About a year or two before my grandmother passed away, my aunt began hosting the annual fun-fest.  I say this with tongue-in-cheek as things began changing when my grandmother got sick and could no longer host the family events.  Bitterness set in and that brought lots of bickering.  Since I was a young teen, I was not privy to most of the issues at hand.  One constant was those who presumed they did most of the work were angry that others were partaking without even offering to lend a hand.  Funny, as a child I recall it was Grandmaw who did most of the work, but I do not remember her ever complaining as she enjoyed the time with her family.

I came to dread the holidays and spending time with the family, especially after my grandmother passed.  It seemed the holidays were the appropriate time to bash each other and hurl the worst insults that could be found.  I thought holidays were supposed to bring families together and, especially Thanksgiving Day, finding all the reasons to be thankful.  I must have had a grave misconception in this area.

The happiest Thanksgiving I recall following my grandmothers death was the year my long-time friend Denise invited me to spend it with her and her family.  I was probably about 19 at the time and expected to feel very claustrophobic as she comes from a rather large family.  At the most, growing up, we had about two dozen coming and going from my grandparents home.  With Denise’s parents, siblings, their spouses and children alone they had over two dozen.  Then you sprinkle in an odd uncle and aunt or two.  That is a lot of people.

Denise knew how miserable I was contemplating another Thanksgiving dinner with my family and being the main source of abusive entertainment for everyone.  Therefore, she suggested with an insistent tone that I come to her parents house and spend the day with them.  I knew her family quite well and admired them for their closeness and love for each other so I graciously accepted the invitation.

I walked up the block to the Fulton abode and almost before I could knock on the door I was greeted heartily by a couple of the children.  Everyone else filtered in and made me feel welcome.  One thing I really enjoyed was they treated me, not like a guest, but as they treated each other, like family.  There was no difference with any other time I had been to their home, except ALL of them were there at one time.

Dinner was very animated with all the lively conversation.  It was filled with respect for each other and very comfortable as if they had been acting this way all their lives.  I knew they had, because this is how they behaved any other time of year when I would have the honor of being within the warmth of this home.  Mr. Arness (my name for Denise’s dad due to a photo of him resembling James Arness the actor) reminded me a lot of my grandfather, except he was more vocal than my grandfather.

After the feasting came the festing.  Christmas music was put on and everyone just had fun with each other.  I was sitting there watching the whirlwind of excitement and entertainment going on around me and comparing it to my own family.  Denise came over and grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet to begin dancing to the upbeat holiday music swelling the air with the lingering aromas of turkey and pie.

As tears fill my eyes remembering times long since committed to the archival parts of my brain, I ponder my more recent Thanksgivings.  I have not had a full thanksgiving dinner since 2005, the last time since being sick that I was still able to cook it.  As this dragon makes life more and more difficult for me, I spend most of my time resting and doing little things.  I also try to use it to get some writing done as I know I will not be receiving IMs or anything from anyone since the majority of my US friends (who all live in my computer) will be with their families and loved ones.

For this Thanksgiving, provide your kin with reasons to be thankful, not regret.  I bid all y’all a wonderful time with your loved ones giving thanks for each other and letting them know you are grateful for them being in your life.

The Damsel Fights Back

The Damsel And The Dragon

On the heels of the Queen’s death and the conjoinment of Prince CuChulainn, Princess Emer and Duchess Ryanne, who were now ruling over of the kingdom, came an influx of new faces migrating to the Islands that are called Lost and blending into the fabric of the kingdom deeply enriching the Flanagan Clan.  One of these fresh faces belonged to a comely damsel.  She walked into Flanagan’s Pub one cold winter evening to attend a festive gathering and to satisfy her curiosity about the Clan and other people in the kingdom.

Putting on a name tag that simply read “Parker” she returned greetings with all the confidence and stability of a newborn kitten.  Parker was careful not to make eye contact with any one, but remained on the sidelines watching in wonder and awe.  The crowd was dense and she knew no one in the room.  Slowly she meandered around the perimeter of the amazing ornately plain room.  She studied with care the textures and moldings that would make this ballroom come alive even if no one was present.

Stepping through a side door the damsel had her breath taken away.  She was in the original part of the pub and found herself reaching out and touching the smallest details with tender fingertips.  Studying the richness of every crease and crevice, Parker lost all track of time.  She allowed the music wafting in from the outer ballroom to lull her further into a mesmerizing trance that propelled her into the speculation of the history of the fine craftsmanship enveloping her.  While her fingers ran along the ivory keys of the piano she did not realize her solitude had ended.

As she caressed the handiwork all around her, Parker was unaware of eyes studying her.  She jumped at the greeting bestowed from behind.  Turning toward the door, Parker was face-to-face with Prince CuChulainn and returned his greeting apologizing if she had entered a room not open to the public.  The prince assured her that all rooms were opened for exploration.  He went on to apologize for interrupting her reverie but explained that he was not given to crowds and much preferred smaller gatherings.

The pair chatted for a while then the prince went into a detailed history of the pub.  Lovingly he explained how the queen had desired such a place for the Clan and all those in the kingdom to come together.  Parker drank in every historical notation accounting the construction and dedication of the pub, its ballrooms and gardens.  She did not want to miss one iota.  The more the prince talked the deeper the damsel drifted into the manifestations that are the Flanagan Clan.  In the same reality the deeper the prince took Parker’s thoughts into his recitations, the further she went from the nightmare in her own world.

One cold winter night in the warmth of a cozy pub, a friendship was formed between two unlikely souls.  Parker and the prince would spend hours together talking and sharing their thoughts and their joys.  Enthusiastically the pair explored various parts of the kingdom and enjoyed the richness and beauty therein.  But, always close in the damsel’s conscience was the battle looming that she fought every day.  Wanting to enjoy every blissful moment, the damsel knew she could not reveal to anyone in the kingdom (least of all the prince) that a dragon had come to claim her and threw her into a vicious battle that she fought alone in her own world.

Years before, without warning, Galar entered the damsel’s life.  At first she did not think the dragon powerful and venomous.  Time proved her wrong.  However, knowing his strength would not have given Parker any foothold to banish him from her life for good.  In the beginning Parker did not know what she was fighting and knew even less about how to fight dragons.  Instead of fighting, the fair damsel gave up and ran away looking to find replacements for all that Galar had stolen from her.  In her apparent flight from reality, Parker found herself continually on the Islands that are called Lost and enjoying the companionship of a prince.

Day after day the sweet damsel entered what she called her fairytale life.  It was there that she could be herself again, be whole.  In her fairytale life she could run and dance and even spread her arms to fly.  There, Parker could control her own life and not be concerned with Galar looming behind rocks or lurking in caves waiting for a chance to spring, talons extended and deliver more crippling blows to her already fragile body.

In the fairytale land of the Islands that are called Lost, Galar dared not enter, but the moment Parker would step out of the fantasy, away from the beauty of the land and the companionship of her princely friend, Galar was waiting.  His hot breath steaming through flared nostrils would cause her head to spin.  Galar is a sneaky dragon and does not fight fair.  He has a way of leaving his prey alone and just watching, waiting for just the moment that the intended victim would feel confident that he was finally gone and would plague them no more.  Then at just the perfect moment Galar would extend his talons and use the full force of his mighty arm to knock the victim off their feet and leave the poor soul laying there writhing in pain.

One day, in the early spring of friendships blossom, a messenger arrived while Parker and CuChulainn were exploring gardens on the far side of the kingdom.  Parker watched helplessly as news delivered to the prince that a knight, who was closer to him than a brother, had been murdered by a dragon.  It was speculated that this dragon was of the same nest as the one which claimed the queen and another knight who was a boyhood friend of the prince.  In his grief the prince ran off for the palace leaving the damsel to stand shivering with worry.

Parker return to her home and watched the day the prince rode off on his steed to hunt down the dragon which dared to enter the kingdom and take the life of one so loyal as Sir Jeff.  Parker waved as CuChulainn rode by, but still buried in his grief the prince did not see his friend.  In her heart of hearts, Parker knew she would never again spend time with the one who had given her many hours of relief from Galar.  Demurely patting away the tears rolling down her cheeks with her lace handkerchief, she slowly turned and walked back into her home.  Her reality.  Her own personal battleground.

Deep concern for the prince allowed Galar another entrance into Parker’s world.  She was already weakened from previous battles with her fierce enemy.  Now, her heart broken, Galar wasted no time hurling his fiery darts in just the right places to send Parker crumbling to the ground.  There was no one there to catch Parker as she fell and no one to help her fight this dragon she did not understand.  Now, she no longer had any one to help her escape his relentless torment even for the briefest of time.

One brisk autumn day, lying in a sea of her own tears, Parker found herself curled up like a kitten shivering in pain and fear.  Slowly, she pulled herself up.  For the moment Galar did not appear to be around.  Tattered and scarred, the once fair damsel knew in fractured clarity that she needed to fight back.  After bathing, Parker put on fresh clothes and went in search of a friend.  Stepping back into her fairytale world she reacquainted herself with others she had enjoyed the company of in time long since reverted to memory.  Spending time in her fairytale land with acquaintances she felt comfort that she hadn’t felt since her time with the prince.  Once again, Parker had found an escape for brief interludes from Galar’s ferocious attacks.

Slowly, the damsel regained the resilience she knew before Galar entered her life and wreaked havoc.  As she felt surer of her footing she also found herself trusting.  She began to share information of her battles with those who had taken her in as family and friend.  Neither the Flanagan Clan nor the royals had fully accepted her, save the prince alone.  She was a commoner and not a clansman therefore, they could never have fully accepted her.  However, in a quaint little village known as the Bee Hive Township, there were those who offered hands to hold and arms to lean on whenever Parker was weary from her battles’ rage.

Seven souls welcomed Parker into their world and in return she began to trust their strength and learned to use it during the ensuing skirmishes with Galar.  Even the times that Galar would have the upper hand, Parker knew she was not alone.  There were seven angels who were each in their own way, there to catch her or to help her tend her wounds.  Over time, in the fortitude of a few, Parker found herself winning the battles more and more.  Galar turned his attention from the damsel with the help of a gentle wizard who truly knew how to fend him off.

Parker would return to the Islands that are called Lost from time to time and continued to be concerned for the prince.  However, CuChulainn faced his own dragon and the sweet damsel held vigil against hers.  The season’s changed as they always do, but Parker could now stand in both her fairytale world and her real world with trust in her heart with the weapons of friendship and love to wield whenever Galar came to prey.  Deep within the damsel knew this dragon would never go away.  But then again, neither will friendships found so true.

June 19, 2009

© DL Bach

The Damsel Is Victorious

**DISCLAIMER – The characters in this story are people in Second Life.  I am not, in any way, attempting to mock or do harm to any deities.  The people chose their own names and I just wrote my story.

I spent last night in and out of sleep.  When I was out of sleep I was thinking about everything that still has to be done.  I woke up thinking about this post.

There are those who will wonder why I didn’t come to them with all of this.  Well, how could I bring you my tears when you didn’t want to share in my laughter?  In my life I have had one thing in my heart that I have striven to bring forth to the world in my meager words and that is peace through understanding and acceptance.  The world has not listened.  My heart is not to be heard.  The world is not ready to hear what is in my heart, for it would rather hold onto its anger and hatred.

Perhaps in my next life, the world will be ready to hear what is in my heart.  I believe that the intent of the heart follows you into your next life, so perhaps I have been trying to get the world to hear my heart for generations.  Not this life, but hopefully the next.  If you desire to me honor after I am gone, then remember the message of my heart and learn to accept others no matter the differences and understand that everyone is a human being above all else.

True peace will come when people move beyond the fears of what is different and accept everyone as individual human beings without the anger and hatred that continues to bind this world through ignorance.

Recently I sent an e-mail to a bunch of friends which included links to apps for things like tracking your finances to finding a clean restroom near your location.  I received a reply back from one of those friends saying her phone was dumb but it would be worth getting a smartphone just for the restroom app.  She was joking, but it caused me to think about these so-called smartphones and the applications that are available.

As a writer, I am always looking for things that can be beneficial to me and my writer friends.  You know how it is, the latest high-tech gadgets that can help us fill the blank page with our wit and wisdom.  My two favorites are my electronic thesaurus and digital voice recorder (DVR).  However, I want to look at smartphone apps here.  And guess what?  There are apps for that.  I have plugged in various words and phrases to iTunes Store, Blackberry App World and Smartphone.net.  I will include links for some of the apps I mention at the end.  Since I do not have a smartphone nor an iPod Touch, I cannot comment on the accuracy or functionality of any of these apps.  Some of them are free while others seem to be a bit much considering price comparisons between the three sites.

When I searched the Blackberry App World for “writer” and “writing” I found mostly eBooks.  Very few tools to help writers.  They do have the standard thesaurus’ and dictionaries to help find just the right words.  I did find one eBook for getting started as a freelance writer.  For that, if you are able to read a book on your Blackberry, I suggest you try it out.  Smartphone.net and iTunes seemed to have an abundance of apps for using your own handwriting in e-mails.  This appears to be a tool to allow you to use a stylus to write your e-mail.  If you are like me this is NOT a good idea.  It is far more difficult to write on a smartphone or even a laptop (my laptop has a built in function for writing into documents like that) than on a piece of paper; and if you already have bad handwriting, it will be much worse.  However, it can be fun.

Each of the three sites did have a few apps for digital voice recording.  I use my DVR when I am driving or where I can’t readily get to pen and paper (even in bed) to record the thoughts I have and then return to them later.  You can download these voice files onto your computer and transcribe after.  This could be a handy tool for journalists and writers who interview people for various assignments and books.  Instead of carrying your DVR and your phone and juggling (I sometimes forget which pocket each is in in my briefcase) you can have only one instrument to manage

In both iTunes and Smartphone.net I also found apps for helping you write other languages.  While some were your standard English translation dictionaries, but others were apps to actually help you learn to write other languages such as Hebrew and Chinese.  There were also journal apps to help you keep a diary or journal for your personal thoughts and ideas.  Some of the most intriguing apps I found for writers were on iTunes.  On my laptop (aka: DL’s Brain) I have a program called Write It Now Novel Writing software.  I love this program as it helps you organize your thoughts, characters and storyline.  The apps My Writing Nook , Writing Help,  and Writing Toolkit from iTunes seem to be similar to this.

I also found apps to help people write poetry, music and articles.  You can even get an app to help with persistent writer’s block.  Now we have no excuses as writer’s anymore for not being able to practice our skills where ever we are.  Unless you neglect to recharge your phone of course.  But I am the only one in the world who does that.  Find the app or apps that fit you and download them today.  Half the fun will be playing with the new toys and getting to know them and understand them.  Then you can let them help you produce magnificent works of art.

Final disclaimer, no apps were used nor were any smartphones harmed in the writing of this post.  And since there are no apps for showing affection, remember to hug someone and tell them how much you care about them.

Smartphone.net – Writing ~ http://www.smartphone.net/en/usd/search.html?order=18&qry=writing&=Search+now&cat=0&advs_language=8&rating_start=-1

Blackberry App World – http://appworld.blackberry.com/webstore/

iPhone – http://www.apple.com/iphone/apps-for-iphone/

My Writing Nook – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/my-writing-nook/id332503036?mt=8#ls=1

Writing Toolkit – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/writing-toolkit/id345490233?mt=8#ls=1

Writing Help – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/writing-help/id329400915?mt=8#ls=1

Basics Of Song Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/iguides-basics-song-writing/id346212463?mt=8#ls=1

Writer’s Block Buster – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/writers-block-buster/id329389227?mt=8#ls=1

Professional Woman: Writing Assistant – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/professional-woman-writing/id329411570?mt=8#ls=1

Music Composer – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/music-composer/id302221931?mt=8#ls=1

Article Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/article-writing/id328018783?mt=8#ls=1

Let’s Write Poetry – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/lets-write-poetry/id324539422?mt=8#ls=1

I Need A Muse – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/i-need-a-muse/id360166218?mt=8#ls=1

Short Story Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/short-story-writing-a-practical/id367761127?mt=8#ls=1

Love Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/love-writing/id362088247?mt=8#ls=1

Oxford American Thesaurus – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/oxford-american-thesaurus/id348773557?mt=8#ls=1

Winston Churchill once said, “Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”  I have always liked this quote until I read an update but cannot recall who said it.  This has become my favorite quote; “Those who fail to learn history are doomed to repeat it.  Those who fail to learn history properly are just doomed.”  I will not get started on all the ways that we as American citizens have distorted history to suit our own desires.  That is not what this is about.  Here we will remember.

After the Civil War ended, Reunification Day was celebrated.  It was near this time that the country first enacted a day to remember and pay honor to all the Union soldiers who gave their lives in the war between the states.  At first this day was called Decoration Day having the first national observance May 30, 1868 and the graves of the fallen soldiers were decorated.  Later this was extended to include all US military personnel who died during WWI.  With each war the United States entered, the fallen during the war were to be included in the remembrance of Memorial Day (a term first used in 1882).

Years ago I wrote a song about how we gained our independence.  It was the blood, sweat and tears of so many who lived and died before us.  These are the ones we pay homage to on Memorial Day.  Had it not been for the brave men and women who put on a uniform and went to battle and died, we would not know this life we have today.  I say uniform, but it is a broad term, because during the Revolutionary war, most of the colonial soldiers just wore their every day clothes.

So often today people confuse Memorial Day with Veteran’s Day.  Veteran’s Day does not afford us the summery day off from work.  In fact, most companies do not observe it as a holiday at all.  No matter the observance,  it is still an official federal holiday set aside to honor ALL US veterans of ALL wars.  Those living and those gone on.  This weekend, we pay special tribute to those who have given their lives on the battlefield to make sure we have the freedoms we now take for granted.  In short, they all died just so we can eat grilled hamburgers.

I have been wanting to write a special poem for Memorial Day and to include not only US soldiers who have given their lives to defend this country, but I wanted to pay homage to the fallen in all countries who have bravely and proudly entered battle to defend their homeland.  After watching the PBS special National Memorial Day Concert I knew the direction I wanted to take.  I wanted to pull up the fight songs of each of the branches of the US military.  I stopped after reading the lyrics to the first song I pulled up – The Marine Corps Hymn.  The last stanza really struck me.  The last four lines in particular; “If the Army and the Navy, Ever look on Heaven’s scenes; They will find the streets are guarded, By United States Marines.”  I knew I had my poem for today.  I remembered watching yesterday as they showed scenes of the military burial sites around the world where fallen US soldiers lay in rest.  From all of this I wrote the following:

Gone On To Eternal Duty

Lost in a dream
of days gone by
Searching for answers
through heart’s eye

Up and down
neatly groomed rows
trimmed with flags
sprinkled with bows

The names and dates
all a blur to me
looking out across
a flag waving sea

Stepping sure, crossing
barriers of space and time
no more markers or flags
but, soldiers in line

Wearing uniforms
both new and old
they died for others
as history’s told

They entered battles
as men full grown
they fought hard, reaping
what others have sown

I study the faces
reason to find
they are all the same
it boggles my mind

Walking up one
then down two
in a distance I spy
an ocean of blue

Turning to see
the picture full
my heart is pricked
there’s a tug and a pull

From every nation
they stand as one
their tour long past
but yet just begun

These soldiers gone before
stand on land and on sea
they guard the world around
they guard you, they guard me.

May 31, 2010
© DL Bach

My poll on WDC was only open to members and I desired a more global allowance of participants.  It seems that writer’s have interesting thoughts concerning love.  The way I pose my question and the selection of options caused many to pause before replying.  On the surface the question seems quite simple.  Then you view the options and begin to question what you really think.  I can not recall exactly why I designed this poll, except that I wanted to write an article.  What my prompt was I do not know.  As I ponder this I am sure that I was brought to this poll due to my own thoughts about love.  I actually put my response in the options – “A word in the dictionary”.

The first nine years of my life all I knew of love was that it had to hurt.  If someone said “I love you” then they wanted to hurt you, physically and/or emotionally.  Then I found religion and thought I was heading in the right direction when it came to love.  Yes, there were still those in my life that would continue to hurt me, but I thought I had found a different kind of love.  Then I got sick with a chronic illness that has no known cause/no known cure and all of that seemed to vanish.

I love teddy bears.  I love to write.  I love to read.  I love, love, love mangoes.  I love music.  It has been more years than I can count since I have said “I love you” to anyone.  In Second Life, I do occasionally say “I love my SLamily”, but it is usually said a bit facetiously when the crew are acting all silly and goofy.  I have noticed that most folks use that line very rapidly.  In the beginning of romantic relationships it can be a bit explosive.  But those who know each other a long time or are related in any manner say it all the time.  They end telephone and IM conversations with it and even sign cards, letters and e-mails with it.  Sometimes I think it is out of habit or expectation.  It isn’t that I have no feelings for the person I am speaking with.  I just don’t like using such powerful words on a whim for one.  I also have such negative memories for those who have used those words with me and I do not want to use something for someone I care about with ugliness attached to it.

So, take the poll and give it some real consideration when you answer, “What is love?”  Then look at how it applies to you and your life in respect to those you care about.

I know you are wondering what this little tale has to do with the title of this post.  A lot.  Back in my grandmother’s day it was called “the change”.  The more accurate name is menopause.  A number of years ago, my best friend, Sissy (rest her soul) went through the change.  No one could live with her.  Her husband, daughter and even I avoided her most of the time.  Her mood swings were so bad that one time she even bragged to me about calling the secretary of her church a B****.  Sissy, like me,  never cussed.   This was strange for me to comprehend.  Those close to her finally figured out what was going on with her.  While we still avoided her a good deal, we tried to be more understanding.  This prompted me to have a bit of a conversation with my aunt.  I asked her (I am very naive) if she had been through the change yet.  After she stopped laughing she affirmed that she had.  I told her about Sissy and inquired as to the symptoms my aunt had.  She said all she had was hot flashes.

About a year or so ago I began noticing definite changes in my menses.  In the last few months I have noticed my demeanor changing.  I get upset and even angry faster.  I am still good at holding my tongue, excepting this morning.  I keep everything inside and don’t tell people what I truly feel.  I figured this change was due to Meniere’s and the way it has been treating me of late.  I also attributed my change to loneliness as I do not have interactions with people on a regular basis.  This mornings display gave me pause and I took the drive out west to try to consider what was going on with me.  Hot flashes and night sweats have been with me intermittently for a while now.

I once had someone describe menopause to me as one minute you have your head in the freezer and the next in the oven.  I thought she was joking.   Women are just now being overtly educated regarding this change.  When I was growing up it was still a bit of a taboo subject that everyone knew about, but did not speak of, especially in polite company.  Now it is all over the television, radio, movies and print media.  There are pills you can take to supposedly help lessen the severity of the symptoms of menopause.  More drugs.  Seems there is a pill for just about everything these days.  I am, as my GYN says, pre-menopausal.  I suppose things will get worse as I continue into the change.  Until I am safely on the other side of this, I will do all within my power to continue to hold my tongue and keep a fan nearby.  However, if, on the rare occasion, I slip and call you a plebeian, please try to be understanding and know that it is not how I honestly feel.  It will be the hormones going crazy within.

Random House begins their definition as such; “Reliance on the integrity, ability, etc. of a person or thing.”  But, doesn’t reliance mean trust?  OY!  The English language is confusing.  Maybe the part I have trouble with in this definition is “of a person…”  Roget didn’t even attempt to tackle the word trust.  They went from ‘truss’ straight to ‘trustee’.  Smart people they have working for them.

Trust is so overrated.  People use the word without really understanding it, like ‘love’.  They say “just trust me” or “you have to trust me”.  Why?  Every time I have put blind trust into another person, I alone have been hurt.  One should be able to trust the folks who gave them life.  Mine abused me physically and emotionally; and they allowed another parental figure to physically, emotionally and sexually abuse me.  Why trust?

I trusted my grandparents who had me most of my childhood.  They protected me until they wanted to make it permanent.  When they were denied this by my mother, they too gave me away.  They gave me back to the very person who wanted nothing more than to hurt me.  Why trust?

I trusted a man.  I gave him my heart and two years.  However, after a year and a half engagement, he decided to marry someone he knew for only two weeks, pretty much leaving me at the alter by sending me a letter one week and three days prior to our wedding.  Why trust?

I have trusted doctors who wrongly diagnose me and put me on medication that I do not need and which causes other more severe problems.  Doctors think they have all the answers and look at me as a troublemaker of sorts because I know more about me than they do.  Just be cause you have a degree is not a reason for me to trust you.

I used to trust myself.  But now Meniere’s is in play.  I never know if I am going to have a bout of vertigo or perhaps a drop attack.  I stagger along my way running into walls and furniture.  I can’t trust me or my body to do what I want them to do.   How can I trust me when I am laying sprawled out on the floor in pain from an illness that I cannot control nor vanquish.

Long ago, I would trust those who were, or at least seemed, different from my parents.  Until they proved I couldn’t trust them.  Now I trust no one.  I try to, but it just never comes.  I am finding more and more that there is a lot to be said for cynicism.  Maybe there is a future in it.  Or perhaps just a nice side venture till I can at least trust me once again.

So, why trust?  I still have not found any truly viable reason to trust flesh and bones.  When I have to rely on others, I suffer and always feel that it is not from goodness that they help me, it is for good old fashioned currency or some other form of repayment.

WHY TRUST?

I don’t remember the last time I fully grieved.  Maybe it was in 1981 when Grandmaw died.  I remember the pain when I went through it and how stifling it was.  Now I remember Grandmaw and I am sad because I still miss her, however, the memories are sweet.

There are so many that I have lost since Grandmaw, but I don’t remember fully grieving.  I remember the pain at the loss, but when I try to go further in my memories there is anger – so I stop.  I stop and bury the feelings.  Yes, I know everyone has a right to their feelings and they should be expressed, but not me.

To be the good one, I always desired, but never was.  I have, through the years, learned to repress my feelings.  When I was angry, I was punished.  When I would cry because I was unhappy, I was punished.  When I would be happy, I was turned away.  When I would show love or affection, I would be hurt.  So the easy thing to do was to repress.  The English have it right – don’t display what you feel.  This I can do.

I am neither a masochist nor a sadist.  I have virtually no tolerance for pain, nor do I enjoy inflicting pain, especially on myself.  This is reason enough for me not to grieve.  If I start, I may not stop at this point.  And then again, there is no one there to catch me as I fall.  So I repress.

Recently I have discovered a new tool to add to my repertoire –cynicism.  Although I am new to this concept I am finding it to be just another useful mechanism to keep from dealing with the hurt, pain and anger that keeps coming my way.  When posed with the age old question “is the cup half full or half empty?” I would always respond half full!  Now I retorted, “It’s not my cup.  I don’t care.”

I can cry. I do cry — when I am alone. I scream -– when I am alone.  I yell and fuss — when I am alone.  To bring my anger against me means much frustration. To bring my anger against others could mean they retaliate and well… So I remain angry and frustrated while displaying to the world that all is well. It has to be.  Debbie is always fine.  Debbie needs no one.  Debbie will always be fine. At least that is what the world will always see.

Pain, I am resolved, will always be part of my life.  My deductions for now are that I am only meant for pain; be it physical or emotional.  So, for now at least, cynicism is a means to escape the pain, anger and drudge of life.

Will this to become my sole way of dealing with things?  Probably not. Will cynicism always be in my life?  Probably not.  However, for now it is useful.  Maybe someday someone will enter my life and I will be able to trust them enough to let them be there as I open the floodgates and feel the pain. For now, the cup it isn’t mine, find the owner yourself.