….why paisley???

in essence,, my contribution to the items in that my parents placed in that garbage bag that accompanied me to my grandma’s house that summer,, was me.

Garbage by ~mordere on deviantART

the problem here in lies,, that when i got to grandmas,, when i set about unpacking my little “garbage bag full of freedom”,,  i never unpacked all the little pieces of me i had stuffed into that bag over the years…

i had finally been given a chance to live outside of the constraints of the religion i blamed for my inability to fit in.. i had been given the opportunity i had always dreamed about,, the opportunity to rise above it all,, to be free, to be me…

but instead of doing that,, instead of flourishing in my new found freedom, i set off (subconsciously at first i believe) to alienate myself from everyone that reached out to me.. with in a matter of months,, my grandma had me pack up my little garbage bag,, and sent me home.. my parents who didn’t want me living in their house as it was their feeling that i was setting a bad example for my two younger sisters, were only too relived when a friend from schools parents agreed to let me stay with them.. i never even spent one night  in my parents house before i was on the move again…… it only took me a record breaking 7 months to fuck up that living arrangement,, which resulted in me being sent home, yet again…

this time i had no other options.. neither did my parents.. so i stayed  for a couple of months,, just long enough to get myself pregnant.. when i knew for sure that i was pregnant,, i stopped in at a local runaway shelter to see if they would help me intercede with my parents as i was sure if i told them,, they would want me out of the house again.. i had three months left of high school and really wanted to graduate.. (my mother had told me that i was a quitter,, and i would never finish anything… and i was desperate to prove her wrong..) so together,, the shelter councilor on one phone, and i on another,, called my family.. my mom wouldn’t talk to me,, and my dad said i was no longer welcome to live in his home as i was disrupting their family. so i lived the last three months of high school in a run away shelter.. the shelter had extended my stay as much as possible in order to accommodate my desire to graduate,, but as soon as that was achieved,, i had to go… i essentially became homeless, living day to day in motel rooms,, staying with the parents of one of the kids i had met in the run away shelter,, all the while, working two jobs till i could afford a place to live on my own…

by seventeen i had established a pattern for myself i have found it nearly impossible to break.. i run.. i disappear.. i live somewhere until i fuck it up,, and move on..  to date i have lived in six states.. i have lived in 22 cities,, and i am unable to count the number of actual places i have called home,, but i am betting the numbers run very close to a hundred…

at fourty seven years of age,,  i have been blessed with the intercession of a benefactor,, that has made it possible for me to live out the remainder of my days in one place.. i have a home.. i no longer have to run.. i have against all odds been afforded the opportunity,, once agian to rise above it all,,  and am still carrying pieces of me around in a crumpled old garbage bag…

the time has come for me to unpack…

i have carried the line “…fifteen year olds don’t get garbage bags full of freedom…” around with me since i wrote it.. that line is,, in its own right,, probably the most profound statement i have ever penned.. it speaks volumes about who i am,, and why..  it is the cornerstone on which i went on to build my own very self destructive life.. and it is for that reason,, that i feel it necessary to begin there..

by the time my parents packed up my little “garbage bag full of freedom” and sent me off to live with my grandma,, i had, essentially, been packing little pieces of myself away in that bag for nearly ten years…

the fact that i was raised in a family who’s entire lifestyle revolved around the confines of their chosen religion forced me to be different.. as jehovah’s witnesses, we did not celebrate holidays.. although enrolled in public school, i could not participate in music, art, or extracurricular activities that were centered around birthdays or holidays. my mother had arraigned it in such a way that my teachers would excuse me from the classroom in the event a particular activity was scheduled in which i was “not allowed” to take part.. while the classroom was having birthday cake or singing christmas carols,, i would be sitting in the chairs outside the principals office,, waiting for a messenger from the class to come and tell me it was “safe” to return to the classroom.. the “danger” had passed….

it was there,, in those red leather chairs in the hallway outside the principals office,, that i first remember concocting the lies i found it necessary to tell myself in order to make my life livable…

i do not know why i was so negatively effected by being singled out as different.. i do not know why my mind chose to compensate for those differences by creating elaborate scenarios,, (that i would go on to share with my classmates in hopes that it would remove what i perceived as “the stigma of separateness” between us) in an effort to cover up my embarrassment for being singled out as different.. but i do know, that what started out as a seemingly simple string of stories created by my child’s mind in elementary school,, had developed into a full blown second personality by the time i entered junior high school…

by the age of thirteen,, i was living as two totally separate people.. one as the “obedient child”,,  who acted out her roll to near perfection while in the family home..  while the other,, “the rebel”, sought acceptance by smoking more cigarettes,, doing more drugs,, and entertaining a steady stream of boyfriends,, all of which i accomplished in between classes,, as i was allowed no contact with my “worldly friends” outside of school…

by the time i was fifteen,, and my “cover” was essentially blown,, i had compartmentalized my life in such a way, that simply packing up the pieces of me i would be using in my next incarnation, was as simple as placing them inside the garbage bag along side my worldly possessions.. i had come to allow myself to be defined by my actions.. i had already become a series of “whats”,, and left the precious “who” behind….

in essence,, my contribution to the items that my parents placed in the garbage bag that accompanied me to my grandma’s house that summer,, was me.

to be continued…

photo:

http://pokoa.deviantart.com/art/Junk-Girl-41057051

i copied this “secret” from the 7/27/2008 installment of post secret. any one who is not familiar with post secret is missing out on what, in my humble opinion, is not only one of the finest “community art projects” on the web,, but probably one of the most intimate site concepts i have ever come across.. think about it.. it spotlights our vulnerabilities.. it humanizes our fears.. it showcases our frailties,, and does so,, in our own words… rarely does a week go by that one of the “secrets” on there doesn’t say something to me,, that even i don’t want to hear….

we accept the love we think we deserve…

before i begin,, i would like to make it perfectly clear that the personal insights i am about to share with you will contain the actions and or reactions of others.. however,  the purpose of this expose,, is not in any way to lay blame or point fingers.. it is my intention to examine the end result- how it affected me,, and what action i took,, or did not take as a result of said situation..

each and every “player” in the story of my life has done the very best they could,, with what they have been given.. i am now, and always have been, the sole choreographer of my life.. i accept total and complete responsibility for each and every one of my own actions,, and it is not my desire to dissect anyone else’s actions or motivations.. as i am accountable for no one but myself.

with that said….

some of you might recall a poem i posted a couple of months ago  called “freedom”..  i have re-posted it today on just paisley… as it is the reference point for the first and probably most important area of my recent awakening..

i have carried the line “…fifteen year olds don’t get garbage bags full of freedom…” around with me since i wrote it.. that line is,,  in its own right,, probably the most profound statement i have ever penned.. it speaks volumes about who i am,, and why..  it is the cornerstone on which i went on to build my own very self destructive life.. and it is for that reason,, that i feel it necessary to begin there..

to be continued….

“Finding Me” by ~Tanakin on deviantART

nearly two years ago,, when i started this blog, it was my intention to create a personal blog.. a confessional,, if you will,, in which i would attempt to lay bare the culmination of all that i have been,, in hopes that organizing my thoughts enough to write about them would allow me the introspection needed to make some sense out of who i have been,, and maybe even shed some light on who i may become…

as many of you who have been with me for any length of time will remember,  just about a year ago, i found i had “another voice”.. a poetic voice.. and ever since i began exercising that voice,, i have found myself distracted by the delicacy that is,, the art of writing..

in fact,, it was that poetic voice that endeared me to many of you.. you encouraged me with your kind words to continue to transform my life experience into poems that you could feel,  and maybe even find a piece of yourself in… in being human,, i fed on that praise… i became hungry for the instant gratification that accompanied your acceptance.. and if the truth be told,, as a result,, i even began to fancy myself a poet….

while i am ever so proud of some of the pieces i have written as a result of having found my poetic voice,, it has become evident that using that voice,, and only that voice,, has taken me as far as it is able into this journey into self.  currently,, i am  feeling the need to delve deeper…

this last week or so,, i have refrained from posting.. mainly because the thoughts i have been processing have no poetic form.. they are too intricate to be expressed in a series succinct phrases,, too complicated to be pared back to the skeletal poetic form…  and yet, i feel equally as important to the creative process of living, as any poem i have ever written…

it is for that reason that i have decided that,, for the time being, i am going to revert…why paisley??? back to her original purpose,,  and use my writing here to bring some semblance of order to the lessons i have learned about myself over the course of the last year or so.. and in so doing, i am hoping they may shed some light on where i might need to go from here…

this does not mean i will not be writing poetry anymore,, it just means that for the time being,, unless it is directly related to my personal journey, it will be posted on my creative writing blog, just paisley…. as was my original intention when i added that venue…

momentarily, my focus will not be on churning out poetry in effort to fulfill prompts or fill pages,, but rather,, i am hoping that freeing myself from such constraints will allow me to take my time, and really nurture a piece before publishing it…

with that said,, i would like to thank you one and all for your continued readership, friendship, praise, and creative critisism,, as well as invite you to accompany me as i journey into yet another incarnation of … why paisley???

i have been working on the same poem since two o’clock this morning,, and since i cannot seem to bring it to fruition, i decided to offer you this little window into my world instead…

last night, for the first time in two years, my semi-feral cat, whom has earned the name “meanboy”,, many times over,, made his way to the front of my house.. he lives down the yard, in uncle alvin’s cabin and up until now has never come over here, as the dogs were not raised with cats,, and will chase him, trap him somewhere,, and just generally make his life hell….

for what ever reason, he was just outside my window at two in the morning,, meowing loudly, so i smuggled him out some food,, not once but twice,, to see if i couldn’t appease him and in so doing, stifle his yowls…

eventually, dawn came and the dogs went out.. as i knew she would,, moo moo trapped him in the woodshed, and i had to lasso her and drag her back in the house till i could coax “meanboy” out and get him to follow me to his house on the other side of the yard…

soon after i had him safely returned to his spacious abode,, i noticed that the little bird nest on the power box,, that just yesterday had been home to two, one week old baby brown birds,, had been destroyed,, and the babies were no where to be found…

i knew when i saw the nest there,, that it wasn’t very bright on the mama birds part to build it there,, as this is a wild area, and there are not only cats, but rats, raccoons, the occasional mountain lion, and a resident hawk all of which would delight in stealing her babies and destroying her nest…

somehow,, even tho i knew it could happen, and i know it was a hard lesson that had to be learned,, none of that makes it any easier to accept that those helpless week old babies never made it out of the nest,, and somewhere close by,, there is a little brown mama bird,, nursing what is left of her broken heart…..

photo:

http://scott67.deviantart.com/art/little-brown-bird-45905553

Silent by ~Bolshevixen on deviantART

just wanted to let you know, i am taking a breather… my muse is quiet, and i am not of a mind to force her.. she is so kind when she chooses to create, i believe she has earned a day or two of silence if that is what she wants…

i will be back wednesday,, as i will have the time i need then to coax her out into the open.. till then….

as you may or may not know, depending on how long you have followed my blog, i have given birth to three children over the course of my life.. the first, at 18, was given up for adoption at birth..

however the second and third, were born to me in my short marriage to their father.. when we divorced, i never questioned my ex-husbands commitment to being a much better father than i would ever be a mother, and thus we jointly agreed that he would have sole custody of them..  i moved out of the family home, and i was granted visitation rights and ordered to pay child support.. without getting into too many gory details, i defaulted on both my scheduled visitations and my child support obligations..

not long after the divorce,,  i met and fell head over heals in love with david, and any monies i made and all of my time and energy was funneled directly into that very broken relationship. in no time at all, i had abandoned my children completely…

in the state of ohio, you can lose all legal rights to your children, if you are in arrears of your child support obligation for a period in excess of one year..   not long after our divorce,  my ex-husband remarried, and i fell into the “dead beat parent” category.. soon afterward,  my children were adopted by his second wife. she brought one child to the marriage, and they went on to have two more.. all in all,, they provided a wonderful home and family for my children… and for that i remain eternally grateful to both of them…

i mention all this only as a source of back story,, as recently, my daughter from that marriage, has contacted my sisters eldest daughter, and they are rekindling a bit of a relationship. my sisters daughter has forwarded me pictures of my daughter and my son.. they are grown now, 24 and 23 respectively… i am humbled and amazed…

i have asked my sister to ask her daughter to ask my daughter (who in turn i am hoping will extend the invitation to her brother) if she would have any interest in corresponding with me via email.. i am scared to death..  on one hand, i am afraid she will choose not to,, and on the other,, i am equally as afraid she might want to talk to me,, as i know i have no explanation for what i did other than blatant selfishness..

i grew up never having seen my own birth father,, so i know what it feels like to wonder who you really are..  i have tried on several occasions to locate my own birth father, and come up empty every time.. i feel no animosity toward him,, i don’t care why he left, and i do not in any way feel he owes me an explanation.. i would just like to know who he is,, where he is,, what he looks like,, as i feel it may give me clues as to who i am….

i guess i am just hoping beyond hope that my own children feel similar.. i am hoping that they don’t hate me.. i am hoping that at this point in their lives as young adults they share my curiosity,, and might be willing to explore it, even if we never get past the email phase…

and i guess most of all,,  i hope that if they do choose to get to know me,, they might even be glad they did…

photo:

http://nice2mice.deviantart.com/art/Broken-Homes-41248498

written in response to brian’s rockin’ chair writers prompt

i tried to update wordpress on just paisley… and have lost my administration panel… which means,, i cannot post on that blog… i am so over all of the techy BS that is going on with my blogs lately, i am thinking i will narrow it all down to this one,, and just post here… i can still retrieve the writing i have done on just paisley…., and i am going to transfer it to a private blog, from which i hope to narrow it all down,, and be able to put a poetry book together someday…

so for now,, i will be in the process of cleaning up yet another techy disaster,, and then i will be back to posting here, here, and only here…. maybe i will be better off with just one blog to screw up…..

UPDATE:

thanks to the tech guys at my server midphase, i have been restored,, and just paisley…. is back,, there are some font problems on previously published posts, but i am hoping they will continue to help me iron them out…..

time for a little piece of flash……

Girl Selling Smoothie Samples by ~NicolCaplin on deviantART

squinting in the noonday sun,, he tipped his head back and allowed the bitter cure to pour down his open throat. the built in gag mechanism, no longer activated by the presence of the distilled spirit, lay dormant as he filled his empty belly and subsequently his blood stream with the only source of warmth over which he currently had any form of control..

as a sea of chemical complacency set him adrift,, he put a safe distance between himself and the fetid core of his existence..

no longer lost and alone,, he surrounded himself with whispers of what might have been…

a reprise

it came upon me, as a thief
silently, stealthily… stealing
my beauty,, my passion,, my dreams,, my desires…
i was swept up from behind,
now i’m caught
i am held fast,,
i am struggling
but the feather like fingers have taken hold..
slowly entwining themselves around my very soul…
coiling,, choking me from within…

i stand motionless… waiting
afraid any movement.. may propel me forward
when all i seek,,
is to go back…
as if i no longer have any control
as if the fates have finally won
and i have lost…
all but what i see…

i close my eyes,, my mind,, my heart
i hide in the shadows
of my own thoughts
as i feel that is all that remains…
of that which i cannot see….
anymore…
i dream of me then,, sometimes
before i was lost
before time,, had its way…
before i was introduced
to the art of decay…

photo:

http://www.toddmessegeephoto.com/FineArtFolder/The%20thief%20who.jpg