the people who were bad, not the power. We humans know so little, but we behave like we know everything. Those who are the most ignorant seem to do the most talking and have the strongest ambition. So many evil people want to control everyone and everything. It's all one big ugly lie. Here I am living in a tiny crack beneath it with most of humanity. The weight of it is crushing us. The weight of an illusion is crushing us.

Prince died. My favorite artist since adolescence. I think maybe Elvis was my favorite before that. The moment I began to feel womanhood breaking through, Prince's music began to make sense. When his work got weird, I was already weird enough to appreciate it. He spoke of the dark places inside us that we try so hard to hide that they secretly control everything we do and the innocence beneath it all that can only be freed by the admission of our guilt and weakness. Even now, many of my favorite Prince tracks are those that do not interest the mainstream. I loved him. No, not the person (I've never met him), but the artist. He was, to me, the embodiment of creative purity. He was uncensored. He was unapologetically human. He was raw. He was beautiful. 

I grieve this loss so deeply that I surprise myself. It's the final knot undone in my unraveling. All of the feelings of loss I've ever had, denied or acknowledged, have come rushing out to the surface and blocked out the sun. The amount of crying that I've done over the past few days is disturbing to me. It hasn't shown any signs of diminishing. On the contrary, I've sobbed so intensely during the last 24 hours that I'm beginning to wonder where this is leading. It has taken away my dance! I have never been without my dance before. It feels so strange.

Now it is insomnia.

Logically I know that burning the candle at both ends isn't doing me any good. I just don't know how to relax. I mean, I am not doing anything but I can't stop thinking long enough to fall asleep. The bills are overwhelming and I'm really trying to figure out how to make the few dollars we have sustain us. Mom's medical insurance payments are in collections. I'm on the verge of having my phone cut off. Although I keep the limited variety of foods she's allowed to eat well stocked, I'm feeding myself instant noodles. It's all I can do to keep the car, which we need more than I need interesting meals. I haven't figured out how to pay the phone yet. Entertainment is out of the question. I also don't know where to find gas money to keep trying to drive for Uber, especially since I haven't figured out my most efficient locale or even how the hell to get enough rest to enable safe driving. It's kind of a mess right now. I am aware that sleep deprivation is not helping at all. I just don't know how to make it stop. 

A very wide right turn

It's difficult for me to believe that the series of events that put me back here has helped me to grow, but the feeling of stagnation is beginning to pass. I don't know what it means. I've watched and rewatched many of the shows that I love, Sherlock being the favorite, and today I thought that I might be time to pick up a book. I'm bored. It's not the same sullen rotting that I've been experiencing; I feel the need to act.

Sustaining two people and paying for my car is challenging on my mother's meager fixed income, and I have been unsuccessful at finding time to get out and earn money driving. The only hours available for such endeavors are the ones that my body prefers to use for sleep. When I haven't rested enough, I cannot tolerate the crochety old tyrant, and the few dollars I made driving nights weren't enough to justify the discomfort. There must be something else. I just need to find it.

I do like how simple my life has become. I just need some socializing and sweat. I'd like to go dancing, but I need money for that. I don't think I need much money, but I do need some. The taxes I owe are certainly going to prevent any leisure travel for quite some time, so I've abandoned that hope indefinitely. I still, however, feel my heart sink when I think of Venus. I need a bike. It's strange to say, but I don't feel like myself without one. Riding a motorcycle is so much a part of me that it hurts to not have one. I don't know how it developed into such an intense attachment after so many years out of the saddle, but now that I have only time I return to the thought repeatedly. It feels like heartbreak. It's more than leaving school, more than being brought back here to fill an obligation. I love bikes. I hear my breath and feel my heartbeat when I'm riding. I constantly analyze my stress level and awareness. I notice patterns in the way traffic moves. I anticipate what the other drivers will do on upcoming turns and twists of the road. I feel my vitals connected to the hum of engine and the pulse of the city. I feel alive. That's the best way that I can explain it. 

It actually wasn't the city that I was escaping, it was my family, specifically my mother. I love this city. I missed it. It was unfair to associate my mother with this beautiful place. This is my home. I have begun to meet compliments with contempt again. She gave me a compliment the other day, and I immediately dismissed it as manipulation. I'm still quite certain that it was, but I'm just beginning to consider that the compliment was still valid. My "driver belly" is shrinking. I suppose it was inevitable when I consider the disappearance of fat food from my diet and no more long hours behind the wheel. I haven't cut down on the smoking at all. No surprises there. I've stopped drinking. That was a pointless pursuit anyway. I only drink for fun and there's no fun to be had. I crave the intimate touch of another human being. I have someone in mind, but no free time, privacy or resources to enable the chase. What a wicked sense of humor fate has. 

what the future holds

I'm awake. I'm exhausted. I'm stressed. I've run out of my favorite shows to watch on Hulu and Netflix, so I'm watching those recommend for me. Currently I am watching Luther. I don't think Idris Elba is attractive. I typically melt when I hear a British accent, but his sounds gutteral and sloppy, like a drunk version of the British accent I covet. I like to watch him walk. His face is just okay in my opinion, but I haven't been too concerned with pretty faces since my own beauty began to fade in the mirror.

Luther's friend Alice is the type of friend that I most value. She will kill for you. She's crazy. Any friend who will kill for you is crazy. That's why you never ask those friends to do it. If possible, you never ask those friends for anything. It's better to just know them socially. However, everyone should have at least one.

I don't ask for help unless I have no other option. Sometimes I just don't ask at all. There's a price to pay for favors. Even when something is given to me without expectation of return or reciprocation, I have guilt and anxiety about the gift. I've learned that nothing is ever free.

I really really really really really wish that I could go gambling right now. I haven't been able to get my fix in over a year. That didn't bother me so much when I was working towards a goal and a dream. Now, in between preparing meals, driving to and from doctor's appointments, dialysis visits and negotiations to get my mom to put clothes on, go to bed, take hey medicine or even to just stop having a tantrum, I peel off my clothes, don my  pj's and watch TV in bed. I try to drink most days. Today I have a big glass of lemon drop on my nightstand. It is room temperature after sitting there for hours. It smells like vodka. I don't smell any lemon at all. It's unappealing. I guess I wouldn't make a very good drunk. I'm not even sure why I still try. I've no desire to recover from any kind of substance abuse. It doesn't look pleasant. I've enough unpleasantness in my life as it is. I hate feeling sick and I often get a hangover before I've even gone to sleep. Then there's the hives. What's the damn point?

I still don't feel suicidal. I know that I'm needed at the moment. Without that purpose for being here, the financial ruin I'm just beginning to suffer would drive me to dangerous behavior. Then again, if I wasn't here I could work and make money to pay these goddamn bills! I wish I could just get drunk or high or something. All this sitting, doing nothing with my hands tied by obligation is driving me fucking crazy.

I didn't enjoy my time in Phoenix. I should have. It was preferable to this. I should've  gone out more and had more sex. I didn't know that the time I spent chasing jobs was a waste. I thought that I was building a nice life. I thought that I was pursuing a dream. I thought so many things, so many things that do not matter now. I wish I had gone to the museum and shows while I was there. I wish that I'd spent more time connecting with the people I liked and singing in the karaoke clubs. I should've gotten more tattoos. I should have gambled. If the money I spent trying to build a life was going to go to waste anyway, I should've gambled more, taken more trips, seen more places. Why even bother with Phoenix or school at all? I should've gone back to London. I liked London. What a fucking waste.

I envy people with religion. They believe that God is going to make things better for them if they are faithful. They pray for relief. When it comes, they give God the credit and praise. When it doesn't come, they pray harder. The hope that God is on his way keeps them going. So, what keeps me going? Where does my hope come from? I don't know. It's there. The damn thing refuses to die. Someday I will be thankful for that. See, there it is again! So annoying. Here's the thing, though. When things are going well, I pray. You know, just in case. I don't know who I pray to. It's weird not knowing who or what to thank. I also share. I figure that blessings don't really "belong" to me, so it makes sense to share them. It's funny because my mom always hated that about me. I love to share with strangers too. Why not? There's no difference between us other than the routes we took to get here.

And so I push on.

wasteland of the ruins that were once my life

Mom still needs 24 hour supervision. I left her for fifteen minutes to go to the post office yesterday (she lost her SSI W2 so I had to mail a request for a duplicate), and she went wandering outside. If not for the steps at the front door, I wouldn't have such anxiety about it. I was angry with her for defying me and leaving the house. She didn't try to call me to see where I was, so she didn't do it because she forgot; She purposely went outside to be rebellious. 

Tomorrow I have an interview for a barback position at a place in Alameda that I once frequented because of its location. When Jeff and I lived nearby, it was our closest bar. I would be hopeful about that if I didn't get such grim news about my taxes today. I don't know how I'll come up with the $706 the preparer is charging me to file them, much less the several thousands I owe despite the prepayments I made last year. The preparer warned me that I will pay dearly for not having heath coverage right now, but without income I don't see how I'm supposed to remedy the situation. I'm ruined. I can't think of it any other way.to look at it. I am ruined.

When I picked mom up from dialysis today, she was weak and weepy. She's declining steadily. They need to move her dialysis access point because it's not safe to keep it where it is, but she's too weak to be put under anesthetic. The estimate of when they'll even consider putting her under is two to three months from now, so whatever they do will have to happen with only local anesthetic. It's likely going to be extremely painful both during and after the procedure. I don't think she should do the home dialysis because she's too damned headstrong to follow directions. I also think that she has a UTI. She barely drinks any water, and we're constantly arguing about it. The advice from the dialysis nurse to limit her beverage intake only made it worse. I'm in way over my head.

So... Murder-suicide? The only other option seems to be bankruptcy and government assistance. Either way, I'll need to surrender my car. It's the last piece of my old comfortable life. There isn't anything else left to give up. 

Do butterflies get trapped in spiderwebs?

There are so many layers to the lies that are constantly being uncovered in my mom's life. If I didn't pity her, I would be angry. I understand so much better why she has no friends. Those who find out or witness anything that she decides she wants to bury get pushed away and out of her life. Now there are none left.

Years ago, she'd planned on retiring with a close friend and they were going to share a home in the Philippines. No one knew what happened to that plan except her and that friend. Recently my sister-in-law ran into the friend on the street, and the friend inquired about mom's health because she was concerned about her following a stroke she suffered during one of their trips to the Philippines. This was maybe fifteen years ago, and no one else knew about it. Mom buried it by ending the friendship. I wondered what happened between them, but mom keeps so many secrets and takes so many things personally that I just dismissed it as another one of her perceived personal attacks. She used to say that the other woman was a witch and practiced voodoo. Now I see that was a tactic to keep me from talking to her and finding out the secret. 

I can't begin to estimate how many people and experiences I wrote off and avoided because of mom's advice. I thought that I was being a good daughter and listened to a lot of what she said, but she was wrong. It wasn't until my thirties that I really started to make my own judgments independent from my mother's opinions. My life hasn't been a huge success since then, but I have seen and done things of which she didn't approve and thoroughly enjoyed the ride. There is no life without risk, and there is no way to calculate every risk. Fear of risk is a crippling mental illness. I was raised on it. I don't think I'll ever be free from it, but knowing that it is there driving many of my subconscious beliefs helps me to move forward through what is often not as scary as I imagined.

I often feel like I am running out of time. These realizations about my beliefs and what has shaped them seem late. I'm 42, and I don't know what's to be done. Every time I stand my ground something falls apart. The safety net I thought I was building is an illusion. I am currently in the midst of financial ruin by my old standards, but I don't feel as suffocated by it as I felt when I was so busy trying to maintain the false sense of security. I'm not sure where my life is headed, and, for the first time, I don't really care. Things that were important to me before were based on values that were instilled in me by a liar. The only ones that mean anything to me now are those that I built myself in spite of my mother. I think she intended me to grow up to be a heartless gold digger or trophy wife. She didn't approve of any man I dated unless he catered to her (with cash gifts and physical labor). She never wanted me to care for anyone more than her. She was jealous of the tenderness I showed friends and insulted my generosity towards the downtrodden. She made me think that an open heart was a weakness, and that, above all else, was my defining personality characteristic. I couldn't change enough to be who she wanted me to be, so I just wanted to be nothing and feel nothing. That didn't work, of course. I tried sex, drugs, alcohol and gambling to numb out all the emotions. 

What's weird is that gambling is the worst of my vices, and just happens to be the only one she and I share. She gave me my first taste of it when I was about thirteen. We were in Reno for one of our "family vacations", and she decided that it was better for me to spend money in the casino than the arcade. I won a $56 jackpot on a nickel slot that first night, and the rest is history. Now, nothing feels as good as hitting a jackpot. Chasing gambling jackpots is what has ruined my finances. The drugs didn't stick. The alcohol didn't either. I wasn't sure why I was able to leave those vices before they got their hooks too far into me, but now I understand. Gambling feels like the old "happy family". The only time the family ever got along was when we were gambling together. I know now that it wasn't real. We were never happy together. We were merely distracted together. I have referred to my gambling habit as the greatest distraction I have, and it is the truth. I'm not sure if I can quit because I don't want to. I want to keep that distraction available to me. This lack of income is getting in the way. 

Take the dream away and just let me be.

It's weird, feeling heartbroken about a thing. It feels a lot like the time that passed right after my father died. I used to hear his voice on the street and turn around to look, only to realize that it wasn't him and remember that he was gone for good. I look at pictures of Venus, my dream bike that I finally had the chance to ride after wishing for her for 15 years (and never really believing that it would happen for real). She's gone. 

The dream of being surrounded by, playing with and fine tuning the machines that always excited and intrigued me is dying. I thought that holding on to the goal of getting back to pursuing it would keep hope alive, but knowing how close I was to realizing it is just making me miserable. My heart sinks every time I think of it, every time I hold my breath to listen to a passing engine. I forgot about it when I entered the work force. I accepted my station. After striking out to chase that dream over the past year and feeling so driven and alive, it's extremely difficult to do what must be done right now. I rediscovered my childhood sweetheart, fell deeply in love with it and now I must give it up again. It's time that I faced the reality that I really am giving it up. There's no way that I can go back to school anytime soon, and there is so much debt that I'll likely need several years if not the rest of my life to dig myself out once I am in a position to look for work again. 

I'm wondering if I should just surrender my car to remove the financial burden of paying the note and insurance. Since I'm basically surviving on the charity of others, I think it should at least be considered. I won't be able to transport mom to and from her dialysis and other appointments, but she could potentially use paratransit or some other disabled transport service. It is not realistic to believe that I can have a car without an income. Another sacrifice. You'd think that it would get easier.

What am I having for lunch (other than bitterness)?

Periodically I must answer the question, "What are you doing?" It's like I'm a child again. The huge difference is that now it can happen every two minutes if mom's having an episode of particularly forgetful dementia. After four or five times, I get annoyed and tell her to stop. That usually buys me a few extra minutes.

I've noticed that when she doesn't try to remember things the episodes are much worse. I'm not sure if she's tired of trying or just doesn't feel like making the effort. She has always been a chronic worrier. She gets herself stuck in these "concerned" loops, when she obsesses over one thing incessantly. Most of the time it's something unimportant, a detail that doesn't affect much. I have begun to tell her that I am not going to continue repeating myself for something inconsequential. If we're talking about her health: medications, diet, appointments, doctor's orders, etc., I will become a parrot. I am sure to try and repeat the same words every time until she gets frustrated. When she starts bitching, I know that she has absorbed what I said. She has a habit of asking similar questions as a manipulation method as well, constantly checking to see if my answer will change and trying to find a lie. I am not very good at determining whether she's repeating herself on purpose or stuck in a loop... not yet. I treat both the same way, so I guess it doesn't really matter. There's no benefit in me lying to her about her health. She may not ever realize that. I have to disengage to save myself. Otherwise I will go nuts.

The other day, on the way home from mom's dialysis, a tiny dog ran out into the street in front of my car. I stopped and got out to take a look. The sweet little thing came up to me and I picked her up. She was so happy to have found help. I asked the nearby landscapers of they knew which house she belonged to, and their guess led me to a trail that ran cold pretty quickly. I took her home with me and mom. I knew that mom wouldn't feel up to a field trip, so I figured I'd keep the pup overnight and take her to the shelter in the morning. Seemed like a simple plan. Well, about an hour after I made her lunch, mom started screaming about the dog and demanding that I set it free back out on the street to fend for itself because it wasn't my responsibility to care for it. She went on like that for at least five minutes while I got myself and the dog ready for the car ride. She refused to come with me, although her doctor requires that she be supervised 24 hours a day. She just kept yelling like someone was trying to do something bad to her and insulting my kindness, the same kindness that brought me here to take care of her. I wanted to tell her that she and the dog were the same and that I would send her to a home because my kindness and compassion was obviously something that she didn't appreciate. I didn't. I took the dog to the shelter. It was chipped, so no worries there.

I didn't want to come back. I wanted to jump on the freeway and just drive. I wanted to keep driving until this place and this life were as far away as possible. I love her because she is my mother. I hate who she is as a person. I know that hate is a strong word, and I am not exaggerating. I hate her. All of the things that I hate about her are the things that I am continuously subjected to. I'm not sure how love, compassion and hate can be so intertwined, but they are there. 

I'm gambling again. Yeah, I'm gonna be in deep shit if I can't find a way to work. The few hours I have free while mom's at dialysis haven't been lucky ones for me. I tried to turn a hundred bucks into a car payment, but I just lost the hundred bucks. For some reason I am not worried about losing my car. I don't really care about much these days. I figure that if I just lose everything it'll be a tidy end to my dreaming. If not for the dreams, I wouldn't feel so broken. Maybe if I let them go, I can just exist and I won't have to feel so unhappy and unfulfilled. Maybe that last little shred of who I think I am is what's holding me back from feeling alive. Maybe the thing that I believe is keeping hope alive is actually extinguishing it.

I am depressed but not suicidal, so that's a step up I guess. No drugs so far. It's not that I don't want any; I just don't have the connections anymore. I don't have any desire to go find them either. The drugs I loved were party favors, and I don't much feel like celebrating anything. There's a ton of booze in the house and no one else here drinks. I've tried drinking; It just makes me more bitter and depressed. I hate being hung over. I'll keep trying simply because it's so accessible and I am in desperate need of some type of escape. I'm smoking a lot. Everyone who smokes has a secret desire to be dead. I read that somewhere. Sometimes I don't want to smoke but I go out anyway because I just need to go outside.

I'm almost certain that this is a penance. That's the only way I can justify subjecting myself to it.