June 29, 2012

It's all pretty good for me today

Citraliprams at 40, there is a load of light outside and inside my flat, my weed works and I have a 4 year old and a wii fit.  It's all pretty ace.  There's also loads of people unhappy about the corruption in the banks, government, press and police too.  Its barely scratching the surface of course but still the arrogance that people in power have is being challenged and their decisions scrutinised.  It makes me feel a bit more comfortable.  It feels a very long time since hope was watching the light grow above the hills or through my bedroom window wondering if daybreak would bring and end to that nights activities.  Wondering if it would be worth looking at then figuring out who my assailants were and if they were likely to leave at dawn or not.  Preparing for whatever was going to happen next could make a lot of difference but mistakes were disastrous.  I came round once, back to my flesh, my room, my life and found that evening's gentleman caller was still there, waiting for me. 

That's nursery finished for the young man, he's had his first short back and sides and he has just started, with some bribery and lots of encouragement, to put is pjs on and take them off again by himself.  He's so big and with the short hair I have flinched a couple of times at his blatant boyishness.  Especially when he wants 18 night night kisses.  We've been getting on really well but hes had a couple of nightmares.  All the talk of death and going to school I imagine.  Every parent worries I guess but with me and him its his utter and total lack of wariness around any kind of people.  Amazing as it is that a child of mine could be so oblivious of stranger dangers I'm scared he'll wont know how to deal with bullies.  A couple of times I've seen him have a strange attraction to kids that were acting up, putting himself repeatedly in the firing line.  There was one kid at his other nursery he talked about for ages, the little turd pushed my wee man around.  I didn't like it.  I've worried that wee dude acting funny around bad boys had something to do with whatever did or didn't happen that New Year with my nephew's mate.  I guess all I can do is keep an eye on it and chat about him avoiding the naughty kids and that if they hurt him to be careful because they could do it again.  He is a big clever lad with a mum who loves and supports him, I'm sure he'll be fine.

Been writing.  Central character, plot twists, perspective that sort of stuff.  Quite excited.  Back into the hinterland tomorrow though, to see how my sister's drinking, mum's neurosis and Gran's first weeks without her husband of 64 years is all getting along.  What fun.  Football on Sunday though, pizza and rioja.  Should help.

June 25, 2012

A good lass.

And she is but it feels like part of me dies whenever she asks for a hug.  I'm sure it would help if I told her this but I'm too busy dissociating.

But as a friend once said 'A friend with weed is better'.  Luscious addictive black x.  I just wish we could just relax and go with it but were both all rigid with PTSD and self consciousness.  Add sexual tension and I start to feel pretty fucking overwhelmed by the old feelings of trying to act normal with someone directly after they had raped and/or tortured me.  Grim.

The deaths in the family have made me feel much more secure that's things have changed enough.  Its great to have a place to say that.  My mum and Gran said they are crying all the time.  Alkysis is still drinking.  The whole going to watch her dad die and then come home to a messed up house, two hungry preschoolers and a drunken daughter makes it hard to hate my mother with the same semi repressed gusto.  I'm glad I'm not her.  Not too likly I will spending much time at side of my dad's death bed.  Quick 'See ya' will do me. 


June 20, 2012

Lazy Day

Goodnight Grandad,

I have have no idea of the sort of man you really were.  After the initial glimpses and sense of journeys with you I have questioned again my assumption of you as a cult member.  You used to talk about my Gran in a sad way.  There was things you wanted to do but couldn't because she wouldn't allow it.  You wanted me to not have to worry about getting my dress dirty, you ignored the signs and my rigid following of signs by swinging high in the play park.  I was terrified when a women calm walking.  I thought she might be undercover police, she was a friend of yours u chatted for a while.  You seemed really happy that day.  You hated my laziness but I was so drained the older I got and couldn't sleep well even when left alone.  Your role in it all?  You've got me there I have no idea.  There a fantasy, there always is.  A need of mine being accepted over the phone, the right words at the right time.  My oldest sister teaching me how to replace hell with something less unpleasant.
'Just imagine what you would need to feel better and pretend that its happening.  But I watched and told her after she told me that what she wanted right was her Grandad to phone and tell her everything was going to be okay that it wasn't just a dream.  She had put her head down to flicker the phone had rung and she had definitely answered it and spoken to someone she called 'Grandad'.  It didn't work as well when I tried.  He didn't sound anything like Grandad who it was very hard to have a conversation with anyway because he was so quiet.  Even if it was Grandad and he wasn't a sicko, things were definitely not going to be okay.  She said that if someone so good could love us that much then none of it matter.  I doubted that very much but it was natural for me not to be very family minded.  I was being told they weren't my real family, I still hope there is no DNA match.  That the same blood that ran in people veins was said to be so important when it was treated so carelessly;  Splashed, spilt and thrown around, poisoned and contaminated confused me.  The day after your funeral I used your old shears to tidy up the hedge around your daughter's garden until my hands shook and ached.

And ***

31 years of Scottish eating and drinking habits caught up with you suddenly when you pushed your weakened heart into marathon training.  Take change slowly when possible, I would of told you this if we still talked.  Your love for me took you again and again to places you were not built to manage like I was.  You have a family that got involved with you, knew you.  But we were teenagers surrounded by extreme sexual disinhibtiion and torture.  It was bound to happen sometime.  Afterwards I hated you like all the other rapists and you loved me as wonderful husband would.  The tears, the hitting out and the shame passed when we toasted our Gran's liberation from mental and physical decay.  Your sister smiled at me and I hugged her after cremating you much like we did then.  I remember helping your dad to garden and talking to him, his hug during the line up was the realist thing I have felt in a long time.

My green lanky bairn and half of her sister,

My love.  You make music like music and living and art.  Our bond is maternal.

June 05, 2012

Mortality, healing and the difficulties for RA survivors to find a good shrink.

Saw my grandad twice over the long weekend.  He said something about someone called Alan and 'I couldnae stand up to them'.  I couldnae help wondering if related to the sense I've started having about going on trips with my Grandad when I was very little, 2ish say, a good bit before we moved to Glen.  There was arguments about it. Incest glimpses, my legs are bended up towards my face, he is on top.  My dad was an obvious bastard but Grandad not so.  I have the usual sense of disbelief when the images and feelings are not ones I have already become accustomed to.

My cousin's funeral on Monday.  The doctors have been saying my grandad doesn't have long for years.  I never believed it before but today I lent over his devastatingly frail and angular frame and tried to lift him up against his pillows I knew something big had changed.  Thankfully a nurse saw this and they sorted him out.  Outside in the corner a woman kept crying and arguing with the nurses because they didn't want her to go back to bed.  My gran was heartbroken, of course but she was distracted by lusting over the cake that the staff were eating as they walked past the side room door.  There was bunting and a table all set out all bonnie in the day room for the jubilee, I could hear the singing from a telly.  God Save The Queen sung with gusto by thousands in the background as my gran talked in support of voluntary euthanasia; They wouldn't let a dog lie like this'.  His eye opened briefly in a smile and he turned his head when my wee man announced his arrival.  I gave my gran a hug when we dropped her of home, she looked glad I was around.

Back from the beach and the chipper I felt lost, like crying but without any tears, sobbing or noise.  Thankfully though, wee man's digestive system made the decision to stop playing the computer after days of too much crisps and ice cream was made for him as was my ambivalence I had about showering him.  Moisturiser, hair brushed, two stories, 12 kisses and 12 hugs.  He was asleep by half past six.  Under the duvet, with his head on a pillow, at the right end of the bed.  I'm beginning get comfortable with loving him.  The other day he made me smile in a way that made me feel like I was using a cheek muscle that had not be used in a long time.  I'm getting more comfortable with lots of things.

Shame about the shrink though.  We agreed I needed something more regular.  We can't get into relaxation or regression every now and again.  I need something every week, something during school hours. When we shook hands goodbye I squeezed his hand.  He refused to take all the money and gave me a tenner back, told me to go buy some summer reading.  On the way out I told him he worked too much, he agreed.  Before the second hand bookshop I had a pint in the chairs and table outside the nearby Irish themed bar on a busy street.   Smiling for a while, lapping up big city people watching with the Guinness.  I knew by the time I'd gotten off the bus that this was going to be the last time I did this and relished every second of it all.  Books bought I headed down the road to the old 'ood.  Wandering into all the posh food shops that I usually felt too inferior to even glance into when I lived there.  I was looking for a panini.

Eventually I got a tuna and salad roll from a wee ice cream place that had pictures of bikers and motorbikes lining the street outside an the wall.  It was fresh, overfilled and pretty fine once I picked out most of the white onion.  Washing it down  with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon that cost the same as what I usually spent on a bottle. It was sunny.  I raised my face to the sun, drank more wine, chatted; familiar Lis Mor crowd of cool adults and male letches than often owned or had owed something nearby.  I read some Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency.  Had a Morgans and Lemonade, much cheaper.  The was shining still all the bus ride home through tree lined roads and bunting strewn Dunfermline.  By the time I got back to my mum and sister's with chips and barbecue sauce the kids where all sleeping and the wine was open.

It takes a lot from all that family stuff but at least now it gives something worthwhile back.  It is worth it, surviving.   Espically when you grow your own.