Taking ChancesI am writing this so that you can better understand me. It will make some things more clear to you. And clarity is certainly desirable. So here the words spill and tumble and fill the page. Please read and understand me better.
My childhood was not wonderful. It may have appeared to be from the outside looking in, but it was not. My mom who is now demented severely had issues with men. She always taught me that they only wanted to f uck and that was all women were good for. She was not a warm person. I know she loved all seven of us, well at least six of us. But she was not loving. I remember my oldest sister-step or half, whatever-reading to us, playing with us, all the things a mother would do. My dad was a strong, silent man. He worked hard as a mechanic. Monday to Friday, eight to four. Like a clock. He rarely missed a day. He had bills to pay and seven children and a wife to support. He did this on $165 a week. And my mom made this stretch. To this day there are some foods I cannot even look at. I will be sick if I do.
He was a hard man in what he expected. He was raised by alcoholic parents who beat him often. To teach him to obey. And so he taught us too. We knew that if my mom told him we were bad, we would be punished. He would take off his belt that he always wore and he would beat us. When one hand grew tired, he would use the other. I remember on one occasion, he beat my favourite brother (the one who wished for me, a baby sister) so badly, I incurred his anger so he would stop. I did it willingly because I was scared he would kill him. To this day I have difficulty being around people who drink. And I rarely drink. I have to be really comfortable around someone to drink.
On Friday nights, my dad would come home from work. He would line up his whiskey bottle on the table and start to drink. My mom would not have to cook on Friday nights. The rest of the week she was expected to serve a hot supper between 5 and 5:30 pm. If he was working late, we would wait for as long as necessary for him to arrive. And if the food was inedible by then, we ate it then. He loved us, but was not loving.
She would have a few drinks with him. And then they would argue. About anything. It would get loud. We learned to hide on Friday nights. If he saw us, he would get angry. And beat us. Mom and Dad fought physically too. It was ugly. No one knew. We had no friends to come over. They were not allowed. And the neighbours may have suspected something, but we appeared a perfect large family. And we were not.
So there was a routine. A hard one. A reliable one. I left home at 21. Happy to be gone. So happy. And the hell I endured in this relationship was unimaginable. Right from the start it was a mess. And looking back now-hindsight, right?-I should have bailed then. But to where? From one hell back to another? What the hades was i thinking? I had no knowledge then....I do now!
And my ex and I had no routines. We both worked shift work. We had one son. A beautiful child. I tried to make a house a home. A sexless marriage is hell. Those of you who dwell in one or still do know this. Others have no clue. And that is a blessing for you. Really is. And I stagnated for 30 years in that hell. I tried everything under the sun and the moon and in between with no avail. I thought for the longest time that it was me. I was broken. I could not love. But it was not me. I did everything I could. I knew how to love. I just did not have one who loved me. That was his fault. Not mine. I am loving and lovable. I know this.
And at work, I love my work....I have a basic routine. And handle problems as they arise. And do a fine job. There is nothing I cannot solve. My boss loves that. I handle families, staff, residents, building problems, everything. And solve all. Efficiently. Quickly. Compassionately. Like a leader. Confidently.
And I learned to be spontaneous in my life. It took many years. I had to learn to solve things by myself. Be creative. Explore solutions. Live. Bit by bit, I learned to be spontaneous. Be fun. Be more me. Not what people expected. But who I was. And that is wonderful. When you see where I came from and where I am now-this is spectacular. You have no idea.
I reached out to you. And you took my hand. You give your love and support without conditions. You have expectations. Each of us do. And you have been hurt too. Each of us has. But we are willing to be spontaneous. Each of us is. And now I await your arrival. The journey has been long. Not just on your planes. But in your heart. And in your soul too. I do not care what others say really. I just know your heart, your words, your soul, and you. And I am quite willing to love you like you deserve. And you will love me like you will love me. And what will be will be. We are destined to be together. I have seen it. I have received the message. You have searched your whole life for One like me. And I am here waiting. Come and be with me. I am so ready to love you. Absolutely. I hope you feel my words. I hope you hear them. Your soul stirs. Your heart is ready. And you arrive soon. And I love you. I love you. Cynthia. kissesssssssssssssssssssss from my lips to yours. I love you.
Just a small note. My parents were good people. They were raised poorly. And that is their background. I raised my son the opposite way. It seems he turned out well. Loving, kind, empathetic to others less fortunate, intelligent, and gentle, but strong. I love my parents. My dad died five years ago in August in less than 24 hours. And my mom remains poorly after breaking her hip this summer and failing now. She is very demented and seeks daily to find her home while living in it. She still knows me. And I know she knows I love her. Please love your parents if you are able to. They do their best mostly. Mine did. I love you mom and dad. Cynthia.
PoetryNEmotion 51-55, F 8 Responses 8 Nov 9, 2012